Archive of Our Own ^beta

It starts with a request.

A reluctant one, Draco can tell, but he knows, just like Granger does, that Legilimens are rare, and skilled ones are even harder to find. He's the only one licensed in Legilimency in the department—probably the entire Ministry.

Still, he can't help but act like the partly reformed arse he's always been.

He can't help but push.

"You want me... to train you in Occlumency?" The drawl in his voice is on purpose, a forced air of flippancy. "Interesting. Go on."

He makes the command as he crosses his legs and looks at her intently. Each action, every word is orchestrated to grate her nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Draco isn't a creature of habit, the tide of his impulses meets and parts, entirely dependent on his mood, but this—seeing this spark of anger from Granger—has been part of his routine day in and day out for the last three years he's led the International Magical Office of Law. She's predictable. Gloriously so. And when Granger's jaw clenches, when she gets that all-too familiar squinty, murderous gleam in her eyes—like she wants to eviscerate him but can't figure out how to do so legally—Draco marks that daily task complete.

"As you know, I'll no longer be the liaison between our departments. I'm being promoted to Junior Secretary to the Minister."

"I'm aware."

It's another stop on her way to her ultimate ambition: Minister for Magic.

"My security clearance will be increased, and therefore, my mind cannot be breachable. So here I am, unfortunately, and on orders from the Minister himself. He says you're a good teacher."

"I am." It's not cockiness—okay, maybe a little—but it's also confidence backed by a long track record of success. Draco leans back in his office chair, hands interlocked behind his head, casually observing the woman staring at him in noble defiance.

He dissects her like he does everything that interests him: boring robes, tamed hair, air of discontent. But there's more there and he knows it. Draco just hasn't had the opportunity to figure it out.

Until now.

"What's in it for me?" The chance to rifle through Granger's head in the name of training is too tempting to pass up, but it won't do to show how eager he is.

"Might I remind you that I'm—"

"Under orders from the Minister, yes." Draco gives her a bored look when more signs of irritation seep through her composure. He stands slowly and takes his time as he approaches her, noting the way she tracks his every move. "It's a waste of time trying to teach the unteachable. And I don't waste my time."

"Nor do I, Malfoy, but I think you'll find I'm still quite the diligent student."

His smile isn't nice. It's a warning. "We'll see."

Granger isn't his first student.

Anyone at risk of Legilimency has approached him for lessons to guard their mind. It's not his primary job but one he accepts for a few reasons: to make himself invaluable, further his own ambition, and to maintain his level of skill. Over the years, his pupils have always been hesitant and intimidated—by him, his history, and what he'll see.

And he's seen everything.

Granger is different in every way that counts and so many more that don't.

She might be diligent, brilliant, and the consummate professional, but she's the worst goddamn student he's ever had.

It's not because she's naturally inclined to the art—she's not. Granger is no more talented than any other student during their first lesson, though she stands in front of him like she is. Occlumency can be taught in many ways—emptying the mind, closing the door, or any other metaphor that fits—but Draco finds it easier to build a mental wall to seal off his thoughts and memories. That's his method.

When he explains this all to Granger, she looks at him like he's an idiot.

"I know." She frowns, first at him, then at the warded room he's picked as a teaching space like it all personally offends her but she can't determine which one does so more. Granger swipes her finger on the dusty table next to her, scowl deepening when she rubs her fingers together to get it off. "You could have picked a cleaner room."

She takes her wand out, and several cleaning charms later, she still looks unimpressed, but now her ire is focused on him.

"If you're finished, I'd like to continue with the introduction." It's standard. Something he gives every student, and by this point, they're normally hanging off his every word.

Granger is not.

"I've done the reading you unceremoniously dumped on my desk yesterday, Malfoy. All of it."

And that is what makes Granger the worst student.

She's not intimidated. Not hesitant. She's got the emotional discipline Occlumency requires, but Granger is confident. Stubborn. Unmalleable. She has read and analysed, learned and applied every scrap of gained knowledge in the way she believes it should be. Not in the ways they actually should be.

A surge of irritation rises in Draco and it makes him want to push. It makes him want to flex his hand, skill, and mind to show her that, at least for once, she is not the best. Not the brightest. Not in this subject. Not in this room.

He wants to push to prove a point. Because he wants to. Because he can.

But Draco doesn't. Not yet.

He's been in control of himself for years. He'll follow the rules and teach her properly—until he finds the perfect opportunity, the perfect time to push.

For now, though, he lets that desire settle back into his subconsciousness where it belongs and steps closer to Granger, noting the way she boldly meets his glare, despite the subtle hints of tension that radiate off her in short pulses.

"Rid your mind of all thoughts and emotions, Granger. Clear it all. Everything."

But she doesn't—of course she doesn't. If anything, her hackles rise higher. Her eyes sharpen, never leave his.

"Spare me the introductory speech, Malfoy, and get on with it. I have back-to-back meetings that start in an hour."

Their lesson is for thirty minutes. Plenty of time.

"Fine then." Draco inclines his head slightly. "Let's begin."

He instructs her to build a wall.

The expression on Granger's face is pinched, and her arms are folded like she's already trying to block him. "I've been wondering, why a wall? There are other options—"

"Then find someone who will teach you those options."

"You know perfectly well that you're the only—"

"If you want to be taught, Granger, clear your mind and build the damn wall."

When her expression shifts and she stands slightly straighter, he files her reaction away as something intriguing.

Despite her visible response, Granger's exhale reeks of the same insolence and contempt that has taunted him for years. It makes him roll his sleeves to his elbows, makes him cut his eyes at her until she takes another deep breath in resignation.

Then she closes her eyes.

And builds her wall.

"Occlumency isn't just about clearing one's mind of emotions and thought, isn't only about control, it's about creating a mental barrier that cannot be breached. It's about understanding that one's mind has all the tools it needs for that sort of construction." He's hovering over her shoulder, and when she goes rigid at his proximity, Draco doesn't miss one bit of it. "What is it made of?" His voice is low so as not to break her concentration.

Granger's jaw ticks. "Wood."

"I'll burn it down. Build another."

She's already agitated and it's building alongside her second wall. It does no good to be emotional, but Draco says nothing else. He gives no more advice or warning. He just smiles and remembers the small look into her thoughts he's promised himself, which calms the tiny bits of irritation growing inside of him. This is going to be easy.

"It's now made of brick."

Better, but not good enough against him. "Make sure it's strong."

"Why?"

Draco says nothing.

He just takes out his wand and has the decency to speak the incantation before he pushes.

Legilimens.

Her mental wall may have been brick, but it is no more than sand and sediment after Draco blows through it with no effort.

It's nothing.

Granger gasps when he edges into her subconsciousness. She scowls with her eyes shut tight as he skims the surface, seeing flashes of her past.

Young Granger. Hair wild as ever. The day she found out her intelligence wasn't the only thing extraordinary about her. Sorting. Her choice. A troll. A chess game. Potter and Weasley.

The first signs of strain make him smirk. Her chest is beginning to heave. He can feel the resistance as she tries to force him out. It's not good enough, but he commends her attempt. "Out of my head, Malfoy."

"Make me."

"I'm not trained." Granger's trembling. Her cheeks are flush. She's nervous. He both loves it and wonders what she's hiding. "You can't do this."

"But I am." He steps around her. Still close. Still seeing everything. Her loneliness. Her reaction to the things people say about her. Her insecurities. They run deep—surprisingly so for someone who's so sure of themselves. So certain. Draco wonders what else she's not confident about. "Are you still that unsure little girl, Granger?"

"Fuck. Off."

"Make me." A mirror in her hand. The hospital wing. A time-turner. A dragon. He pauses his efforts but doesn't stop; instead, he waits. "I suggest you rebuild your wall or I'll push harder."

Granger hasn't stopped constructing, and sweat forms on her brow as evidence of her valiant efforts. He's reluctantly impressed. She doesn't panic, has the fortitude to remember her goddamn reading. Draco's far from a saint, but he gives in to his whim and allows her time to pick up each brick and place it where it's supposed to go.

He watches. Waits.

Granger's unnerved by his presence in her mind.

She's struggling. Fumbling. She bites her lip when he begins testing the strength of the wall she's trying to construct. He could tear it down, but her small gasp snatches both his attention and interest and doesn't let go.

Hmm.

Curious.

Draco starts looking around again, loving the rush he feels—the control.

It's not right, but he'll give himself another minute to watch her squirm.

"I can't do this." Granger sounds tired. Beads of sweat roll down her face. Her skin has flushed deeper from her hairline to the collar of her buttoned shirt. She's panting after holding her breath just shy of too long.

Draco should probably stop again, let her catch her breath once more, but he doesn't.

"You know what you're doing, remember? You've read all the material. Force me out, Granger."

The strain is taking a toll on her, her wall isn't completely reconstructed, and Draco finds himself more and more perplexed by her response. He's been in countless minds, but Granger is the first one to fight so hard the very first time.

Draco looks at her—really looks at her. Her fists are clenched tightly at her side and he can feel her pushing back. Fighting. It's obviously more than his presence that's agitating her.

What is she hiding?

The question makes Draco sink deeper. Fumblings with Krum. Granger makes a small noise when Draco accesses that memory, sees hands groping her. It's right then that he feels the strongest wave of resistance; it nearly sends him out. He's getting personal and Granger doesn't like it. Draco turns his investigation in that direction and sees that she's not nearly as innocent as she looks. First kiss with Weasley. Second. Her first time.

"Candles and roses? Weasley is such a cliché." He can feel when Granger starts squirming harder. She's panting. Her second partner. "A one off? Well, that's unexpected."

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

He smiles at her choice of words and thinks about it. "I think I'll have a further look."

And goes beyond.

Granger gasps.

She's stubborn as fuck, still trying to build while fighting him out her head. She even tries to push her way into his mind, but Draco swats away her attempt like it's merely an inconvenience, like she's nothing. Because she is nothing. In this room Granger doesn't pose the same threat she does outside these four walls.

She fights harder.

And he punishes her for it.

"Malfoy—"

"Force me out," Draco commands, seeing more and more. Weasley panting on top of her. Smith in similar fashion. McLaggen, too. Each time ends with Granger staring at the ceiling or the wall, answering the only question they ask, the one to bolster each of their fragile male egos.

Did you come? Their voices are different tenors but their desperation for an affirmative is the same. Yes.

But her mind can't lie like her lips do.

The way she squirms tells him everything he needs to know. So, this is what she's been trying to hide.

"Really Granger?" Draco taunts, his eyes on the profile on her face. "Never? Not even once?" He's back at her ear when he promises to keep her secret in a tone that's low and anything but nice.

Her anger burns him out of her head and fury carries her out of the room. Or maybe it's her shame.

Either way, it's… interesting.

He doesn't panic… much.

It takes hours for the adrenaline from the entire encounter to settle, and only then does the truth finally begin to dawn on him.

He's fucked up. Majorly.

Draco has never taken sick leave before, but the next day he does. Then again the next. Pansy checks on him, and when he confesses what happened, she laughs and tells him that Azkaban will be horrible for his complexion. He kicks her out. When Aurors don't swarm his flat on day three, Draco decides he can return to work. He sticks mainly to his office, not trusting any knock on the door, just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Granger to say something, and for the heavy gauntlet of justice to fall on him.

But she doesn't. And it doesn't.

When he strolls into the liaison meeting right on time, Granger says nothing, she barely even looks at him.

It's not so much a relief as it is a growing question mark, one that he finds himself thinking about just as often as he thinks about everything he saw in her mind. They're things he won't soon forget.

Everything returns to some semblance of normality, including his daily task of irritating her, even though it's stilted, stifled. But each time Granger starts to verbally eviscerate him—or maybe even magically, he's not sure which—she stops, holds his gaze like a vice, takes a deep breath and continues on. She never follows through.

He spends the following two weeks wondering why.

She clearly has the upper hand. She also seems to have no problem taking her frustration out on a set of interns, a Weasley, an obscene amount of office supplies, and one poor sod from Magical Maintenance who had been too late to correct the temperature spell in the conference room that had left them all freezing cold.

But not Granger.

Her anger had kept her warm, kept her hair alive like magic itself.

Even the moderately intelligent steer clear of her, but in a strange form of irony, when Granger's interdepartmental memo lands on his desk, her note to him is professional—if abrupt.

It's a surprise. Draco quirks a brow in interest that has almost consumed him. He reads three times, each time focusing on something different. The first time he reads, the second he notes her penmanship right down to the hesitation marks, and the third he touches Granger's official seal.

Same place. Same time. Don't be late.

Draco clears his entire afternoon. To think. To contemplate.

He very nearly declines the invite. After all, it could be a trap, but he's equal parts sadist and masochist, and he responds in the affirmative after a proper amount of time has passed.

For the following hour, Draco prepares for any and every possible outcome. He further reflects and satisfies his sweet tooth with a cauldron cake brought to him by his secretary.

No, he hadn't broken the well-established rules, but he came close. Much closer than he'd ever gotten with any pupil before. With Granger, Draco had toed the line like a man balancing wrong and right like a practised act. Like breathing. He's good at that. And he will do anything he needs to keep being good at that.

Granger was so far outside her element, pushing in that way she does, with no knowledge except what she'd pulled from books. It was too goddamn easy. It was an ethical mistake.

Digging around in someone's head is more dangerous for them than him, and a complaint by someone first in line to be the next Minister—that isn't smart, despite her odd silence about it all.

He'd pushed too hard. Too much. Too soon.

And yet… Draco has few regrets, if any. It needed to happen like that to teach Granger a lesson. To prove his point.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

The truth—which he has kept locked away in a secure block behind the fortified wall of his own mind—is stupid in its simplicity: unlocking her mind has also unlocked his.

Now he has questions. Now he wants answers. He needs to know…everything.

It's problematic as fuck, but that's who he is.

As for Granger, Draco is used to seeing her put-together: her pin signifying her new rank above them all, pressed robes, white shirt buttoned to the collar, proper pencil skirt, stockings, sensible heels.

But Draco has realised in the span of a single lesson that the one thing he likes better than a put-together Granger is one he's taken apart.

Draco arrives early with nothing beyond his wand and a set of expectations, and Granger is already there with hers… ready to blow his to bits.

Or him.

And while Granger doesn't appear picky, she does appear prepared.

With law.

"I would just like to begin this lesson by stating that the stunt you pulled last time was in violation of Article Two, Section Four of the Privacy Protection Regulation Act. The punishment for a violation includes prison time—"

"I'm aware." Draco cuts her off, the door shutting behind him with a small click. He leans against it with ease, rolls up his sleeves just like last time. Crisp, repetitive motions that require zero concentration. "And yet here you are."

When she visibly tenses, Draco smiles.

Granger's instantly flustered. All that bravado gone in the blink of an eye. He relishes in the moment even though she looks seconds away from blasting him through the door.

"You know why I'm here. I'm merely reminding you of my rights and your duty as a licensed Legilimens. What you did—"

"Reprehensible? Of course. But illegal?" He tilts his head to the side and taps a finger against his lips. "I believe the law remains unbroken if I don't intend to use what I saw to harm, threaten, or blackmail you in any way."

"And do you?"

"Your mind isn't the first one I've combed through. I've seen much worse than your poor life choices. You're not even the most interesting." It's a lie, but it makes her bristle like an angry cat. "Which is it, Granger? Would you like me intrigued by your inner thoughts or not?"

"I'd like you to fucking teach me and stop rifling through my thoughts like you're reading the morning paper."

"I can't help what I see. I can't help what you show me."

"Bullshit."

"Maybe so." Draco shrugs. "Perhaps you should waste less of your time researching ways to threaten me and use more of it to build your damn wall."

Granger stands up and sheds her cloak, leaving her rank behind on the chair. She approaches him until she's two steps from being too close.

He doesn't move. Arches an eyebrow. Waits. This is the extent of his patience.

"I actually have been practising, Malfoy. Every single day." Still confident. Still not pliant. She's just as willful as he is interested in the results of said practise. "I'm ready when you are."

Granger hasn't learned her lesson…

But then again, neither has he.

Legilimens.

This time Draco treats her mind like a book he's had to pause from reading… but now he's back for more.

He knows where he's left off, but reads her table of contents anyway before losing what little patience he has and returning to the where he knows he'd been last. Granger tenses and swears, just as furious as before, but Draco isn't listening. Not now. He's busy reading her for content and comprehension, and looking for every little typo.

The moments her brain carry him from subject to subject; when her mouth answers yes when her body says no.

"Interesting."

What would it take to align all three?

The question crosses his mind and now he just has to know the answer. The circumstances. What never works, what could work, and what would work. What it will take to get her to try.

"You didn't warn me, you bastard," Granger grits out through clenched teeth. She's about to say something when he skims right past some boring scenes with Weasley, looking for a time when someone got close. It makes her choke off a noise that almost sounds like—"I-I didn't have time to build it right."

He pushes himself off the door, crowding her against nothing but air. She smells like soap and parchment, nothing too feminine or sweet. Draco ghosts a finger under her chin, keeping himself perfectly calm and steady as images of Granger flash like a reel in his mind. Each image is more intriguing than the last. More intimate.

"Lesson two," he whispers harshly against her temple. He feels her breath and shuts his eyes involuntarily, a spike of arousal like ice in his veins. It's cold and affects him for just a moment. Then he's back. "You should always have your wall up. You never know when someone will attack your mind."

Draco's not evil—chaotic neutral at best. He has his own mission but also remembers his purpose. And that's to keep himself out of Azkaban for mental crimes.

So, he teaches.

And retreats from her mind.

Granger sucks in air like she's resurfaced after being submerged underwater for too long, mere moments from drowning. She looks dazed and disoriented, teeth chattering as if she's cold. Her knees knock together as she trembles from the sudden release from her strain. When she tosses her head back, Draco finds himself transfixed by the vision she makes: eyes open and on the ceiling, hair ready to be freed from her professional bun. He pays attention to her jawline, the way her chest heaves, the way she uncurls bit by bit as if slowly realising she's free from the exertion. Her blouse is tucked tight into her skirt, her legs…

Relief pours from her like water bursting forth from a dam.

Then her head lowers and he can almost see the precise moment Granger returns to herself.

Settles.

Through it all, through the test and his trip through her most intimate memories and thoughts, she remains herself.

Unapologetically Granger.

Her eyes are angry slits, mouth drawn into a fine line, chest heaving, but that's her constant state of being, at least for the last two weeks, and it's glorious because Draco hasn't broken a sweat.

He's only just begun.

"I suggest you build, Granger, and do it well."

There's a tiny flare of something in her eyes. Heat. She takes a step back from him, a small one that speaks more to her discomfort than her actual words do. "You like this."

Draco won't deny it so he smirks, but that dies when Granger's teeth worry the corner of her bottom lip. He's not in her head but that doesn't mean shit. He knows interest when he sees it—attraction.

It reflects in the way she's looking at him now.

Perhaps—no.

But Draco needs to be absolutely certain. He narrows the space between them once again, and though she angles her head up to his, Granger doesn't take another step back.

Her expression morphs into something thoughtful. She has questions and he's still looking for answers.

"Build."

"I've spoken to everyone you taught, Malfoy." Granger, who's been gathering more of her scattered composure with each passing second, is no longer moved by his proximity, words, or him. She folds her arms. "You didn't teach them like this. You weren't this invasive, not so quickly."

"I wasn't, but you think you know everything, so this is how I teach you that you don't." This time his finger isn't a ghost. Contact isn't his intention, but that's what he makes when he tilts her chin up slightly.

She slaps his hand away. "Don't touch me."

"That's your problem, Granger. Nobody has." There's no teasing in his tone, only blunt honesty. "At least not correctly from what I've seen."

Granger looks like she's cataloguing ways to kill him should murder stop being a criminal offense. It'll be violent, for sure. And messy. But Draco's as immune to her wrath as she is to him, and he loves her visceral reaction to his first, last, and only set of directions.

"Build. Your. Wall."

Granger looks serene during her new fight to push him out, but appearances are deceiving and she's not fooling Draco one bit.

Eyes shut. Body tense with fists clenched at her sides. Chin tilted in sheer defiance. Her hair is almost as tidy now as it is in the images Draco sees in her head—and that's just not right. He's busy cataloguing each expression she makes after each encounter, organising them for further analysis and comparison. There's only one face he hasn't seen and that's because she's never made it. Because she's never—

"I'm certain there's more to my mind than that."

There is and Draco has time to explore, but his only responsibility is to test the resolve of her barriers, no matter the content he digs for, and this fascination is growing in his mind, becoming more than an inquiry, more than simple curiosity…

It is starting to become a challenge.

"Why haven't you?"

The question makes her waver and there are signs of trouble and struggle. They weave their way through the growing tension she carries, the beads of sweat running down her face, gathering under her chin. They force themselves through the emotions that roll off of her in waves, waves he's riding with ease.

"Not even once on your own?" He's relentless now. He's never seen her so flustered, so embarrassed. "Come now, Granger. How pathetic."

"What's pathetic is you." There's heat in her tone, but it feels hollow. Like she's saying something she doesn't necessarily believe. "I should have—"

"But you didn't. Why?"

"Can't you—" Granger's breath is shaky as she squirms more. "Can't you see the answer?"

"I see everything. You'll have to be more specific."

She's struggling hard, but Draco's beginning to think it's not against him.

What else is he missing?

"Out."

Her command holds no power over him because he's reading her from cover to cover, missing nothing, seeing everything. And like with each of her partners, Granger's mouth is saying one thing and her mind is saying another.

Stay. Look. Read. Decipher. Understand.

And that's just what he does. Every bit of Granger is on display, laid bare for him and him alone. Every motivation. Secret action. Sin. Desire. And Draco can't help but pluck out and bookmark each and every one of her dirty secrets. It's not an easy task. Granger's mind is as complicated as his own. There are too many secrets to count and they're as filthy as she is not.

Still, Granger builds wall after wall after wall.

Draco tears each down with finesse, bats away each attempt at invasion. "Don't push, you're not strong enough."

Granger closes her eyes tighter like it'll do her some good. It won't. More and more convinced that she's not fighting him out, Draco begins to wonder if instead she's fighting to keep something in.

He has to know.

"Focus," Draco says against her forehead. She tenses more and her teeth are back, biting down on her bottom lip. Her inhale sounds more like a gasp. He's so close he can see her eyes move back and forth beneath her lids. He knows what she's seeing because he's seeing it, too, seeing the parts of herself that no longer want to be ignored. "You're making this harder than it has to be, Granger."

"And you like what you see." Her eyes open, lock and hold his. "Admit it."

Draco's beyond interested, but he won't confess. Not yet. He's too busy combing her mind for answers to those questions that have been plaguging him for two fucking weeks.

He considers the challenge of her and it makes him turn in yet another direction.

The far reaches of her intellect. The narrowness of her point of view. Her flaws and strengths. He sees her alone, aching, and contemplating, too stubborn to take matters into her own hands. He sees her with others—a revolving door of Weasley, Smith, McLaggen, and two others who he doesn't recognise. He feels her disappointment from each encounter as if it's a living, breathing entity. One she's ignored for far too long.

Now that Draco has unlocked it, it's all he sees.

Until he sees nothing.

She's completed her first wall.

It's concrete, reinforced with steel beams.

Draco gives her a moment for victory. A moment for Granger to take steadying breaths and search his eyes for the approval she won't acknowledge she's so clearly seeking. Approval she needs.

But he knows.

When Draco touches her again, the action is just as unconscious as before, but Granger doesn't bat his hand away. She still hasn't completely pulled herself together, but that doesn't stop her from staring boldly.

"Do you want to be finished?" he asks her lowly. "I can stop."

"No," Granger whispers. "I want to learn."

"You are."

…and then he shatters her concrete wall like it's made of glass.

Draco will admit one thing.

Her daily practise in the last two weeks has led to improvement, but he's been too busy reading every word of her to acknowledge it.

Her foundation is strong, even though he pushes through her attempt at fortification with ease, but the last one takes a bit more effort than before.

Or maybe he's tired.

They've been at it nearly an hour.

Granger is flummoxed by each failure and visibly agitated by his mental presence, constantly trying to fight him off while rushing to rebuild her wall with each failed attempt at defence. With each success, Draco still breaks through without an increase in effort, but he won't deny that it's an improvement.

"Do you need a moment?" It's not empathy, not concern, just a question.

"No."

Draco congratulates her strength by melting into her thoughts gently like candle wax running from a burning flame. Both patient and relentless, he continues his quest like the personal mission it has become. His inquiry takes a sharp turn to her desires he's already seen and—

"Oh. This is fascinating. Is this what you're trying to hide?"

"When I'm done with yo—"

"Less threatening. More concentrating."

She's better at it.

Better than some students who have practised twice as long, but that's not something he'll tell her. Instead, Draco walks around her. One full revolution. Like the moon around the Earth. The pull is undeniable, and he can't stop himself from looming closer, falling into her orbit, seeing more recent images of her. He can't stop himself from being drawn deeper into the core of her mind.

What she likes. What she hates.

Who she is.

Granger moans like she's in pain but opens her mind up in clear invitation. She wants more, but tries to suppress it by biting down on her lip—hard.

But it's too late. Draco can't unhear it. Can't stop the doors to his mind from being blown wide by the vocal admission that her irritation, struggle, and strain have nothing to do with him combing through her head… and everything to do with something that's been building in him.

Want.

It's in everything he can no longer ignore. The little signs Granger's been giving him since she practically presented herself for examination by showing up today.

He's out of her head in seconds, and when Granger starts to stagger back as if adrift, he grabs her shoulders, holds her steady until she is. Then Draco's hands find themselves pressed against her warm neck before he can stop himself. Feels her pulse pounding in time with his own. Hears his own curious question spill out, unchecked.

"What do you need?"

Her eyes fly open at his unintended question, waiting for him to take it back, but it's already in the atmosphere, dangling there, waiting. And now he wants an answer. He needs one.

"I'll start with your job. Then your freedo—"

Draco tsks, voice low and private, face closer to hers. "That's what you think you want, not what you need."

Granger looks torn, unsure, and uncomfortable under his gaze, his scrutiny. She tries to pull away, realising too late that she's trapped.

"Stop fighting." Her hands grab his wrists anyway, but she doesn't push or pull, just tightens her grip, digging her nails into his skin until it hurts. Draco won't flinch. He's done looking. Her moan has answered a lot of his questions. Now he needs confirmation from her. "Tell me."

Granger stands firm and as tall as she's not, glaring at him with the heat of a thousand angry suns. She's tired and drained from mental construction and destruction, but her voice is strong and her response just as potent.

"I'm not telling you anything that you already know."

"I know you like this." He brings his mouth just short of hers. "Make a choice."

She contemplates his words and him, still stern and unflinching.

But when her eyes drop to his mouth, he knows. Draco ghosts kisses down the side of her neck, then to her ear where he bites down.

"Let me in."

Granger's tense but she makes no move to attack him or run away. Instead, her breathing changes and her acquiescence is a strong contrast to everything he knows about her. It's soft and shaky but clear when she whispers, "Yes."

Legilimens.

It's different now.

Free.

Granger's wall lay crumbled around their feet. A wasteland of attempts surround them, but she's not trying to rebuild.

Not now.

She doesn't kiss him. Not at first. That would be too easy.

Granger nips his bottom lip just short of too hard before she pulls. It's a mix of pleasure and a quick stab of pain. He fucking loves it. From there it's lips and tongues, teeth and heavy breaths; a simultaneous non-verbal conversation, mental exploration and interpretation. Granger's kisses are every bit who she is—studied and focused—with elements of the parts of her she's kept suppressed.

It's rough. Greedy. Frenetic.

Granger's tugging and pulling on every part of him she can reach and he wants more.

Draco doesn't wait. Fuck, he's waited long enough. Now he just takes. He pushes, surges forward to accept the challenge presented in both her mind and her kiss, all while making plans as he walks her back, pressing her against the closest wall. When Granger frees his shirt from his trousers, before she can go for his belt, he grabs her wrists and traps them against the stone.

He absolutely could, but he won't fuck her.

Not here. Not yet.

Another one of her moans breaks free when Draco shows her that frantic doesn't have to mean rushed.

He takes control. Kisses her deeper. Explores her mind as thoroughly as he does her mouth. Plucks the right thoughts out as he turns it into what he wants because that's what she needs.

By the time Draco frees her to touch him, Granger's moan is one constant, low hum and she's shaking, hands at his sides but not doing anything else. He's not much better. Finally, Draco allows his eager hands to run hot and heavy down her body while hers spring into action, pulling him closer, molding them together.

This is it.

Her expression is blissed out as he caresses her thoughts gently, fluidly. Draco shuts his eyes, keeps kissing her as he enters her mind. It's not uncharted territory, but he spots something he missed during the initial plunder. Something that looks uninteresting and meaningless, which explains why he'd ignored it during his quest for knowledge. It's another thing she's kept suppressed, kept secret during his excavation. What she intended to keep a secret all along.

Clever. So fucking clever.

Granger offers it to him and he opens his eyes to watch as she makes quick work of his trousers, pushing them down until they are around his ankles. She's gunning for more, but he stops her with a hiss. Instead, Draco lets Granger wrap her leg around his as he hikes up her pencil skirt, working down her stocking while a new plan forms in his mind. A compromise. The result of their inelegant efforts is just enough for them to slot their hips together and grind.

Draco bites back a moan similar to the one that comes out of Granger's mouth in a sharp punch. He keeps the rhythm steady, even as he peels back the layer of that secret she's freely handed him and examines what she's kept buried, what she ultimately wants bad enough to keep hidden away—or… who.

Him.

"You want—" Draco catches himself, grinds against her harder because the unconscious noises she's making are better than anything he's ever imagined. Granger's hands are in his hair, tugging so tight he can't distinguish between pain and pleasure, but fuck if he doesn't love it. He's still in her ear when he whispers through gritted teeth, "How?"

And she lays out the vision in her mind like a kaleidoscope of fantasies.

Visuals of him over, under, behind, and between her thighs. Hands everywhere. Mouth exploring where none of those idiots bothered to go. Making her come on his tongue and fingers until she's spent.

Flashes of Draco, sweating and exhilarated, watching in dazed fascination as her cheeks hollow when she takes as much of him as she can. She struggles for air but he holds her head steady as he fucks her mouth, telling her how good she's doing—how good she is—until her eyes roll back.

Moments when he's fucking Granger like his cock is a weapon. And then slower. More sensual. Bottoming out and holding with each stroke until she's desperate for him to move.

Visions of Draco taking her without permission because he knows what she wants. Knows she doesn't want to guide, doesn't want to think, she just wants to be used.

Images where they fuck right to the edge of oblivion and drag themselves back.

Then again.

And again.

It blurs together like their bodies and minds. Light and dark and the grey in between, bleeding like water on a paint canvas. Draco is half out of his mind when he feels Granger start to push her way into it.

He doesn't stop her.

He doesn't want to.

He lets her see.

Choice. Want. Desire. Need.

It's overwhelming for her, seeing into his mind, seeing herself how he does, but from the way Granger swears and moans, the way she moves her hips, it shows her lack of opposition to him or any of his plans for her.

"What's first, Granger?" Draco could literally give less than a fuck but he's certain her stockings are ruined. Or very close to it. "Show me."

"I-I-fuck." She pulls him closer and he grinds against her faster with one goal in mind. One mission. He feels the inkling of his release stirring but holds back. Her first. It has to be her first. Sex for someone like Granger is just as much mental as it is physical and in order to be successful, he has to keep her in the moment—connected, tethered to reality. He can't let her mind float off or her body might never catch up.

And with the tight grip he has on it, the way they hold on each other, neither of them are going anywhere.

"Don't be shy." Draco nips her chin to further ground her, filling her head and letting their thoughts melt together until there's no telling where hers end and his begin. "Tell me. Show me. Or I'll stop." He won't. Fuck he won't. Draco is beyond the point of return. He needs this like air.

"Don't. I'm—" Probably the closest she's ever gotten to coming and he hasn't even done the first thing on her list.

When she doesn't answer, Draco uses what little control he has to slow down. Granger moans as if in pain.

"I'm waiting."

"Your mouth!" she all but shouts, and with a little work, Granger conjures the images she's shared with him in order and shows him just what she wants. When she wants it. The location, however, is a surprise. Her new office. "Move." Her voice is quiet but strong; her grip tightens. "Let me come."

Draco does but he makes her open her eyes fist. He makes her look at him. He sees himself in her mind, sees them both, and it's enough for him to start moving against her with new determination. He's a destructive man. Always has been. He'll tear himself apart just to ruin her the way he wants to. The way she needs him to.

"I can't let you do anything, Granger. Take what you want."

Her mouth returns to his and she's kissing him with desperation, her body tensing more and more. Granger's moan grows louder, wilder, like a chant, and he feels an energy all its own building in the very pit of his core. She looks like she's in a trance, mind, body, and soul linked together as one.

It's time.

"Please." Her plea makes no sense to him yet somehow he understands. Draco pours more thoughts into her head, and whispers what she needs to hear in her ear. He feeds on the growing connection and intensity between them that pulls taut in him as well.

"Take. It."

Draco feels when she goes perfectly rigid, hears her yell, sob for air, and sees the explosion in her mind. It's hot, white light and a deafening sound. It's also the moment Granger takes exactly what she wants and pushes him under with her.

Draco tries to figure out how Granger can go from a moaning, shaking mess he can barely keep on her feet to glaring at him like he's yet again personally offended her. She has her wand in hand and is on a mission to aggressively scrub herself, him, and the room clean of evidence and fix her ruined clothes.

The stockings are long gone in the rubbish.

Pity.

"That was… entirely inappropriate." When she finally addresses him, she's still a contrast, but one of someone who has been destroyed and rebuilt.

"It was." A bit morally grey, if he's being honest, but not enough to land him in Azkaban. Not that she would, even if she could. Regardless of legalities, Draco gives zero fucks about what's transpired.

He's lounging in the chair, dressed and cleaned with charms, but in terrible need of a shower. He lets his eyes trail after Granger as she buzzes around the room trying to find her other shoe. She could summon it with magic, but he says nothing. Granger will figure it out soon enough and it's amusing to see her so discombobulated.

"Any regrets?"

There's a tightly pinched expression on her face that answers his question.

No.

"Good." Draco grabs her like he would a snitch when she comes too close and draws her closer still. Granger's more pliant than he'd expected, despite the fact that she still looks like she's debating between sending him to Azkaban and killing him herself.

"I'm not going to ask you that insipid question you've been asked before. I already know."

"You're going to be impossible now, aren't you?"

"I am."

Granger rolls her eyes, scoffing. "Fuck—"

"Later. Absolutely later. After you finish your meetings." He's ready to ruin them both again just to keep rebuilding. It's exhilarating. "I believe you said you first wanted my—"

"Yes. All of it. Everything," she tells him in a very Granger sort of way: swotty and irritating. She holds up one finger. "But I still want you to teach me Occlumency. Correctly. Not whatever the hell that was."

He's not entirely sure either, but he's willing to try it again with a similar result

"Fine."

Draco's hands settle on her waist, and even though Granger steps closer, she's eyeing him like she's not sure if one day she's going to wrap him in a hug or squeeze the life out of him. Draco's eager to find out which she will choose.

And when Granger's interdepartmental note arrives on his desk a week later, Draco reads the ten words and smirks to himself.

Third lesson. My flat. Half past nine. Don't be late.

He leaves early.

End.