Step By Step

Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley
Word Count: 7593
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Draco has a plan, but Hermione isn’t playing fair. Set in post-war Hogwarts.
Pairings: D/HG






The first Quidditch practice of the season had been cut short when their Keeper had taken a bludger to the head. Draco stepped back into the common room needing nothing more than a quick shower. Then he saw Hermione. She was laying on the rug in front of the fireplace, doubled up in apparent pain, her face pale and pinched. “Shit, Granger, what happened? Never mind, I’ll get you to Madame Pomfrey.” He was kneeling beside her, searching for injuries.

“No. It’s nothing.” She staggered to her feet and tried to get to her bedroom.

“Are you kidding me? You are in pain. We need to get you help.”

“Forget it, Malfoy. You were not supposed to see this.” She could barely stand as she slowly eased her way across the room. Draco easily caught up and took her arms, peering worriedly at her wincing features.

“No. I am not going to forget it. Come on, Granger, if you won’t let me get you professional help, then I’ll do what I can, but you are going to have to tell me what happened. Who did this to you?”

“No one did this, Malfoy. I’m a girl, in case you hadn’t noticed. Don’t purebloods get cramps?”

Relief poured through him. He had been imagining all kinds of horrible scenarios – attacks by hidden Death Eaters, secret lingering curses left over from the summer’s fighting, an incurably progressive fatal illness. This he knew how to deal with. Not to mention that it fit in nicely with his plans.

“Ok, Granger, on the sofa.” He steered the protesting girl, no, correct that, woman, over to the sofa and laid her down facing the high, curving back. Kneeling on the floor beside her, he began a slow, deep massage of her lower back, one hand on either side of her spine. “Let me know if I have the right spot.”

“Right for what? …Oh, gods, that’s good. What are you doing to me?”

Draco smirked. “It’s an old family secret. My dad used to say it was the reason Malfoy marriages never break up. Whatever assholes the Malfoy men are the rest of the time, we get forgiven when the monthlies come around. He showed it to me before I went to Hogwarts, made me practice on Mum. Claimed it was an essential part of a young wizards’ education.” He spoke slowly and gently, continuing his firm, circular motions on her pressure points. As she began to relax into the massage, he called for Dobby. “Do you remember what Mum used to take for cramp? Miss Granger needs it now.”

“B’b’but, sir, students aren’t allowed…” The elf’s distressed gaze never left Hermione’s still huddled form.

“Dobby. Miss Granger is not a student. She is a Head Girl and she is in terrible pain. This school cannot function properly if the Head Girl is not well. Please, get Miss Granger what she needs.”

Dobby grinned. “Oh yes, Master Draco. Dobby will be very happy to help the Head Girl. Thank you, sir.” He popped away, returning moments later with a tray bearing a crystal decanter, a snifter and a covered silver bowl.

Draco shifted position so he could keep rubbing the two spots on Hermione’s back with the heel and fingers of one hand, leaving the other free to open the decanter and pour out a healthy slug of the deep golden liquid. He cupped his hand under the snifter and began slowly swirling the contents. “Hermione? If you can sit up for a moment, I have something here that might help.”

She eased up onto her elbow and he placed the glass in her hand. “What is it?”

“Vintage armagnac. I’m not sure which year. Sip it slowly to get the full effect.”

She sniffed at it delicately, then took a small sip. “Tell me what it’s like.”

“It’s strong. I’m mostly just getting the alcohol taste. No, wait, now I’m feeling it in my throat. A nice, warm feeling.”

“Good. Now a bit more. Keep telling me what you feel.”

She took another sip. “I’m getting more flavor now. The warm feeling is spreading.”

“Keep going.”

“Mmmmm. The flavor keeps building, it’s really quite intense, and I can feel my muscles starting to relax.”

“Excellent. Finish it off slowly and then we can move on.”

She did as instructed, then, as she handed back the glass, he slid up next to her and swung her around so he was sitting with his back against the arm of the sofa with Hermione between his legs, leaning back on his chest. “You may need a bit more before we finish, but I think you are ready for the next level of treatment.” His voice was almost a purr as he slid a piece of fine Belgian chocolate between her lips and then began massaging her shoulders and neck.

“Oh, that’s fantastic. Look, I really appreciate all this, but why are you doing it?”

“My generally chivalrous nature responding to a damsel in distress?” He poured her some more of the brandy.

Hermione giggled as she took it. “Not very convincing.”

“How about, I’m working to promote inter-house relations and a new harmony between pure-bloods and Muggle-borns.”

“Nope. Still not believing you.”

“I figure we have to live together for the next year. We might as well start out on the right foot. Call it an olive branch.”

“I’ll buy that. Thank you.” She giggled again. Either the alcohol was having an effect, or her new dorm-mate was better company than she had expected. “I never thought I would be grateful for anything that came from Lucius Malfoy.”

Draco smiled. “Even us Death Eaters have our good points.” She giggled again.

Perfect. Dealing with cramps was not the only thing he had learned from Dad. Lesson number one had been project planning. Break it down into steps and work through each step, one at a time. Only fools try to take things out of order or skip ahead, and fools rarely get what they want. Malfoys get what they want because they always keep their eyes on the ball and take things one, careful step at a time.

Step one of Project Granger had been to get her past the whole evil-Death Eater thing and see him as someone she could relate to. Check. Step two had been to slowly introduce her to the finer things that the life of a Malfoy had to offer. Armagnac, Belgian chocolate and cramp-relief certainly qualified. That’s another check. Step three was to initiate casual, non-threatening physical contact. Definite check. She had handed him three steps in the first week of school. It was a bit fast, so he would have to be careful to reinforce these steps before moving on, but this boded well.

/-/-/-/-/-/

“Can I ask you something?”

Putting her books aside, Hermione looked up at Draco from across their common room table. Ever since that afternoon when he had helped her through her cramps, they had taken to studying together. It was more comfortable than the library and they could nibble on snacks from Draco’s personal supply of goodies. They got into the habit of checking each other’s work. Draco made a point of regularly coming around the table to look over her shoulder at what she was doing, hand draped across the back of her chair, or crouching next to her to show her something in a book, brushing an arm against her thigh. At first she had responded with suspicious glances and wariness, but he had kept his touches casual and bided his time. The previous day she had grabbed his wrist to stop him taking the last brindlenut cream , smirking cheekily as she snagged it for herself. He decided it was time to move things along. “When did you first notice that you could do magic?”

“I think I always knew, I just thought it meant there was something wrong with me. I could make things happen that I knew were not possible. So, if I believed them, I must be a mental case.” She thought a moment. “I guess the first time I thought it might be real was at a birthday party for a boy I didn’t like. He lived down the street and all the neighborhood kids were invited to the party. I got angry because he kept pulling my hair and making fun of me, but when I threatened to tell his parents he said that if I did that he would smash my head open on the playground at school the next day. The next thing I knew, he was choking on his own tongue and peeing in his pants. Which was exactly what I had wished would happen to him.

“I remember thinking, ‘this is really bad. If I can make people choke just by wishing, then there is something seriously strange about me.’ I never told anyone. I guess I was around six at the time. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been doing some research on the whole Muggle versus pure-blood thing. I mean, obviously, being pure-blood does not ensure greater magical ability. Just look at your friends. You are much more capable than Longbottom or Weasley, and they are both pure-blood. But when I look at the Hogwarts school records, the average Muggle-born does not perform as well as the average pure-blood. You are really exceptional that way. On the other hand, there is no discernable difference between pure-bloods and mixed-bloods who grew up knowing about magic. So I was thinking. If it is not a function of blood, is it a function of education? Does the fact that Muggle-borns spend eleven years hiding their abilities hold them back? Do the rest of us get an advantage from growing up around magic?”

“That is a fascinating theory. Of course, it makes perfect sense. Environment has a huge effect on child development. What parameters have you checked? You would need to identify precisely which areas show the greatest differential in abilities. Oh, and you will need to consider people like Harry, who had two magical parents but was raised as a Muggle. This is such an exciting project. Would you let me work on it with you?”

Draco smiled. Just what he hoped she would say. “Actually, there is a practical experiment I want to try sometime, if you are interested.”

Hermione was suddenly wary. This was Malfoy, after all. The theory was exciting, but she was not going to commit to any experiments without a very clear understanding of exactly what was going to be tested and how she figured into it. “What kind of experiment?”

“Flying.”

Hermione flinched. Flying was near the top of her list of things she had done already and really never wanted to have to do again. Right after going to war and helping to kill a Dark Lord, but above facing three-headed dogs and basilisks. “I hate flying.”

“I know. That is exactly the point. Most Muggle-borns do. It is the strongest correlation I have found so far.”

“But Harry is a great flyer.”

“I have a theory about that. Do you remember what happened the first time he tried to fly?”

“Yes. You stole Neville’s Rememberall and threw it away. Harry chased after it. Not one of your more shining moments.”

“No, it wasn’t. I was quite obnoxious that day and Harry got angry and flew after the Rememberall like a bat out of hell. That’s my theory.”

“That Muggle-borns can fly if obnoxious gits piss them off?”

“Yes, sort of.” He grinned, lopsidedly. “I think it is possible that Muggle-borns, being raised to believe that people can’t fly on brooms, get nervous in a way that the rest of us do not. It’s one thing to wave a wand at something, but to actually levitate your own body off the ground with nothing but a broomstick to hold you up, if you don’t really believe it is going to work, that could make you pretty nervous. I think Harry was too busy being angry at me to think about what he was doing. He just did it.”

“So, you are saying that, by being obnoxious, you distracted Harry enough to let his innate abilities come through.”

“Exactly, though with less emphasis on the obnoxiousness. I think, if properly distracted, you could fly too. Not as well as Harry, maybe, he has pretty strong natural abilities, but as well as most of us.”

“How would you distract me?”

“If I told you it wouldn’t work, now, would it?”

/-/-/-/-/-/

They chose Saturday morning at the Quidditch pitch to try the experiment. It was a full hour before the first scheduled team practice and no one outside the pitch could see what was going on unless they flew above the stands, which Hermione was very certain would not happen.

“That is not your regular broom.”

“I was not aware you took an interest in my Quidditch gear.”

“Ordinarily, I don’t, but you did make rather a show out of introducing it.”

“Ah yes. Another one of my many shining moments. This is an older model. It’s slower and a lot more stable. I thought you would be more comfortable with it. I extended the cushioning charm to support both of us.”

“Both? We are going to be on the same broom?”

“Of course. The plan is for you to fly. If you panic, I want to be sure I am in a position to make sure nothing goes wrong. It’s how I learned when I was a kid. Oh, and you should probably take your robe off. With two of us on the one broom, it could get tangled up and restrict your movement.”

Hermione took off her robe and got on the broom with Draco behind her. “Ok, now, just start a slow ascent.” She was no more than six or seven feet in the air when Draco moved one of his hands from her waist to her leg.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“Just enjoying the view,” he smirked, as he pulled her skirt up her leg, showing a good stretch of thigh.

“Malfoy, I don’t believe you. Just when I was starting to think you might actually be a decent human being,” he slid his hand higher, fingers stroking her inner thigh just inches below the juncture of her legs. “Stop that right now, Malfoy! I’m warning you!”

“Or what? As long as we are on this broom, you can’t do a thing to stop me.” His other hand slid across her belly and then up to cup a breast.

“No,” she spat the word, “but the minute we hit the ground I will go straight to McGonagall and tell her you assaulted me.”

“Will you?” He asked, flicking her now tight, hard nipple. “I think you are enjoying this, just a little.” He began sucking gently at the base of her neck, working his way up to her ear. “I think you find it exciting.” He gently nibbled on her earlobe, and then positioned his mouth so his next words would blow, hot and most, directly into her ear. “How’s the height working for you?”

“What?” She looked down. They were soaring well above the highest stadium seats. “How did we get here?”

“You flew us here,” he said, sitting back and putting his hands back where they belonged. “We’ve gone twice around the stadium already.”

“You distracted me.”

“Yup.”

“With sexual harassment.”

She could feel him shrug. “It worked, didn’t it?” She could not argue with that. She was, in fact, flying, and Draco was showing no signs of trying to take further advantage. He was behaving as if nothing had happened. Well, not quite. There was a rather noticeable pressure against her backside that had not been there before.

“So it was all just part of the experiment?”

“Of course. I do not make a habit of molesting unwilling women.”

“What about that?” she wiggled her bum against his erection.

Draco chuckled. “That, my dear, will go away a lot faster if you don’t tease it. The choice is yours.”

She kept her hips still for the rest of the ride, while Draco helped her refine her technique. She balked at doing vertical loops, but managed a several perfectly respectable turns through the hoops and a few shallow feints.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Harry and Ron liked to get in a few minutes of practice together before the rest of the team arrived. They walked into the stadium and were getting ready to start when Harry looked up and saw his best female friend sharing a broom with their erstwhile archenemy. “Ron…”

“Yah?”

Harry pointed upwards. Ron followed his finger. “Shit, Harry, Malfoy’s got Hermione. What does he think he’s doing? She hates flying. Do you think he’s torturing her? OI! HERMIONE! WE’LL…” Hermione did not hear what Ron was planning to do, as Harry cut him off.

“Look again. Look at the pattern.”

It took a few seconds before Ron saw it. “Blimey.”

Ginny came up in time to see Hermione waving at them. “What’s going on?”

“She’s flying,” whispered Ron, waving vaguely back in Hermione’s direction.

“I can see that. Malfoy’s taking her out for a spin. But why?”

“Nah. She’s flying. She’s really flying.”

“We’ve flown against Malfoy for years, that’s not how he flies,” Harry explained. “Hermione’s doing the flying.”

“Wow.”

They stood there watching as she circled lower and then came to such an abrupt stop that both she and Draco were thrown off the broom. “Next time, I think we’ll work on the landings,” he muttered as she disentangled herself from him and sprinted to her fellow Gryffindors.

“Did you see me, I was flying!” She leaped into their midst, caught in a tight group hug. Everyone spoke at once. “That was amazing.” “How did you manage?” “It was so much fun! Why didn’t I know flying was so much fun!” “I’m so proud of you.” “Draco did it, he taught me to fly!” The group suddenly got quiet. Ron stepped back. “Yeah, what’s that about? We’ve been trying to teach you for years, you never even gave it a shot. How did ferret-boy get you on a broom?”

“Ron, stop that right now. You can’t just go around insulting people for the fun of it.”

“Fun of it? That’s Malfoy. You can’t seriously expect me to be nice to Malfoy.”

“I certainly can. The war is over and in case you’ve forgotten he had a big part in ending it. You can’t keep treating him like he is evil incarnate.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Draco broke in with a lazy drawl before Ron could frame a response. “I think my evil credentials are pretty impeccable, wouldn’t you agree, Potter?”

Harry had the grace to look embarrassed. “You’ve had your moments.”

“Yes. I have. I appreciate the support, Hermione, but if I am going to change my reputation around here, I have to earn it. There is no instant redemption.”

“No, there isn’t, but you made some progress today. We wouldn’t be very good friends if we didn’t appreciate what you just did for Hermione.” Harry stepped forward to shake Draco’s hand. “Thanks for that. How did you manage it?”

Hermione stepped backwards and turned to Draco, wide-eyed, as if she only then realized that they were going to have to explain what had happened. “Malfoy family secret,” Draco replied, taking Harry’s hand. “It’s the same way my dad taught me. I had to Fidelius Hermione before I could show her.” Hermione gave him a grateful smile.

“Well, we don’t want to interfere with your Quidditch practice,” she said. “Hell with that! We’ve got to celebrate.” Ron caught her around the waist and spun her around.

“We can get the pitch tomorrow,” added Harry, “this is more important.” They ran into the rest of the team just before they reached the castle. Draco had picked up Hermione’s robe and trailed behind. He watched as a mass of Gryffindors circled around and grasped hands, making a limbular trampoline to toss Hermione, once, twice, three times in the air as they cheered her achievement.

She was beautiful. Head thrown back, cheeks glowing with pride. Her best efforts barely held her skirt down to cover her crotch. She was all flying legs and hair and exuberant joy. He watched her, smiling. She was celebrating with her friends, that was good. Later, she would come back to their rooms and remember who had given her this triumph, and what else he had made her feel. He could wait.

Crabbe and Goyle came across the courtyard to join him and followed his gaze. “Not a bad bit of stuff.” “Nah, not bad. Wouldn’t mind a piece of that, myself.” Draco hardly moved. Or, rather, hardly any of Draco moved. Just his arm. The one that flew out, grabbed Goyle by his collar and drew him close. Draco’s eyes never moved from Hermione’s celebration as he casually said: “You should watch yourself. That’s the future Mrs. Malfoy you’re talking about.”

“Err, right. Sorry, mate.”

“Does she know?” Crabbe asked, hesitantly.

“Not yet.”

/-/-/-/-/-/

Draco had put a lot of thought into how to restore his family name. The Wizarding World was changing. Blood no longer counted the way it had in the past. Money would always matter, but he had no interest in being seen as the scion of one of those wealthy, debauched families that had nothing but galleons. He wanted prestige and power. His father had squandered the legacy of the Malfoy heritage; Draco would rebuild it.

He had already started the process. He had given strict instructions to his estate managers on how the family holdings should be handled. Some of the more questionable investments would be dropped, regardless of the financial implications. He had a highly competent public relations manager looking into the options for charitable contributions and philanthropic activities. None of these, however, would suffice to clear the Malfoys of their associations with Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He needed something that would dramatically change the image of his family name.

He had first thought of Hermione in that context the previous summer. After fleeing Hogwarts, he and Snape had spent weeks in hiding, sounding out the Dark Lord’s response to Draco’s failure to kill Dumbledore. When news reached them of the Voldemort’s cold-blooded execution of his parents, they had presented themselves at 12 Grimmauld Place.

The war was going reasonably well. The Ministry of Magic had responded quickly to the attack at Hogwarts. Aurors had been dispatched to round up everyone who had ever been suspected of Death Eater involvement. The liberal use of Vitaserum had been authorized, and Voldemort’s inner circle had been decimated. Unfortunately, this only cleared out the senior ranks. No one seemed to know who the more recent recruits were.

When Draco and Snape appeared at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, they had valuable information to trade. By then, everyone of importance knew of Dumbledore’s failed plan to sacrifice himself in order to infiltrate Voldemort’s ranks. Snape was no longer suspect, but Draco had no valid justification for his actions. What he had was information. He had been present, at his father’s insistence, at a series of Voldemort’s initiation rites. He could name most of the recent inductees into the ranks of the Death Eaters.

Using Draco’s information, the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic had executed a series of coordinated raids on the homes of Voldemort’s followers. They had caught the majority straight out and a great many more by holding their family members hostage. Voldemort’s forces were fatally weakened and the final confrontation, a month later, had been relatively straightforward. Not that they had gotten away without loss. Among those who died during the raids and the final battle were Alastair Moody, Fred Weasley, and Nymphadora Tonks. Each loss counted, but there were fewer than anyone had dared to hope for.

Draco had stayed true to his heritage in one sense. He never stopped planning. Most of the plans came to nothing, but he learned to adjust. He made new plans. Multiple plans. Some of them would work out.

One of those plans was Hermione.

For years he had thought of her as a thorn in his side. He knew, knew, deep in the depths of his soul, that pure-bloods were better at magic than Muggle-borns or mixed-bloods. He had been told this since birth. But there she always was. This Muggle-born witch who bested him at every subject. Not by much, mind you, but she always managed to top him at every class. The worst part was that she never seemed to notice that they were rivals. He was enmeshed in a fierce competition with her, but she just worked to achieve for its own reward.

That summer, at Grimmauld Place, he had been forced to rethink a lot of things. The ideas he had been brought up to believe were falling apart before his eyes. Everything he had clung to was drifting away. He thought about leaving Britain, taking his fortune with him and starting over in America or on the continent, but he was uncomfortable with the idea of himself as a cowardly runner. He considered playing his father’s game without the connection to the Dark Lord: Draco Malfoy as a suave, sophisticated power broker and cunning financier. He liked that image even less.

Then he saw her. He had seen her thousands of times before, but this was different. He saw her, not as a swotty competitor for academic glory, or as a warrior in the struggle between light and dark. He knew those things without having to see them. One morning, he walked out of his bedroom and saw her as a potential means to his salvation.

It was the morning after a major skirmish. The house was crowded with fighters, sleeping pallets covering every spare inch of hallway and landing. She came out of the bathroom after taking a shower, wearing nothing but a faded terry-cloth robe and a towel around her hair. Standing there, in the dingy hallway, wearing shabby shower-wear, she was every inch the lady of the manor. There was something about the way she carried herself, even while she parried the lewd suggestions from her comrades. She somehow managed to spread warmth and humor in that crude company, while still maintaining her dignity. Draco watched admiringly as she epitomized the standard he had been raised to aspire to: grace under pressure.

He knew then that she could be the key to restoring his family’s name.

She was everything the Malfoy name was not. They were rich, connected and powerful, but they suffered from too strong an association with corruption and malevolence. She represented purity, innocence, strength, nobility, and virtue. If he could ally with her, he would nullify in one stroke all the damage his father had done to his heritage.

He knew it would cost him. She was not the kind of woman who would be kept lightly. He would not have his father’s options for extra-curricular amusement. Then again, his father had not had to make up for such heinous behavior in his own forbearers. Draco would do whatever it took to restore his family’s reputation. It didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes and intelligent enough to keep his interest. He hoped.

He planned.

His plans were given a major boost when he was named Head Boy to her Head Girl. It had been a political decision. Hermione had earned her spot by topping the class for six straight years. No one questioned her right to have it. Popular sentiment demanded that Harry Potter get the other position, but that would have meant both heads would be from the same house. It would also have set up the leading hero of the war as a leader of the school. While some supported that idea, others felt that students whose parents had chosen the other side would be facing a difficult enough year without having to obey instructions from the instrument of their parents’ defeat. Draco was the obvious second choice. He had the second best academic record and he came from a family that had supported Voldemort. By switching sides, he had earned sufficient trust to be acceptable.

From Draco’s point of view, being Head Boy meant round the clock access to Hermione.

/-/-/-/-/-/

She came back to their common room a few hours later. “You should have been there,” she declared, as she flopped down on the sofa. “It was brilliant. Dennis charmed little stick-figures of me to fly around the room and dive-bomb everyone and Ron and Harry did a hilarious impression of you and me on a broom.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did, I really did. But I wish you had been there. It was your achievement as much as mine.”

“Oh, come on, Granger, can you really picture me at a Gryffindor party?” His eyebrow was hovering at the edge of oblivion as it disappeared into his fringe.

“Ok, maybe not. But we proved your theory, didn’t we?” She sat up a bit and grinned at him.

He had to smile at her enthusiasm. “Yes. It was a bit of a success, wasn’t it.” In more ways than one. “I felt rather good about the whole thing.” You felt rather good, too.

She sat up all the way. “Why do I think you are mocking me?”

“Me? Mocking you? I would never do that. I swear on my honor as a Malfoy,” he declared, dramatically, with his hand on his heart.

“Yes,” she giggled, “and we all know that the honor of a Malfoy is unassailable.”

The smile dropped from his face, but he kept eye contact. “Oh, Draco, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I was just teasing.”

“It’s ok. I know what my family name means these days.” He managed to keep his voice level. There was an awkward silence, broken by an even more awkward question.

“Draco, I wanted to ask you about what happened. When we were flying? I mean...” She walked over to the fireplace and stood facing away from him. “I don’t have a lot of experience with men, and I can’t ask Harry or Ron about this sort of thing, they would die rather than talk to me about it, and you just seem so comfortable with physical things, I wondered if I could ask you about it, would that be all right?”

Would what be all right? She obviously wanted to talk about what had happened on the broom, which was probably a good thing, since talking about sex meant thinking about sex and he wanted her thinking about having sex with him, but what exactly was she getting at? “Some men are childish about these things. I’d like to think I’m beyond that.” Good. That was Malfoyish and cool without actually revealing that he had absolutely no idea where she was going with this.

“It’s just, I was wondering about the way you reacted. Would you have that reaction with anyone?”

The way he reacted? Did she mean? Oh, right. She wanted to know why he had a hard-on he could have flown on. Who needed a broomstick, when he’d had a stick of his own.

“Well, you have to understand. Any seventeen year old guy who has a girl between his legs, one hand up her skirt and another on her tit is going to get an erection.” He watched her flinch, then her shoulders slumped, just a bit. “Of course, that’s the wrong question. The real question is, who I would do that with in the first place.” He stepped up behind her. “I’m pretty selective.” He dropped his hands to her waist. “I did want to see if it would help you conquer your fear of flying, but I wouldn’t have done it with just anyone. I took you there because I wanted to see you fly. You are the most talented magician, witch or wizard, that I have ever seen, and I wanted to be with you the first time you really flew.” He was whispering in her ear, pressed against her. “No one else will ever see what I saw today. No one else will ever know what it was like the first time Hermione Granger conquered her fears and took to the sky. You’re right, of course. Any girl can get any guy hard. You did much more than that. You gave me a moment of pure magic,” and he pressed a kiss to her temple and walked back to his room, leaving her trembling by the fireplace.

Step four – begin to gently push the boundaries
Substep A – introduce a sexual element, without an explicit proposition
Substep B – imply the possibility of a more serious interest

Check and check.

/-/-/-/-/-/

He managed to stay calm for the rest of the day. Back in their common room that evening, though, it was starting to get to him. All he could think about was how she had felt. He replayed every moment of the ride over and over. She had shivered when he kissed her neck, he was sure of it. Had that been a moan when he nibbled on her earlobe? And that delicious little move she did with her hips. He mentally rewrote the dialogue of that moment.

“What about that?” I could pretend that I don’t notice your hard cock pressed against me, but I don’t want to do that. I want you to know I notice. I want you to know that I’m thinking about it, how big it is, how it feels, what touching me does to it.

“That, my dear, will go away a lot faster if you don’t tease it. The choice is yours.” We can take this as far as you want to, sweetheart. We can flip up that skirt of yours, rip off your knickers and slide you back onto me. I’ll open my fly and slip into you and we’ll give new meaning to riding a broom.

Draco should definitely have had that particular thought in his own room. Hermione walked into the common room and caught him with a strained look on his face. “Are you all right? Draco, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Why should anything be wrong? Six months ago I was a Death Eater, planning to murder an old man who had never been anything but kind to me, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that purity of blood is the defining characteristic in the strength of magic and I had two, living, functioning parents. Now, nothing I ever believed in or worked for makes sense any more. I am trying to piece together some kind of reasonable explanation for life that doesn’t end up with everything I have been and done up until now being anathema to any decent human being. Things are peachy, here, Granger. Just peachy.”

“Ok. Umm. I’ll just go to my room now. Good night?”

That had not gone well. On the up side, he had managed not to say ‘I’m fine, you just interrupted me when I was about to have a good wank thinking about the way your arse felt rubbing my cock.’ On the down side, Step five was not ‘acting like a pathetic mental case who had completely lost the plot.’ Step five was supposed to be ‘make small, thoughtful gestures’. He wanted her admiration and desire, not her pity. Though, if he was perfectly honest with himself, at the moment he would have been quite happy to settle for a pity-fuck. Damn, she was getting to him. That was not part of the plan.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Something was different. The common room smelled like, mint? Draco sniffed the air suspiciously. “Aroma therapy. It’s a Muggle technique to help adjust your moods. I used peppermint. It’s supposed to be soothing.”

“I didn’t realize you were feeling stressed.”

“I’m not. It’s for you.”

NO! No, no, no. Ok, yes, the next step was small, thoughtful gestures, but damn it, he was supposed to be the one making them. Where did she get off beating him to the punch? “Look, I’m fine, really. I’m sorry about yesterday. I was just blowing off steam.”

“No, I’m sorry. I should have realized. I mean, it is pretty obvious, after all. If knowing everything you have been through wasn’t enough of a clue, your project on the impact of early childhood training on the development of magical powers might as well be a flashing billboard saying ‘Warning, person processing stuff here, lots of deep thinking going on.’ I can’t believe I have been so self-absorbed I didn’t even notice what you were going through. I really am sorry, Draco. I’ll try to be more sensitive from now on.”

Bloody hell. She just did Step 6 – demonstrate sensitivity to thoughts and feelings. He was going to have to start getting up earlier just to keep ahead of her.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I should be able to deal with my own problems without dumping them on you. You were feeling so good and I was too selfish to let you enjoy it. You deserve better than that.” This has got to stop. If this conversation gets any more maudlin I am going to barf all over her, which would not be a good thing. Must. End. This…somehow.

“We could do this all day, you know? What do you say we just call it even and move on?” She is a goddess. She is the perfect woman. I am not even in her league. What kind of crap is this? Stop it Malfoy, she’s just a girl.

“Sounds good to me. Umm, I’m going to get some breakfast. Have you eaten?”

“Maybe in a bit. I want to finish this letter to my Mum.”

”Can I bring you something?”

Hermione had gone back to writing, but she looked up and smiled at him now. “A muffin would be lovely. Thank you, Draco.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” Oops. He was not supposed to call her that until at least Step 11. That was his sexual fantasy name for her, it should not be leaking over into real life. This was getting out of control. She had gone back to writing, though, so maybe she had not noticed. No. She was grinning, just a little bit. Why was he still standing there looking at her? Move, feet, take me to the Great Hall. Now.

He was leaning on his elbows staring at his food. “Malfoy? You ok?” Blaise Zabini might not be a close friend, but they had been dorm-mates for six years. He knew Draco’s usual moods and this did not look like any of them.

“Yeah. I just have some things on my mind.” Ok, one thing. One girl. I have got to stop thinking about her. She’s supposed to be obsessing about me, not the other way around.

“So go for a fly. Isn’t that what you usually do to relax?” Yeah, right. Get up on a broom and imagine her there with me. That is really going to help. I’d be better off taking a swim in the lake with the giant squid.

“Yeah, I might just do that. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

/-/-/-/-/-/

He got through the next week by dint of spending a lot more time than usual in the Slytherin common room. This was not conducive to making progress with his plan, but things had been moving along too quickly in that area anyway. Taking a bit of time out to consolidate his position was a good idea. In fact, he convinced himself that he should probably just keep things where they were for a while. A few thoughtful gestures, like leaving a library book she would need for her homework on the common room table with a little note on it. Occasional casual touches, just resting a hand briefly on her shoulder as he walked past her or rubbing an imaginary stray ink mark off of her cheek. Nothing more than that. By Friday he was feeling back in control.

“So, what about tomorrow morning?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, last week you said that next time we should work on landings. Do you want to do that tomorrow morning?”

Shit. The jolt of sexual energy that shot through him at the mere suggestion of another broom ride dispelled any illusions he had that he had mastered his feelings. He wanted to, badly, but was it a good idea? He briefly toyed with the idea of begging off, but realistically, there was no way he was going to be able to turn down the chance to hold her for an hour, even if it was in a semi-public place.

This time, Hermione had no problem getting the broom up in the air. She circled the stadium a few times, then tried out the looping and feinting maneuvers he had taught her the week before. Draco managed to stay focused on the task at hand, though it took a fair amount of concentration not to lapse into fantasies or let his hands stray. “Would it help if we shagged?”

“WHAT!?!”

“I was just thinking, since we are obviously attracted to each other, and you’ve been avoiding me a bit ever since the topic came up, maybe it would help to clear the tension if we just got it over with and had a good shag.”

“Ok. Landing. NOW!” He could feel her giggling as she steered the broom down towards the pitch. It was a bit better than her last effort and they managed to dismount voluntarily. “You have to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Granger. You keep pushing me. Rubbing against me while we were flying last week. That little question about my ‘reaction’ to you. And now this. You know exactly what you are doing and I don’t like it.”

Her face fell. “I’m sorry, Draco. I thought you were interested. I must have misread the signals, somehow. You have to believe me, I would never have flirted with you if I had known you weren’t interested. I don’t do things like that. You don’t have to worry, it won’t happen again.”

She turned and started to walk away. “That’s not what I meant.” He grabbed her arm and spun her back towards him. “Of course I’m interested. I just don’t like you pushing the pace. The plan is to take things slowly.”

“I didn’t realize there was a plan.”

“There is.”

“I see. And when exactly do we get to the shagging, in this brilliant plan of yours?”

She was mocking his plan. She really was. “Step seventeen.”

“And how many steps are there in the plan, all together.”

“Twenty-five.”

“So what is step twenty-five?”

“I don’t think I should tell you.”

“Why not? It doesn’t sound like I have any input into the process, anyway. Do I? Or am I just supposed to sit back and let you orchestrate everything. I mean, if I’m just a passive observer on this trip, I might as well know we’re going.”

Draco sighed. Dad had been wrong about a lot of other things. Maybe the planning process needed some revision too. “This is against my better judgement, but you do have a valid point, so I’ll answer your question. Step twenty-five is when you agree to marry me.”

Hermione gasped. “But, but… Really?”

“Yes, really. That’s why I want to take it slow. I’m not just looking for a quick shag, Hermione, I want forever. You don’t get there by jumping into bed at the first chance.”

“I had no idea.” Draco quirked an eyebrow. “No, honestly. It never occurred to me.”

“Because the idea of you marrying me is so completely preposterous?”

“No, Draco, no.” She cupped his face in her hands. “There is nothing preposterous about it, except, well, we’re seventeen, we’re still in school and there are at least half a dozen people who would kill you if they knew you were thinking about it.” She let her hands slide down to his shoulders, while his took up their usual positions at her waist. “People don’t decide who they are going to marry when they are our age. I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. I’m sort of stunned that you were.”

“I know what I want, Hermione. I can wait if you need time, but I won’t change my mind. Now do you see why I wanted to move slowly? I was hoping to have you a bit more convinced before we had this conversation.”

“I do see. But I think I should get some input into the process.”

“I’m willing to consider that.”

“What step is kissing?”

“Ten.”

“And where are we now?”

“Well, up until about 20 minutes ago we were at six.”

“In that case, I’d like to suggest that we skip ahead to ten now, with an option on seventeen in the very near future.”

Draco made a show of considering the idea. “I can agree to that under one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to let me make the first move.”

“Agreed, as long as you hurry up and get to it.”

“Shut up, sweetheart,” he said, as he leaned in and kissed her.