itle: Party at Malfoy Manor
Word Count: ~4000
Summary: For three months, Narcissa Malfoy has been planning the biggest party of her life–theAnniversary of the Victory Against Voldemort. For three months, Hermione Granger, shocked to be invited to Malfoy Manor, has spent every spare moment looking for the perfect dress. For three months, Draco Malfoy has been dreading leaving his summer cottage in Northern Ireland and returning to the wizarding world for his mother’s party. Spend a night as a fly on the wall at Malfoy Manor.
Warnings: Language, sexual references, sexual situations.
Author’s Note(s): I really hope you enjoy this story!
He sucked on the cigarette, a horrible Muggle habit he had picked up living Strathfoyle, Northern Ireland, for the two years since he had left the wizarding world. It was the stress of the last three months that had him sucking on the deadly cancer stick (as the locals called it) to the very end, before throwing the finished cigarette over the verandah of the summer house, and making his way back inside.
On the table near the fireplace was the letter his mother had sent him three months earlier, still lying in exactly the same spot. Sighing heavily, he made his way over to the table and picked the letter up for the first time in three months:
I am throwing a party, my son! To celebrate the anniversary of the death of he-who-shall-not-be-named! I have invited so many of your friends from school and so many Ministry members who wish to see you as well. I hear that even the Minister will be coming! Please my son, I beg of you to attend. I have missed seeing you.
All my love,
P.S. Dress robes are not required, simply dress nicely.
Draco sighed and threw the letter in the fireplace. “Fuck, Mother. Fuck,” he swore.
When all who had been involved in the War, and felt up to it, had returned to Hogwarts for their final year, Draco had been less than welcome. Getting into fights had been an everyday occurrence for him. The other students had wanted to let him know his place. He wasn’t the Slytherin prince any more. He was trash. No longer did the Malfoy name mean power or respect; his name meant nothing more than money–dirty money. His blonde hair, grey eyes and last name were a curse in the wizarding world, and it was only to please his mother that he saw it through to the end.
“How about this one?” asked Ginny Potter, holding up a slim red dress with a gold trim. “It’s… pretty.”
“It’s slutty,” Hermione Granger replied. “Too slutty for this party.”
“Yeah, okay, just a little bit…” Ginny giggled and placed the dress back on the rack.
They were in a Muggle London store that sold beautiful dresses for all occasions, trying to find the perfect things to wear to Narcissa Malfoy’s party for the Anniversary of the Victory Against Voldemort.
Both had been shocked to receive invitations, thinking that Mrs. Malfoy wouldn’t want half-bloods or Muggle-borns in her house. And Hermione didn’t want to return to the house that she was tortured in. Those memories still burnt at the back of her mind…
However, something had happened, a week earlier, that had changed everything.
Hermione and Ginny were in The Three Broomsticks with their school friends, Luna Lovegood and Padma Patil, sipping on Butterbeers and reminiscing about old times. Ginny had just brought up the subject of Viktor Krum when Hermione noticed a slender blonde woman enter the pub, looking completely out of place with her striking features and platinum hair. Hermione recognised her immediately as Narcissa Malfoy.
It wasn’t long before the whispers started.
“It’s that Malfoy woman. Stupid bint, daring show her face here. Death Eater scum,” came the voice of one man, obviously quite drunk.
“I heard her son left a few years ago, right after he graduated. He’s just as bad, you know.”
“Her party’s this weekend. I know quite a lot of people are going. You heard she’s just doing it to get herself and her family back at the top, aye?”
Ignoring the gossips, Hermione watched the beautiful woman sit down in a booth and motion for the waiter to serve her. A large, gruff man came over with a scowl on his face, and Hermione could see Mrs. Malfoy’s obvious discomfort.
“May I please have–” she began, but was very quickly cut off.
“No you may not have. You and your blood-hating family are not welcome here with these respectable people. Now shove off, before I make ye.”
Frowning, Hermione stood up, and made her way over to Mrs. Malfoy’s table. The man looked up, immediately recognising her and smiling. “Why, hullo there, Hermione.”
“Klaus, you are being very rude to Mrs. Malfoy. I believe you owe her an apology, and a free drink.” Hermione watched the shock wash over Klaus’ face–that she should have stood up for Narcissa Malfoy, of all people–but she stood her ground.
“But Hermione, her kind–”
“She is a witch, Klaus, just as I am. The war against Muggles and Muggle-borns is over, blood status no longer matters. You are being a bigot yourself, by not serving her. Now, do I have to repeat myself?”
Klaus looked towards the older lady. “What ya want?” he asked, angrily.
Narcissa smiled, and said, “Butterbeer. Warmed up just the slightest.”
Klaus marched away muttering under his breath.
Hermione turned to Narcissa, “Have a nice day, Mrs. Malfoy,” she said, before returning to her table.
She didn’t notice, but Narcissa had a genuine smile on her face as she watched her walk away.
“How about this one?” Hermione asked, holding up a blue dress with a silver trim. Ginny screwed up her nose and Hermione laughed and returned it to the rack. “So, who do you think will be there?”
Ginny stopped in her tracks and turned to face her. She knew exactly what her friend meant by her ‘casual’ question but, “Pardon?” she asked, making Hermione blush. “Hermione, seriously?”
“Okay, don’t worry about it. Forget I asked.”
Ginny watched Hermione turn down another aisle, pull a dress off the racks and ask the assistant if she could try it on. Minutes later, she stepped out of the dressing room wearing the gold sequinned dress. “How’s this?”
Ginny, who had been sitting outside, looked up as Hermione emerged. “You never finished asking your question.” Hermione blushed and walked over to the mirror. “Hermione?”
“Okay, okay,” Hermione snapped, sighing heavily and crossing her arms across her chest, “I just wondered if he’d be there, that’s all.”
“Hermione, it’s been almost two years. This crush is going to have to end eventually,” Ginny replied, standing up and touching Hermione’s shoulder with a gentle hand. “This is Malfoy, and you know how he is about everything…”
“I know Ginny,” she whispered, touching her neckline where her soft skin glowed against the blue dress. “But it’s Draco…”
Seventh year had been interesting, as most of the students were now eighteen or nineteen and many had been scarred by the War. For Hermione, it had been about moving on–moving on from the death and destruction that had derailed her life, and getting it back on track–with no Voldemort.
Harry, Ron and the rest of their class had returned as well and were enjoying their new-found status as heroes, and Hermione couldn’t help laughing when Ron told stories of their exploits.
One person who was obviously not happy about returning was Draco Malfoy. He was being shunned by everyone in the school, including his own house, and it was obviously having an impact on him, as he pretty much kept to himself and relied on no-one.
One dull afternoon, when storm clouds were rolling in, Hermione noticed a bunch of people near the Quidditch Pitch, hollering and yelling at something. She hurried down, hoping they weren’t picking on some small, defenceless animal…
When she reached the crowd and pushed through to the front, Hermione gasped.
There was Draco Malfoy and her best friend, Ron Weasley, punching and kicking each other. Ron hit Draco hard, and the blond boy fell, and lay gasping for air on the muddy ground, surrounded by jeering students. Ron raised his arms and roared, celebrating his victory.
“Goodness, Ron,” Hermione cried, crouching down beside Malfoy and trying to help him up. “What on Earth are you doing! Fighting! And on school grounds!”
“He bloody-well deserved it, Hermione,” Ron replied, wiping away the blood oozing from his split lip. “Bloody twat.”
“Screw you, Weasley,” Draco muttered, getting up onto shaky legs, “At least… I don’t let my… my… girlfriend fight my battles, for me.” Each word came out long and breathless, like he was winded, and battling to get air into his lungs.
“You fucking prat,” Ron shouted, lunging for Draco again, but Hermione threw herself between them and said, “No!”
Ron backed off.
Draco stood upright, squinting at his audience through half closed eyelids. “If you’ll excuse me, all.” he said, and hobbled away, leaving Hermione and Ron alone in the centre of the crowd.
“Hermione, you know what he’s like–” Ron began, but was cut off by a slap to his cheek.
Without another word, but with a look that could have killed, Hermione walked off in the same direction as Draco, leaving the dumbfounded Ron behind.
She found Malfoy using the tap at Hagrid’s hut, trying to clean the blood off his face and hands.
“Need some help?” she asked him, making him jump.
“No.” He turned his back on her, wincing as his neck cracked, and started to hobble away, but stopped, groaning, when he realised that she was following him. “Just piss off Granger. I don’t need any Gryffindor compassion.”
“Why were you fighting with Ron?” she asked.
He turned to face her. “Your beau just started clobbering me,” he said. “He was the one who fucking started it.”
“Please don’t curse at me,” said Hermione, and Draco was obviously shocked that she’d told him off for swearing. “I’m only trying to help.”
“Well don’t. Okay? I really couldn’t care less about what people think of me, especially not you.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” said Hermione. “I think you do care what people think of you–I think you care a lot–because you’ve always been feared and respected before and now–now you’re being treated like mud. Right?” She was standing in front of him, looking him straight in the eye.
“I am not mud, Granger,” he said fiercely, and grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her hard on the lips.
Hermione gasped, and his tongue slipped into her mouth, but she hadn’t even a second to decide whether to resist or respond before he pulled away and released her.
“I. AM. NOT. MUD!”
And he staggered off, leaving her standing beside Hagrid’s hut, shocked, confused and strangely excited.
The day of the party had finally arrived.
Hermione stood in front of the mirror. She had changed her mind over and over again about what to wear and had finally decided on a full-length dress of green silk with a neckline that flattered her breasts and with a low back that revealed her creamy skin.
She smiled–she felt fantastic in it.
She applied some light make up and put on her jewellery–a pair of gold feather earrings and a gold and jade necklace that fell teasingly between her breasts–before brushing her hair and letting it curl.
Ginny had arranged that she and Harry would Apparate to Hermione’s apartment to collect her, and that they would Apparate to Malfoy Manor together, at around seven. Hermione checked the clock–five to seven.
She slipped on her golden heels and made her way to the lounge, hearing a soft pop.
Harry and Ginny were standing before her.
“Hey, Hermione,” Harry said, giving her a hug. “Been ages since I’ve seen you.”
“Well that’s what happens when you take an assignment that takes you all over Russia,” she replied, smiling. “I’m surprised that Ginny hasn’t killed you.”
“She can’t kill me,” said Harry. “She’s pregnant.”
Ginny had already given Hermione the good news the previous day, when they’d met for coffee, but she obviously hadn’t told that to Harry, so that he could think he was the first to tell Hermione himself.
“Oh, my God, Harry, congratulations,” Hermione said, hugging her friend again and laughing. “It’s about time.”
Harry chuckled and ran his hand through his messy hair, “Yeah, well, you know.”
“So is Ron coming here or meeting us there?”
“He’s picking Luna up first then meeting us there,” Harry replied.
“I still can’t believe that those two are dating. It’s really strange,” Ginny said, standing beside her husband and taking hold of his hand. Hermione took the other hand and held on tight.
She felt a tug at her belly button and soon the three arrived outside the gates of Malfoy Manor.
“I’ll never get used to that,” Hermione said, trying to keep her balance.
Harry laughed and led the two ladies over to the gates where a big, burly man was standing with a check list. “Harry Potter and wife Ginny Potter, and Hermione Granger,” he said, in his ‘stern’ voice that Hermione loved teasing him about.
The man found their names, and let them through.
Hermione walked close to Harry as they made their way up the grand drive to Malfoy Manor. There were photographers behind railings on both sides, taking photographs of the guests as they arrived, and Hermione watched Harry and Ginny pose for a picture. She smiled when someone asked for one of her, but politely declined and resumed walking.
When they finally reached the doors of Malfoy Manor, and Harry knocked upon the large oak door. A minute later, the door opened and they were greeted by Narcissa Malfoy herself, pale and beautiful in a gown of silver.
“Mr Potter, welcome. Mrs Potter and Miss Granger, welcome, welcome. Thank you so much for attending the party. Do make yourselves at home. Have some champagne. Muggles really had a great idea with that one,” she said cheerfully, and disappeared back into the party.
As they stood in the foyer, the large doors closing behind them, Hermione found herself remembering the awful events that had happened there only two years ago, but she pushed the thoughts from her mind, and made her way into the crowd, leading Harry and Ginny.
Despite the memories it held for Hermione, Malfoy Manor was now a vibrant and welcoming place. The ballroom was ablaze with candles on every wall, festooned with white drapery to symbolise the peace they had created, and crammed with happy people who were talking so loudly, Hermione felt she needed to cover her ears…
The trio made their way through the throng of people and finally found a couch to sit on. Harry helped his pregnant wife sit down, and Hermione sat beside her as Harry made his way into the crowd to bring back some drinks.
About ten minutes later, when their group had grown to include Ron and Luna, Neville Longbottom, and Hannah Abbott, and the old friends were talking comfortably about the two years that had passed since the end of the war, the doors at the top of the stairs opened, and out stepped a blond young man.
Draco Malfoy was making an entrance, and everyone in the hall looked up at him as he descended the stairs, his expensive black suit emphasising his athletic body and his hair falling about his face in just the right way.
Draco ignored the guests, intent on finding his mother and announcing that he would not be staying long, but when he reached the bottom of the staircase, out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of red hair–Damn Weasleys–and then her sitting on the couch wearing green silk that clung perfectly to her curves, her face flushed and her eyes bright…
“Granger,” he said, trying not to ogle the beautiful young woman before him, “what the hell are you doing here? Are you importantin the wizarding world now? Goodness, I must have been gone a long time!”
Hermione, upset that he would use that tone with her in front of her friends, snapped back, “I was invited, Malfoy!”
Draco folded his arms across his chest. “By whom?”
Hermione stood up, clutching her bag, tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. No Hermione, you will not let him see you cry, she thought, before answering “Your mother,” and walking away from the blond-haired git, leaving him with a look of shock on his face, whilst her friends gave him ‘the evil eye’.
Hermione marched across the ballroom, trying to get as far away from Draco as possible, and bumped into someone.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, looking up at the person she had collided with. Oh, crap.
“Perfectly all right, Miss Granger,” came the velvet voice of Lucius Malfoy, who stood before her like a predator. He gave her a little smile. “Welcome to my home. I do hope that the memory of past events is not making you feel too uncomfortable here…”
“Not at all.”
“Wonderful. I feared my wife might have scared you and your friends off with her insistence that you all attend.” He took a sip of Firewhisky, and smiled again. “She does love a good party.”
“It’s a wonderful party, Mr. Malfoy. Now, if you’ll excuse me please.” Hermione turned–and gasped when he grasped her arm.
“I would be very careful Miss Granger, whom you turn your back on. I still have some very powerful connections and I do not like being treated with disrespect.” He released her arm and smiled again. “Enjoy the party.”
Hermione hurried back to her friends, thankful to find that Malfoy Junior had left them. She quickly fell back into the conversation they were all having–something about Quidditch–but, during the conversation, she noticed Malfoy standing nearby, speaking to some politicians, and she could have sworn that, more than once, he sneaked a look at her.
“He’s staring at you again,” Ginny said in a nonchalant tone, watching the blond through her compact mirror.
Hermione blushed and, throwing her hair over her shoulder, said, “I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do,” Ginny replied, giggling as she closed her mirror. Hermione began to wriggle in her seat while Ginny watched her slowly become more and more uncomfortable. Under my gaze, or Malfoy’s? she wondered. “Hermione–”
“I–I’ll be back in a second. Just need some fresh air,” Hermione replied, standing up and taking her bag with her. Slowly, she manoeuvred herself through the crowd of people. Fifteen minutes and two glasses of champagne later, she finally found an open terrace window and quietly sneaked out.
Sighing heavily, she walked over to the railing and looked out onto the Malfoy estate.
“Don’t fall, Granger,” a voice said from behind her and Hermione turned, and found herself face to face with Draco. He had a cigarette between his lips, and a smart arsed look on his face. “Seriously, don’t fall.”
Hermione turned back towards the grounds, shivering as the cool air touch her bare shoulders. I should have brought a coat, she thought as she shook with the chill and, the next thing she knew, Draco Malfoy was standing beside her, blowing a cloud of smoke above his head.
His smell was intoxicating–like tobacco, Firewhisky and peppermint…
“All this will be mine one day, you know. After the old man kicks it.” Hermione tried to ignore him but his closeness was just too hard to overlook. She gripped the railing and continued to listen. “Not that I really want to inherit land that was used by… you know, Voldemort.”
“Why are you talking to me, Malfoy?” she asked, watching as he stubbed out the cigarette and threw it onto the ground below. “What do you want?”
He smiled and stood up straight, stepping closer to her. “I think we both know what I want. I think we both want it.”
Hermione backed away.
He pushed her up against the moss coated wall, one arm at her waist, the other touching her hair.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” she repeated, shaking with excitement.
He smirked the smart arsed smirk he was so famous for, and lowered his lips to her ear. “You,” he whispered. “You and your chocolate hair, caramel eyes, vanilla skin… you’re like a giant ice-cream… that I could spend my whole night licking…”
Hermione shivered–was it still with the cold, or was it Draco?–and felt his hand squeeze her waist. She looked up into his eyes and watched them darken.
“Why now?” she asked, seeing him tilt his head to the side a little to contemplate his answer. “What makes now so different to two years ago, or even five years ago? I’m still the same person I was then, only older. I’m still Muggle-born, I’m still best friends with Harry and Ron, and I still love reading as much. So what has changed, Draco?”
“Nothing, Granger. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.” And with that, his lips descended on hers and he kissed her, hard and passionate and full of want. Hermione tried to fight the kiss, clawing at his back, but he just continued to kiss her, sucking her into the bubble that was Draco Malfoy.
And, suddenly, she realised she didn’t want to fight him, that there had always been a part of her that craved this excitement, this wanton abandon, with this man…
He lowered his hand and lifted her dress, exposing her creamy thighs covered with white stockings. She pulled her lips away with a gasp. “What?” she asked him. “No, Draco… Not yet… Please.”
“Hermione,” he whispered, slightly ashamed that she had heard him say her name. “Let me show you… Just give in. You know you want to. You’ve always wanted to. We both have.” His voice was like velvet, soft and persuasive…
Then he smirked that smirk of his again, and she was lost.
He slid his hand under her skirt, to her centre, and felt, to his surprise, the merest wisp of silken underwear. He grinned, and whispered, “Naughty Granger,” and began to tease her, slipping his fingers under the fabric, touching and stroking, gently nudging, until his fingers slid right inside her. She grasped his shoulders, her nails digging into him, her teeth clenched to stifle her groans of pleasure.
Hermione took a slow, deep breath and eased her body onto him, enjoying the feel of his long, strong fingers stroking her–in and out, in and out–until she groaned out loud as her body trembled, telling Draco that she had reached her peak.
Slowly, he withdrew his fingers and softly kissed her lips. And, as they kissed, Hermione’s hands reached down and started to unbuckle his belt and push his trousers and briefs down.
Draco pulled out of the kiss and, raising Hermione’s legs onto his hips, lifted her, so that her back was against the wall and her legs were wrapped around him.
She looked into his eyes and whispered, “Does this change things?”
He frowned back at her, shocked that she could ask that just before they had sex–though not shocked enough to stop–and he guided himself into her, smiling at the gasp he drew from her when he filled her and began to move.
Hermione held in her moans, wrapping her arms tightly about his neck as Draco pushed and withdrew, pushed and withdrew.
Their mouths met again in a heated kiss and Hermione felt herself clenching around him.
Draco grunted into her mouth, and she grinned.
Then he whispered, “Gonna cum,” and a second later he groaned out his pleasure as it flowed from him, and Hermione held him to her as they rode out the waves of his orgasm.
Slowly, Draco withdrew from her. She lowered her feet to the ground, and they stood for a long time, Hermione against the stone wall, Draco’s arms around her, both of them breathing hard.
But the sounds of chatter from inside the house soon reached their ears, and they remembered where they were and began to fix themselves. Hermione soon gave up trying to restore her hair to how it had been and, sighing heavily, pulled her wand from her stockings and muttered a spell.
“This does change everything,” said Draco, making Hermione smile.
He leaned down and kissed her gently and, when they drew apart, he continued to hold her.
“I think it kind of feels like childhood ending,” she said. “End of an era, really. You do know that everything will change, everything will be different–your mother, the community, not to mention Harry and Ron?”
“Who cares what those arseholes think?” he said. “All that matters is that you are happy and I am happy. Let’s give it a chance, Hermione.”
She pulled away from him, walked to the door into the ballroom, and turned, looking at him over her shoulder.
Draco’s heart sank.
Then, smiling, she extended her hand to him.
Grinning, he joined her, lacing his fingers with hers. “Ready for this Granger?” he asked her, tightening his hold on her hand.
“Abso-fucking-lutely, Malfoy,” she replied, making him grin more.
Together, the two walked into the ballroom, leaving their old lives out on the terrace.