Chapter Text
One of the greatest perks to being Minister for Magic had to be, Hermione thought, the office that came with it. The spacious floor plan had its own private Floo connection through an ornate fireplace taking up half a wall, opposite from her floor to ceiling bookshelves that took up the entirety of the wall. Her desk was enormous to the point where it was almost comical but overall anything smaller wouldn’t have fit the palatial space.
In one of the rare quiet moments of her now chaotic life, Hermione took in a deep breath and took inventory of her accomplishments. She had won the election for Minister for Magic at only 30, after a meteoric rise through the Ministry ranks, and was now heading into the second year of her first term.
Daphne Greengrass took on the roles of Hermione's senior secretary and personal assistant. At first, Hermione had flinched at the Slytherin’s proposal to team up, assuming she’d be like every other Pureblood princess trying to climb the ladder only to jump ship at the first marriage opportunity, but it had turned out that Daphne's first-hand knowledge of Pureblood culture and her Slytherin cunning had been just what she needed to silence the whispers circulating that having a Muggle-Born so young wouldn’t be able to lead the magical community. Daphne put her in contact with Pansy Parkinson who was editor and chief of Witch Weekly and though she loathed to admit it, the witch had put in touch with a fabulous magical tailor who sent her packages of new clothes monthly, improving her image with her staunchest critics- the older Pureblood community.
She’d even considered her junior secretary a win, three years out of Hogwarts and no one’s great-niece or granddaughter, the witch was bright, cheerful and mostly competent.
It would have been nice to have someone to come home to of course, but after she and Ron panned out, dating had been pushed aside to accommodate more time to dedicate to the rest of the world. Other than one last reunion with Viktor before running for Minister nearly 3 years ago….
Hermione had everything she wanted, career-wise.
Of course like all good things, a wizard threatened to ruin it all.
Draco Malfoy had come into his own since the 14 years since the end of the war and now headed up the Ministry's Financial department. After his father’s passing in Azkaban and his mother’s permanent move to France, he used his leverage as being the sole heir to two massive fortunes to move his way through the notoriously brutal branch.
He’d come into her office is perfectly tailored black work robes, carelessly styled hair blond hair, and that fucking smirk and at first, her brain had stalled. He talked for at least 10 minutes before her mind translated the words.
He knew it too. Those piercing grey eyes didn't miss a beat as they watched her face transform. His lip tucked under his teeth like he was biting back a laugh before continuing his long-winded explanations.
She told herself it was because she’d spent most of her time face to face with the older crowd, she simply wasn’t used to seeing someone in her peer group in this position. Of course, Malfoy was handsome, always had been, but he was Malfoy. Surely he'd laughed himself stupid at the thought of sullying himself with a Muggle-Born even if she was Minister
Then one night, there’d been a financial crisis. A giant donation to a halfway house for werewolves in Sussex had been pulled out at the last second. It was going to crash the whole Department for the Regulation and control of magical creatures without a regular budget, and as Head of Finances, Malfoy couldn’t show favoritism for certain departments though he could donate to charity, the money had to come from somewhere else.
It was a late night of a lot of combing through tedious amounts of records and receipts, debating on what was frivolous spending for each department or not. At one point a bottle of wine had been cracked open…. Everyone else had gone home...the numbers started to even out...they settled the crisis...there was a celebratory hug...and a kiss...
Something had lit on fire within her when his hard body pressed into hers and his lips slotted against hers. The taste of his mouth, the smell of his cologne, tracing his lithe frame with her fingers. Suddenly want became need, aching and burning her and he was more than willing to give.
They were on the rug in front of her fireplace, with her skirt rucked up to her waist and his weight pressing her into the carpet, his mouth hot on her neck. Her hips cradled his and the slotted together in the most perfect way.
“Tell me to stop. Tell me to stop Granger and I will.”
But she couldn’t, every nerve within her was wound so tight that surely she would combust if they stopped now. She shouldn’t...not with Malfoy...terrible things could happen...Everything she’d worked for, gone in an instant
He rolled his hips against hers so she could his length straining against his trousers and her mind went void of reason and her libido screamed into life hijacking her senses. One time would be fine, no one would ever know and it had been so long. Her knicker were around her ankle and his fingers were flicking against her core when the dam broke the first time.
“Say my name Granger, say my name when you come.”
“Draco.” She breathed the word over and over hardly believing it was coming out her mouth, that he was making her feel this way. Her thighs were trembling as he pulled his hands away and her thoughts came rushing back to her.
Sitting back on his heels, Draco undid his trousers and rolled them down his hips so Hermione could see him in all his glory, stroking himself languidly.
Her mouth fell open. “Gods Malfoy ...no wonder…”
A crooked smirk dashed across his face. “Are you sure you want to do this? “
She licked her lips and nodded. “Yeah. It’s been… a while though just… “
He was buried in her in one swift movement, filling her completely, her muscles ached to accommodate him. After a few tepid thrusts, his pace built and built and built until it was an unapologetic punishing rhythm that was sure to leave it evidence all over her body. It sated something within her she didn’t even know was sleeping. All her other lovers had been gentle, tender and soft. He was brutal with her, and before she knew it she was unraveling around him, grateful they had thought of silencing charms long before this. She was making noises she didn’t even know she could make as he muttered filthy things against her neck, spilling inside her.
They swore it would never happen again. It would cause an unprecedented political scandal for them both, if not Azkaban time.
Never again.
Except for the three more times, it did happen. Two late meetings and one lunch quickie. Always her office. Always promises never to do it again.
But even now as Hermione stared at the spot where they had fucked the first time, right in front of the fireplace, she felt lust awaken in her veins and her thighs press tighter together in search of the delicious friction the memories brought on.
She still wanted him enough to take the risk.