Chapter Text
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February, 2005.
Hermione Jean Granger was having a terrible day.
First thing in the morning, just as she was getting out of the bath after being woken up by the ungodly screeches of Lady Walburga Black —who was screaming slurs and insults at the top of her lungs after a drunken Ginny arrived at Grimmauld and stumbled on her portrait after winning her Quidditch match— Hermione had to rush to the kitchen where she found an equally drunk Ron trying to cook an English breakfast but only succeeding in almost burning the whole house down.
Hermione obviously had to put out the fire by herself, since Ginny and Ron would only make things worse, and Harry was nowhere to be found —probably still out to actually get them all some edible food—.
Then Hermione’s usually pristine clothes for work —some well-tailored black slacks and a crisp and impeccable white shirt— ended up terribly wrinkly and almost ripped to shreds after the redheaded siblings —in their drunken stupor— tried to help her “get ready for work” after the mess they caused.
And finally, she had to stay at home longer than she expected, waiting for Harry —who blessedly arrived with some actual food—, so Hermione ate and hastily brewed a batch of pepper-up for the siblings to drink and sober up, which led her to be late for work, and unable to properly iron her clothes again.
But the worst of it was that, despite telling her assistant to reschedule all her non-urgent appointments, one Narcissa Black Malfoy, the British representative of the ICW, decided to request to see her immediately even if Hermione was firm about not meeting anyone today —not that the haughty and imperious older woman would ever take a no for an answer anyway—.
“Ms. Granger, good morning.” Narcissa says pleasantly when she enters her office while Hermione’s assistant tries to stop her and explains that she cannot just come in without an appointment —not that Mrs. Malfoy is even listening to him.
“Mrs. Malfoy. You do not have an appointment, may I ask what can I help you with you with?” Hermione tiredly and grumpily asks the blonde —yet she cannot help but notice how good the blue eyed woman looks with that well-fitted, tight, but classy green emerald dress that shows off her slim figure and her very pale soft looking skin that seems to glow even more than her immaculate shiny golden hair and her priceless diamond necklace.
The older woman ignores the first part of the sentence, and instead sits down primly in the chair opposite to Hermione’s desk, and addresses Hermione’s assistant while her crystalline and sharp blue eyes focus unnervingly on the increasingly frustrated head of the DMLE.
“Would you please be a dear a bring us some tea, Mr-?” The blonde says and Dennis, Hermione’s assistant, blushes and answers the blonde eagerly.
“Creevey. Dennis Creevey, Madam Black.” The young man, barely out of Hogwarts a few years ago, stutters with blushed cheeks.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Creevey.” Mrs. Malfoy answers pleasantly with a smooth voice, and Hermione rolls her eyes when Dennis immediately beams at the woman and excuses himself to bring them the blasted tea.
“My assistant is not your house elf, Mrs. Malfoy.” Hermione mutters disapprovingly after Dennis comes back right away with the tea before leaving the office again.
“I’m well aware that he isn’t part of my staff, Ms. Granger, since I am certainly not paying him anything.” The ridiculously entitled and admittedly gorgeous older woman answers calmly while her red blood lips carefully take a sip of her hot tea —an action that somehow bothers Hermione, who follows all of the blonde’s movements with her eyes, even more.
“What does that even mean?” Hermione tells her with clenched teeth and the blonde barely smiles at her with a raised and perfectly styled blonde eyebrow. Then a flick of her wand makes Hermione squeak in surprise and outrage when her clothes suddenly feel strange all over her body.
“It means exactly what I said. Mr Creevey certainly can’t be part of my staff since I’m quite sure that it is the ministry itself that pays his wages, as I pay the wages of my all my household and my elves as the law clearly states —a law that you wrote and vouched for yourself, if I may remind you, Ms. Granger—.”
“What was that spell?!” Hermione asks in alarm, looking at herself but not finding anything strange and ignoring the talk about laws and Narcissa’s clear provocations.
“A simple spell to make you look a bit more presentable, Ms. Granger. It seems you had quite the rough night as I did not remember you favouring such unkempt fashion style.” Narcissa says and points at her now wrinkle free clothes with a smirk so infuriating that for a moment makes Hermione want to either slap her or kiss her.
Merlin. She must be more sleep deprived and tired than she thought if she is thinking of Malfoy’s blasted mother like that —because even if Narcissa and Hermione have learned to tolerate each other after their rare work meetings or the scarce times they have seen each other at Andy’s house, the striking blonde is not quite her type.
“How did you even do that?” Hermione asks dumbfounded, looking at her now pristine white shirt and slacks.
“Magic, Ms. Granger. Aren’t you a witch?” Narcissa says playfully and with a smile as she takes another sip of her tea —licking her teeth sensually, or maybe Hermione is really imagining things—. “You are quite welcome anyway. We wouldn’t want you to look like a riff-raff when meeting our esteemed minister, wouldn’t we, dear?”
“How do you even know about the meeting, Mrs. Malfoy? It is supposed to be confidential” Hermione grumbles and Narcissa looks at her with a knowing look —as if Hermione was asking foolish questions—.
“Well, I have my ways.” Narcissa says with a smirk and another sip of her tea. “But if you must know, minister Shacklebolt kindly asked for my presence and expertise to deal with your current problems within the DMLE and those of Mr. Zabini’s in his department.” The blonde explains simply and Hermione scowls at the reminder of that entitled prat, Zabini, and at the reminder of the recent burglary attempts in some of the ancient pureblood vaults and manors.
“Your expertise?” Hermione scoffs with crossed arms and Narcissa barely tuts at her and shakes her head mockingly as if Hermione were a grumpy and misbehaving child.
“No need to get so moody, Ms. Granger. I barely came here to have the courtesy of informing you of my presence in your next meeting. And honestly, anyone with half of their wits intact and functional would know that I’m the best at what I do.” The blonde states factually and the tone of her voice —not full of pretentious arrogance like her husband or her son, but clear, honest and confident in her own abilities— gets even more on Hermione’s last nerve.
The woman is insufferable, and yet every time Hermione looks at her she cannot help but feel a visceral desire to get that smirk off her beautiful face and put that prissy, pureblood princess —who thinks so highly of herself to believe she can just barge into Hermione’s office to waste her time— in her place. “Well, thank you for your kindness and consideration, Mrs. Malfoy. I shall see you later in the meeting”
But even after the clear dismissal Narcissa doesn’t bother to move an inch, and instead looks at Hermione up and down as if she were a predator looking at her prey.
“Do you need something else, Mrs. Malfoy?” Hermione asks with annoyance and frustration dripping from her every word when she notices the still sitting blonde looking at her with those icy and stunning eyes of hers.
“Perhaps I do.” The blonde answers in a clear, cool voice and a raised brow —unperturbed by Hermione’s growing aggression and agitation.
“What else could you possible want from me?” Hermione barks —and she would be ashamed of herself for losing her temper so easily, but the older woman makes her tick in ways she has never felt before, not since almost ten years when she was in her fourth year and being annoyed and chased by another gorgeous blue eyed blonde.
Maybe Ginny and Ron are right and Hermione does have a type. Merlin, she hates blondes.
“Patience, Ms. Granger. It is quite rude and unseemly to interrupt a lady.” Narcissa says with disapproval while still slowly drinking her tea —ignoring Hermione’s affronted scoff of disbelief at the gall of the older woman.
And yet her words work wonders and Hermione stays quiet.
“You see, you have quite the loud mind.” The older woman says matter of factly, smiling at her with heavily lidded and sparkling blue eyes and a dangerously knowing smirk.
“Excuse me?” Hermione splutters, hoping that Narcissa doesn’t mean what she believes she is implying.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you and I share a chemistry of sorts, Ms. Granger.” The blue eyed woman says and Hermione almost chokes on air. “Though I bet your girlfriend, Ms. Weasley, would not like my proposal.”
“Ginny is not my girlfriend. She is my friend. You know that, Narcissa.” Hermione answers defensively and Narcissa laughs melodically.
“It was a little joke, Ms. Granger. No need to get all sensitive, you should relieve some of that frustration and explosive temper of yours. Perhaps you need an outlet of sorts?” Narcissa says teasingly. “Though I’m very happy at the reminder of your current romantic status.”
“Mrs. Malfoy, I have no time for your messed up mind games, I beseech you to please get to the point.” Hermione, now feeling hot and bothered underneath her clothes, demands to the infuriating blonde.
“Fine then. I shall be more straightforward if that is what you wish” Narcissa says with a final sip of her tea. “I have a particular problem. One that you are well suited to help me with, and I believe that you have an itch that you need to scratch, Ms. Granger.”
Hermione, who until now had avoided touching her tea, chokes on it after hearing the outrageous proposal. “What?” She eventually manages to whisper, looking at the older woman with wide honey brown eyes full of disbelief.
This must be a wild and naughty dream of Hermione’s. She is certain of it, because there is no way in hell that Narcissa Black Malfoy —a past pureblood supremacist, a high society woman, Draco’s mum and Lucius’ soon to be ex-wife— is proposing to her of all people.
“It would be something casual, however. So you must not worry as there would be no bonds or strings attached to our agreement.” Narcissa continues explaining and Hermione cannot help the blush that appears on her lightly freckled cheeks and the mortifying twitch between her legs.
“I- Mrs. Malfoy, assuming this is not a cruel joke, why me? I imagine that I’m hardly your kind of ideal partner even if there are no strings attached” Hermione says breathlessly, her knuckles completely white while she holds the edge of her desk with a hard grip, and yet Narcissa is still acting as if she just asked her about the weather.
“Quite a simple reason, Ms. Granger. Let’s imagine that I went to someone else with this proposal, what would happen next is that said person wouldn’t even waste a breath to go all over our world to brag about it and drag my name through the mud. How embarrassing.” Narcissa explains calmly while Hermione frowns. “And while I couldn’t care less about what people say about me, I would rather not have a scandal that could jeopardise my son’s recent engagement to Ms. Greengrass. He has enough on his plate already with the news of my upcoming divorce to Lucius —my Draco is a sensitive boy.”
Hermione almost laughs at the last sentence but she knows Mrs. Malfoy would not appreciate it and there are more important matters at hand than the blond ferret. “No offence, Mrs. Malfoy, but what does that have to do with me?”
Narcissa smiles again, one of her soft and elegant hands reaching out over the desk to softly caress Hermione’s scarred knuckles. “Another easy question there. You are perfect for this agreement because I don’t think you would want anyone to know about a possible association with me. You are too respectful and honourable to brag about it, and it seems you despise me even if you clearly desire me. So, why not you? It also doesn’t hurt that you are quite pretty and intelligent.”
“I’m flattered, Mrs. Malfoy, but this is madness. I rather not get into a weird sexual contract or blood pact with anyone.” Hermione says with a shudder, not wanting to think about the outrageous and sexist pureblood culture even if her body is thrilled at the thought of touching the woman in front of her.
“Why would I propose such a barbaric thing?” Narcissa says seriously. “We are both fully grown women and two consenting adults, I shall trust you and you shall trust me —simple as that.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. But let’s get this straight, you want me to be your enemy with benefits or something like that? That is ridiculous, Mrs. Malfoy. Aren’t you also forgetting that you are a married woman?” Hermione argues with the blonde —who is unrelenting.
“If that is what you wish to call it, then yes, that is what I want. It would mutually beneficial for both of us, I assure you.” Narcissa confirms and Hermione gulps down heavily to fight her growing desire. “And don’t worry about Lucius, what he doesn’t know will not hurt him. And may I remind you that I’m in the process of divorcing him?”
“This is a horrible and non-sensical idea.” Hermione insists and Narcissa sighs once but looks at her with kind blue eyes before standing up from her chair.
“I’m a grown woman, Ms. Granger, a little rejection won’t hurt my sensibilities nor my feelings. I understand if you are not interested. Thank you for your time and for the tea.” The blonde says sincerely and Hermione can only sit there looking at the older woman walking towards the door of her office.
Harry and Ron have always said that Hermione can be even more impulsive than they are, and she has never believed them —until now.
And she doesn’t even know how or when it happened, but Hermione was sitting on her chair in front of her messy desk one second and the next one she was rushing to the blonde and grabbing her hand before she could reach the door —pulling her towards her and turning Narcissa around to press her against the desk while Hermione muttered a wandless spell to lock the door.
Narcissa gaps in surprise, her head turning around to look at her with wild and wide crystalline blue eyes, but Hermione merely presses her further against the desk until the front of the older woman’s slim form is almost bent over it obscenely.
I’ll take this as a yes then. Hermione hears a voice in her mind and sees Narcissa smile with satisfaction, which only serves to anger and rile up Hermione even more.
Lithe and lightly scarred tanned hands travel down from the full breasts with hardened nipples of the older woman —making the blonde sigh in pleasure— to touch underneath the dark green dress covering the slim and toned body and Hermione groans in delight when her fingers touch the dripping hot flesh between Narcissa’s legs —barely covered by her high end lingerie.
“So needy. So wet and ready from barely a few touches” Hermione whispers in awe to herself but Narcissa must have heard her because she moans softly in agreement.
The blonde whimpers at her teasing touches on her covered core, her hips moving backwards eagerly to press more of herself on the younger woman’s body, but Hermione’s free hand only presses the woman’s body even closer to the desk until Narcissa is almost completely laying on it.
“Please,” the older woman pleads with a moan with fully dilated blue eyes, her usually crystalline cerulean eyes so dark with desire that Hermione can only moan back as her fingers greedily pull back from the blonde’s slick covered centre to harshly push up the lower half of the expensive dark green dress —which Hermione is sure costs most than her yearly salary— until it reaches Narcissa’s slim waist, making the blonde woman moan dreamily and Hermione’s breath leave her lungs when she sees the sight before her.
A black, silky and lacy thong covers a hot, wet core and it is followed by an equally sensual and irresistible garter belt that sinfully holds pale, smooth thighs and a slim waist with a flat stomach —and Hermione can also see the long, toned legs of the blonde being framed beautifully by her high black, sharp heels.
Merlin. Hermione is not blind and she has always known that Mrs. Malfoy is a ridiculously breathtaking woman —looking barely over thirty despite having a prat of son that is the same age as Hermione herself— but seeing the prissy, untouchable and sophisticated woman like this —all wet, messy, eager and hungry for Hermione— makes the younger woman feel like an animal wanting to breed despite usually priding herself in her impeccable self-control and restraint.
And she must have been stuck in her thoughts of sex, a beautiful body, silky blonde hair and bright clear blue eyes for too long because Mrs. Malfoy opens her fluttering and dilated crystalline eyes to look at her own aroused honey eyes impatiently and huskily whispers: “Done already, girl? And here I thought you were going to show me my place.”
“Be quiet.” Hermione answers angrily, realising now that the blonde must have been inside her mind the whole time, so she presses the blonde closer and harsher against the now even messier desk —Hermione can even see an ink-pot and its contents staining all of her monthly hard-work—, and said fact that makes her angrier when Narcissa just dares to laugh in response of her thoughts and looks at her with mocking and daring blue eyes.
“All bark and no bite, it seems. How very disappointing, Ms. Granger.” The blonde says cruelly and her words and her pretentious tone incense the curly haired brunette so much that one her hands moves to grab a fistful of the silk, fine, fair hair as Hermione leans forward and presses her own tense body against the woman —making Narcissa whimper quietly.
“I told you to be quiet.” Hermione whispers against the blonde’s ear and sees the blonde bite her lip and shiver in response.
But that won’t do.
Malfoy’s dearest mummy says Hermione is all bark and no bite? Oh, how dare she!? She will show her how wrong she is and she will make the woman scream so loud that her arse of a son and loser of a soon to ex-husband will hear her all the way to Azkaban.
Tell me if you want to stop. Hermione thinks loudly and sees Narcissa nod in response.
Then, when Mrs. Malfoy is about to speak once again —to most likely mock her or provoke her, Hermione is certain—, Hermione stops her with a light but firm spank on a pale butt cheek that has the blonde gasping and letting a sinful and dirty moan in the next breath.
“How dare-” Narcissa starts to say in a furious voice but Hermione is once again faster, using her other hand to turn her face to her own and shutting her up with a kiss full of teeth and tongue that makes the blonde close her eyes and moan in her mouth, effectively distracting her long enough for Hermione to pull her drenched underwear to the side and find the pulsing nub between the dripping folds framed by the carefully trimmed blonde soft hair of the older woman’s eager centre.
“Oh!” The blonde whines and her hips try to roll and coax more of Hermione’s touch.
“Stay still or I’ll stop.” Hermione warns her with a growl and her other hand spanks the blonde’s arse again, making Narcissa moan so sinfully that it makes Hermione want to touch herself to try to relieve some of the almost unbearable pressure between her legs as her excited and traitorous member begs to be let out to get some release.
Narcissa’s pale inner thighs are already full of slick, clear fluid from barely a few touches on her clit —so pretty, so responsive and so hungry for more already, Hermione thinks with delight and desire.
But Hermione won’t give her such pleasure, she won’t fall for her games —and surely this won’t mean anything if Narcissa doesn’t touch Hermione herself even if Hermione does touch her.
Yes, darling. No strings attached, just sex. Hermione hears in her mind and that is all she needs to hear —circling the fluttering and dripping entrance teasingly a few times and making the blonde moan louder when she slips two fingers inside her.
But what surprises her even more is just how responsive Narcissa is —the wet, hot walls clenching around her fingers suddenly and hungrily when Narcissa reaches an unexpected peak that has her dripping all over Hermione’s fingers down to her wrist.
The blonde is biting her bottom lip trying to stay quiet like Hermione told her, and yet a few whimpers escape her lips and betray her pleasure —making Hermione growl in response as she tries to stop herself from grinding into the older woman.
But despite Mrs. Malfoy having just orgasmed, Hermione is far from done.
Put me in my place then. Hermione hears inside her mind and she answers to the teasing and breathless husky voice by biting and sucking the pale neck of the blonde —leaving a very obvious mark that immediately starts turning into a hickey.
“Aren’t you needy?” Hermione whispers on Narcissa’s ear, making the blonde whine in response when Hermione starts pumping her fingers —three now— in and out of the wet, hot, clenching walls of the other woman.
And Narcissa is so aroused that her slick fluids drip deliciously all over her thighs, the floor and even onto some of Hermione’s precious documents —a fact that should worry Hermione, but it only turns her on even more.
It makes Hermione groan in pleasure and the throbbing between her legs only grows exponentially to the point that the brunette is almost afraid to climax inside her slacks.
A knock interrupts them then, with the voice of Dennis filling the room and making Narcissa go stiff in Hermione’s arms.
“Ms. Granger. I just wanted to remind you of your reunion with Minister Shacklebolt in 10 minutes,” he says meekly and Hermione kisses the expanse of Narcissa’s neck to relax her, projecting her thoughts into the blonde’s head. Don’t worry, he can’t hear us.
The blonde sighs in pleasure and Hermione keeps on thrusting into her, eager to send the woman into another climax to get ready for the meeting.
“Hermione. Are you there?” Creevey asks hesitantly and Hermione is about to ignore him again when she hears Narcissa’s voice inside her head.
Answer him, darling. I’ll be quiet.
Hermione moans loudly, pumping harder and grinding into the blonde to almost hump against her —using the strength of her hips to thrust her fingers deeper into her.
And Narcissa stays quiet, biting her full bottom lip to the point that her dark red lipstick stains with fresh blood.
“Thanks, Dennis. I’ll be there” Hermione answers quickly after cancelling the muffliato for a few seconds.
And when the spell is back in place, Narcissa moans loudly as another climax hits her whole body with the strength of a tidal wave —leaving her trembling and almost boneless on the desk and clenching on the younger woman’s three fingers as if she wants to milk her.
Hermione whines pitifully —thinking about how good the blonde would feel coming all over her hard cock, a feeling that Narcissa must share because she whimpers after Hermione thinks of taking her in that way.
And Hermione isn’t able to resist, removing her fingers —much to the blonde’s disappointment— and going down on her knees to lick the shiny arousal and clear fluid dripping from the blue eyed beauty, the remnants of her climax reaching all the way down to her gorgeous inner thighs and Narcissa whimpers brokenly at the feeling of the hot and eager tongue licking her pale, silky skin greedily, but Hermione can barely hear her over the sound of her own moan at the incredible taste of the blue eyed woman.
“There. You are all clean and proper now.” Hermione whispers when she is finished —using her wet fingers to cover the dewy centre with the lacy fabric while Narcissa moans softly, slowly raising from the desk and grabbing her wand with trembling fingers, a posture that makes the older woman clearly look like she was throughly fucked on top of the desk of the ex-classmate of her son.
Narcissa, with a still breathless voice and a blush that goes all the way down to her heaving chest, speaks again. “This was quite the satisfying meeting, Ms. Granger. I sincerely hope the next one is just as, if not a bit more, fulfilling”
Narcissa bites her lip for a second before her lips turn into a pleased smirk as her blue eyes look all over Hermione’s body once more until they settle on Hermione’s raging and sore crotch covered by her brown slacks — and even through the layers of clothes, they don’t really do much to help hide the tent of Hermione’s traitorous and painful erection.
“I also hope for your sake that you take care of your little predicament before the meeting with Minister Shacklebolt.” The blonde says with a smile as she fixes and reapplies her red lipstick.
Hermione blushes a bright red colour, the words and the reminder of the problem between her legs leaving her embarrassed, frustrated and speechless.
Narcissa then walks closer to her until there is barely space between them —looking so put together already, with not even a hair out of place, that no one would ever believe that she came twice after having Hermione’s fingers inside her not even five minutes ago.
“Mmm… Perhaps not so little, it seems.” Narcissa whispers on Hermione’s ear while licking her blood red lips, making Hermione squeak when an elegant, soft and ring covered hand cups and caresses the noticeable bulge on her crotch —carefully rubbing her rock hard covered length with the clear intent to asses her.
“You might need quite a more hands on approach with this problem of yours, Ms. Granger.” Narcissa tells her suggestively but Hermione refuses to fall her for her provocations again, yet a part of her wants more of the blonde —wants those hands on her body, wants the woman on her knees for her, wants her writhing and moaning beneath her as Hermione fills her with something bigger and thicker than her fingers and makes her cum all over her while Hermione fills her even more and paints her walls white.
“You are usually so talkative, Ms. Granger. Did the cat, or perhaps the snake, get your tongue?” Narcissa says while her teasing fingers play with the button of her slacks, yet just when Hermione is about to stop her —or perhaps to encourage her—, the older woman removes her hand in a flash and steps back as if she wasn’t just fondling her just a second ago. “Shame though, I would have offered my assistance, yet I’m a very busy woman with a full schedule, surely you understand. So do excuse me, Ms. Granger. It was a true pleasure”
Those are the very last words Hermione hears before the ridiculously gorgeous and all prim and proper woman exits her office with an extremely insufferable and kissable smirk on her full red lips.
And when the blonde is out of the door, Hermione finally allows herself to take a moment to think about what she has done.
She just had sex with Draco Malfoy’s mother, a woman who is also her annoying and stunningly beautiful co-worker of sorts, and Hermione fucked her on her desk in her office and would have done more if not for her next meeting looming over her head.
But most importantly Hermione promises to herself not to do it again because of how wrong and scandalous this whole affair is —the Weasleys would eat her alive, Harry would have a heart attack, Skeeter would have a field day, and the whole of wizarding Britain would talk about them.
Yet even when she is supposed to meet with Shacklebolt in barely five minutes her dick refuses to soften even with the thoughts of all the repercussions this agreement would have if Hermione were to agree —instead her length twitches with excitement at the reminder of Narcissa Black Malfoy and the possibility of seeing her again.
And, for the first time ever in her career, Hermione is forced to send a patronus to the minister to inform him that she is feeling indisposed at the moment and that they will have to reschedule. Only to quickly floo back home to take a freezing cold shower to try to calm down her raging and mortifying arousal.
But it doesn’t work, forcing Hermione to touch herself and think of the blue eyed blonde woman until she climaxes and releases all over her stomach while the water still hits her naked body.
Bloody hell. Fucking conniving and tricky slytherins.