Chapter Text
“I’m telling you, Granger,” Theo blew out a breath. “It was the craziest sex I’ve ever had in my life. I’m still hard three days later.”
I stifle a giggle as he sits, daydreaming on the bench next to me.
“Life changing. Three women. I’ll never recover.”
“Your sexually deviant behavior knows no bounds, Theodore.”
He winks at me, and I roll my eyes in return. If you had told me three years ago that Theodore Nott would become my best friend, I wouldn’t have believed you. But here I sit, hanging on every last word of every filthy sexual exploration he experiences.
“I could always give you my guest pass,” he waggles his brows at me.
“Theo,” I sigh, ignoring the suggestive movement of his brows.
This was our normal. He told me every exotic, depraved, raunchy thing he did, and then he offered me a front-row seat to it. Nox, the underground sex club, was central to all of Theo’s stories. I’d been politely declining his invitation for over two years. That was a can of worms I wasn’t willing to open. I was married. And I knew Theo wasn’t extending the invitation to Ron. Not that I would know how to broach the subject with him anyway. We didn’t discuss things like that. In fact, the only person I discussed sex with at all was Theo.
“Tell me the last time Weasley made you come so hard you thought about it for weeks.”
I couldn’t.
“Tell me about an experience that left you fully sated.”
I couldn’t.
“Come to Nox, Hermione. You’ve fucking earned it.”
I couldn’t.
Theo’s nagging filled my head the rest of the afternoon. It was ridiculous for me to be so consumed with thoughts of wild and crazy sex. That wasn’t real life. I was married. My husband loved and respected me. We were just in a bit of a drought. We’d been married for five years and friends long before that. It was natural for things to find a bit of a lull after so long together. Ron traveled so much for work as an Auror. He was barely home anymore. I don’t know how he always got put on the traveling team, but it was exhausting.
I stood in the lift while Theo prattled on about some new shop opening next week that sold designer women’s wear. Pansy Parkinson from school had opened it. I had never been a fan, and my knowledge of fashion and trends was nonexistent.
“You should come to the opening,” Theo elbowed me. “I’m friends with Patsy. I could give you a first look.”
“You’re friends with everyone,” I said pointedly.
The door opened, and three more wizards filled the space. One of which was Draco Malfoy. He was made head Auror at the young age of twenty-five. It’d never been done before. And although his father sat in Azkaban for his crimes, Draco rose in the Ministry ranks. He’d been the topic at the dinner table more times than I could count. Over and over, Ron exasperated over a former Death Eater now being in charge of them.
I didn’t hate the former Death Eaters as many did. I wasn’t particularly fond of Draco Malfoy for a laundry list of other reasons, but it wasn’t because of his choices during the war. We were kids. And we’d been put in an impossible situation. I couldn’t imagine what kind of pressure Draco was under because of who his father was. And at the end of the day, Draco’s mother had saved Harry’s life. And Draco had saved ours.
I told Ron and Harry a million times that Draco prevented Bellatrix from killing me outright. I saw the look on his face while I was pinned to the floor of his great hall. And the look he gave me wasn’t one of malice. It was one of sickening regret. Harry and I had both testified on his behalf, something Ron refused to do.
“Hello, mate,” Theo and Draco clapped hands.
Draco took the space next to me, and I wanted to shrink away. I trusted that he wasn’t evil like his father. I trusted that he didn’t want to have a part in Voldemort’s reign of terror. But that didn’t stop my mind from realizing what a powerful and dark figure he still was. He may have saved my life, but the cool, aloof attitude did nothing to send warm fuzzies through my body. Honestly, Draco intimidated me. Maybe he even frightened me if I was honest with myself. And I got the distinct impression he hated me.
“Granger,” he said.
“Malfoy,” I nod back.
The lift jerked forward, and I was trying so hard to creep toward Theo that I completely lost my balance. Draco reacted in a flash. His hand wrapped around the back of my neck and pulled me toward him.
The act was so dominant and strong that it nearly knocked me back. No part of his strong grip hurt me. It just stabilized me. He maintained his hold as he shifted me away from Nott and stood directly behind me. His free arm took my left wrist and began leading it toward the hanging loops others could grasp for stability.
“I can’t reach,” I say before his hand carries ours any further. “I can only reach when I wear heels.”
“Then you should wear them every day,” he says but allows my arm to drop.
He maintained his hold on my neck. I was practically humming with discomfort over the touch. No one has ever grabbed me like this. And it made it so much worse that I’d been so irritated with my unruly mop of curls today that I’d just shoved the entire mass of it up on the top of my head with an elastic. And my sleeveless dress and lower neckline made it so not even fabric created a barrier. I was completely bare under his touch. My face heated, yet goosebumps rose along my arms and spine.
As the lift would stop and go, Draco would casually steer my body out of the path of passing witches and wizards, all while maintaining his conversation with Theodore. The cool indent of his signet ring on his pinky pressed into the pulse point of my neck. I’m sure he could feel my blood thundering beneath his hold. Hell, I’m sure that Draco had enough power and authority to command my blood to stop pounding so loudly if he wanted to. We were not children anymore. And I was not the person I once was. I would never imagine striking him in the face as I had in our third year.
“So you’ll come round to Pansy’s tomorrow, then?” Theo asked me. “For the big opening?”
“I don’t know,” I say, attempting to find a good enough reason to avoid the place.
“Weasley’s going out of town for the whole weekend,” Draco says. “He’s just been put on a new brief with Potter down in Albania.”
My frustration grows with Ron’s increasingly unmanageable schedule. Gone again? He and Harry were constantly gone. I understand that the two of them were the face of the Aurors, but this was ridiculous. What was even more frustrating was how much they enjoyed being gone. The two of them jumped at any opportunity to relive their “glory days,” as they called them.
“Perfect,” Theo claps. “I’ll pick you up around seven, Granger. Wear something sexy.”
“Theo,” I roll my eyes.
I try to ignore the way I flush with embarrassment when he uses the word sexy in front of Draco sodding Malfoy. We reach the main floor, but Draco keeps his hand on my neck as he steers me out of the lift and into the crowded lobby.
“See you tomorrow,” Theo says as he practically skips to the Floo.
I offer him a half-hearted wave, and I breathe out a shaking sigh as Draco finally releases my neck.
“Oops, sorry,” I say as someone passing by bumps my shoulder.
I dodge another person passing by and look up at Draco, who is boring down on me. I nearly flinch away from his intense gaze.
“You do realize you’re a fucking important enough person that some lowly fuck from archives doesn’t get to shoulder check you as they walk by,” he snaps.
“Erm, what?” I am completely lost, and he looks furious.
His jaw ticks in annoyance.
Someone else bumps into me while they hurry to the lifts. I am right in the way, but I am so terrified of Draco’s attitude shift that I am frozen in my spot.
“For fuck’s sake, Granger,” he shakes his head.
He reaches for my neck again and spins me around. He leads me through the crowd, and I watch in amazement as people practically dive out of our way. He doesn’t have to speak or even look at them. His eyes are trained on where he’s going, and everyone around him seems so in tune with his energy that they’ll do anything to escape his path.
We reach the Floo rows without anyone coming within meters of me. He puts me in front of the Floo and releases my neck.
“Um,” I flounder, not knowing what to say.
He looks absolutely livid. His nostrils flare, and his eyes spark like steel against steel. I look down. I hate confrontation. I hate tension. The swell of anxiousness that rises in my chest sets that familiar track of panic in motion.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper and duck into the Floo.
I breathe in a sigh of relief when I’m in my own familiar home again. I close my eyes and relish the solitude. Ron won’t be home for another hour. He and Harry should have quidditch practice tonight. I put my bag down on the kitchen table. I head up the stairs to our bedroom to change. This dress feels too tight and constricting. I want leggings and an oversized jumper. No bra. Salazar, I need to get this bra off.
I walk into the bedroom and am completely caught off-guard. Ron is on the bed, completely naked, and the television is blasting a pornographic video of some woman being fucked by two different men while she’s tied down.
“Hermione!”
I’m too stunned to move. I’m just standing there, mouth agape, while my husband masturbates to the scene before him. He looks at me. I look at him. The porn is blaring loudly beside me. And we’re frozen like this.
My brain finally catches up with me, and I turn and slam the door. I fumble back down the stairs and pace the length of the living room.
I try to come to terms with what I’ve just witnessed. Ron had never… well… at least while I was around. And that’s when it hits me. My department meeting is every Friday from three to five. Today, it got canceled at the last minute. I didn’t think to tell Ron because he had quidditch anyway. Or so I thought.
The porn doesn’t shock me. I don’t care much about what he watches. But it’s the context of the porn that confuses me. Ron and I don’t have sex like that. It’s never rough, dominating, or restrictive. Our intimacy cycles between two positions: me offering him oral sex or Ron on top in a basic missionary. We didn’t deviate from this. So, the fact that the woman was on her stomach was shocking. Much less bound while two males serviced her.
The confusing portion was that I had tried before. I have tried to be on top. I’ve tried to be on my hands and knees. I’ve tried loads of different positions and alternatives, but Ron always goes back to the same one. It doesn’t make sense. If he masturbates to it, doesn’t that mean that it entices him? That he would want that?
“Mione.”
I look up to see Ron pulling on a jumper with his jeans as he descends the stairs. I worry that I should have left. Being here now seems… uncomfortable. I don’t know that I’m ready to have the conversation we’re about to.
“Hi.”
That’s all I can manage to produce as far as coherent thoughts go. What else am I supposed to say to him?
“What happened to your meeting?”
I open my mouth but quickly close it. Wait. What? No apology for the mortifying display I walked in on? No justification? Nothing?
“Why weren’t you at Quidditch?”
“Don’t turn this on me,” he defends. “You shouldn’t have been here.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
It’s my natural instinct. I hate conflict. I hate watching his temper rise. I want to diffuse this as quickly as possible. I want to pretend it never happened. I want to believe this doesn’t exist.
“I never meant for you to see any of that,” he says quietly. “You should have told me you’d be home early.”
He does this often, then. This isn’t just some fluke. My heart sinks at the realization. I feel so silly. So pathetic.
“Is that what you want?” I ask, my voice quiet and vulnerable. “The video. Is that what you like?”
He sighs and runs a hand over his face while he sits down on the couch.
“Because if it is,” I continue nervously. “I’m willing to try new things and do that with you. I just… I didn’t know.”
“Hermione, no,” he gasps. “Merlin, that’s mad. I could never do that with you.”
My head snaps back instinctively.
“Why not?”
A small disbelieving laugh escapes him.
“Hermione,” he says as if that’s explanation enough.
I wait for him to expound on his reasoning, but he doesn’t. He’s just smiling and shaking his head.
“What? I can be sexy. I can do more of those things.”
Ron full-out laughs at that. He tips his head back and laughs.
“Nope, not going there,” he laughs and stands up. “I’ve got to help George at the shop.” He kisses my head. “I’ll be back after closing.”
“Ron,” I say, but he’s already out the door.
And in a move of pathetic weakness, I let the tears of shame and embarrassment track down my cheeks.