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Draco
“This one seems adequate.”
“Malfoy, you can’t be serious.”
Granger glanced doubtfully around the uninhabited house. Draco’s eyes followed. It looked to have been abandoned decades ago. The walls were charred as if, at some point in the home's history, a fiendfyre spell had gone awry. In juxtaposition to the smoke-stained appearance the musty aroma of wet, rotting wood hung in the air. The roof had likely been left leaking for years. It was, to put it plainly, a dump.
A piece of soot drifted silently down from the rafters, landing on the shoulder of Granger’s tidy blazer — Armani, if he were to guess. She didn’t notice the dirt and Draco wasn’t inclined to tell her. It left a dark, grey smudge.
When Granger's eyes landed on Malfoy her look of disgust was superseded by one of irritation.
“Our ministry mandate," she began, over-enunciating as though he were a simpleton, "is to find a property suitable for a convalescent home in which werewolves can reside amidst trained medical staff while they learn to manage their affliction. I barely got Saint Mungo’s and the ministry to agree to this project. If we choose this house they're going to withdraw their funding and any hope of getting my other initiatives approved — a transition home for freed house elves, a home for roaming spirits — will be gone. This place is a hazard. Frankly, I'll be surprised if the roof doesn't cave in on us any second.”
“No need to be so dramatic, Granger.”
“Dramatic? Coming from you?" She paused for emphasis. Granger was beginning to seethe. It had been a long day of scouting properties and, as usual, he hadn't made it easy for her. "This looks like a trap house. Never mind the magical issues.” She began to list them off, counting on her fingers. She may as well have been jabbing him with each one. “Bogarts. The cursed stairwell. Poltergeists. No. We are not purchasing this house. We’ll keep looking.
“Need I remind you I am the property expert of our contingent?”
“Need I remind you I have seniority at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures? Ergo, what I say goes.”
“Why don’t you stick to what you know about. Teeth, isn't it? That's your familial legacy. Your ancestral claim to the history books as the daughter and grand-daughter of dentists.” He snapped his teeth together loudly. “Whereas my surname is scrawled on centuries of legislation and monuments. Let's leave the decision-making to me, sweetheart.”
Draco smirked down at her with as much condescension as he could muster.
Granger's expression turned acerbic. She glanced pointedly down at his left arm where, beneath his sleeve, the faded Dark Mark was hidden. “I think we both know what my claim to the history books is, Malfoy. Just as we both know yours.”
With a crack she disapparated.
Draco stood alone in the room.
The steady sound of water dripping began from somewhere deeper in the house, marking the seconds like a metronome.
Granger was right, of course. This place would never do.
But needling her was undoubtedly the best part of Draco's job. After a childhood spent locked in rivalry it had been an easy habit to slip back into when he found himself once again spending each day with her as they both seemed to wind up at Magical Creatures.
Whereas young Granger had been obsessed with rules this version was particularly devoted to professionalism. Draco never shied away from a challenge. He'd taunt, jibe and pry till he put a crack in the thin veneer of composure — that professionalism — she hid behind. He'd hammer at the cracks till they chinked and wedge till they widened. She always broke — usually in quick order.
It was a conquest, of sorts. And Draco was nothing if not persistent.
Ruining Granger's day was so much fun that he'd even passed up a transfer to the Department of Magical Games and Sports, choosing the day-to-day pleasure of annoying her over that of entrenchment with the Quidditch League. The offer had come with all the free match tickets he could want — not that he needed free tickets — and a raise — another perk that would have been wasted on him.
Salazar knew he didn’t work for the money. Even as they’d been paying thousands of galleons in post-war restitution his family had been pivoting their financial portfolio, growing their muggle accounts through a series of wise investments. Truthfully, they’d never been richer — even with the exchange rate between magical and muggle money. But even the rich needed to pass the time somehow. So Magical Creatures – and the enjoyment of menacing Granger – it was.
A moment later Draco followed his co-worker's lead, reappearing at the apparition point of their hotel lobby in Durham. A group of muggle men in suits bustled past none-the-wiser to the magical section of the lobby made invisible to them. There a pair of chic-looking witches in dress robes chattered in French while charmed luggage rolled after them.
Hermione was nowhere to be seen, doubtlessly already stormed off in a huff.
A hotel attendant approached him from the front counter. Rebecca. She was pretty. And attentive. And she’d been making eyes at him all week.
“Welcome back Mister Malfoy! I’m so glad to have caught you before I finish my shift. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?” She smiled coyly at him, dropping her voice to a sultry tone. “Anything at all to make you more comfortable?”
While the offer was tempting Draco had other plans for the night.
His Goddess was waiting.
With perfunctory assurances to Rebecca that he had all he needed Draco took the elevator to his suite — room 622. Before entering he raised his middle finger at the door to room 623, just across the hall, in case Granger was looking through her peep-hole. He didn't mind resorting to low-brow antics so long as it got under her skin.
Hermione
Alone in her room Hermione made a frustrated sound. Merlin, Draco Malfoy was such a prat! He always made her lose control in a way that was so irritatingly, singularly Malfoy. There was no other word to describe it. She’d been halfway to her room when she realized her mistake in storming off. They really should go over the most recent batch of potential properties their liaison in the ministry’s Property and Development Department had sent them. She’d hoped to not-so-accidentally bump into him in the hallway to bring the matter up but given that he'd just cast a profanity at her door like some unruly child she doubted it would have been a productive conversation.
She'd been perfectly content at Magical Creatures till he was hired. Now it was as though she were haunted by her own personal poltergeist. Every mistake she made, Malfoy was there to point it out. Every presentation she gave, Malfoy was there to fluster her. Every initiative she put forth, Malfoy was there to critique it.
She tried not to engage with him. She really did.
Every day she woke up determined not to lose her cool and every day Malfoy sent her reeling within five minutes. As much as she hated to admit it, he was good. He read her like the most talented bogart. He struck her emotional jugular with viper-like precision. He knocked her off-kilter, bowling her over like a sea storm. And here she'd failed again, allowing herself to be dragged down to his level — losing control of her temper and engaging in petty schoolyard arguments.
Perhaps it was best she take some time to cool down. They'd planned to meet in the hotel restaurant at seven o'clock for a working dinner spent deliberating over the merits of each property. She'd spend the half hour until then decompressing and grounding herself from the spiral he'd sent her reeling on.
Hermione kicked off her heels and placed them next to a row of Jimmy Choos – the product of a therapeutic shopping trip she'd indulged in last night after a long day of scouting with Malfoy. Anything to get a spark of seratonin.
Catching sight of herself in the mirror, Hermione froze. Of course she’d got soot all over her brand new suit during their outing. The houses they'd scouted today had been disgusting. And of course Malfoy had simply let her walk around covered in dirt for Merlin knew how long.
Hermione exhaled sharply, trying to will the stress away to no avail. Thankfully she had just the thing to relieve it. To make her feel firmly in control once again.
Sitting at the desk placed in the corner of her hotel room, Hermione turned on her laptop. She typed in the address to her favourite website. A few seconds later, the login screen appeared.
Username: GoldenGoddess
Password: ************
It had been Pansy Parkinson-Potter who introduced her to findom. Financial domination. Hermione was a Financial Dominatrix. She still found it hard to believe. But Pansy had been right. It was exactly the outlet Hermione needed.
It hadn’t been her proudest moment. In fact she was quite certain it had been her rock bottom: Crying into a glass of wine at Harry and Pansy’s place, freshly broken up with Ron and on the verge of bankruptcy due to his irresponsible spending. He’d been lying to her for years, and finances had only been the tip of the iceberg.
When Pansy had suggested she try being a findomme, a financial dominatrix, Harry had — predictably — baulked at the suggestion deeming it unsafe. But Pansy had insisted Hermione wouldn’t have to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with. “That’s the thing with financial domination. You never have to meet them in person! Some men just want to be ordered around. And belittled. And to buy you things while being utterly cuckholded and denied. You know how it is with powerful men. Being told ‘no’ is such a rarity it becomes exotic. And you can’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy bossing them about.”
Hermione still had no idea how Pansy had even learned about the muggle website matching findommes with finsubs — financial submissives. Or money slaves. Or pay pigs. She’d long since learned the Slytherin woman contained more secrets than the Room of Requirement.
At first she’d been skeptical. It seemed too good to be true. Getting paid to be mean to men on the internet? No strings attached? But eventually curiosity got the better of her. She’d made an account and posted photos to her profile page – conveniently cropping them each to hide her face for anonymity, of course – with the instruction that pay pigs were to send a tribute of £200 – at least – in their opening DM if they expected her to respond. To prove they were worth her time. Hermione hadn’t even had to wait an hour before receiving tribute from a particularly eager pay pig called FinanceMan08. During their first chat they’d discussed boundaries, kinks and all the rest. Then they’d settled into a comfortable routine, video chatting every Tuesday night. She’d have him pay for her spa days. Or lick his floor clean. If her degrading comments pushed him over the edge and he came she’d have him lick that up too. Then he'd leave another generous tribute of several hundred pounds in gratitude.
Like clockwork he returned for more each week.
And so did Hermione.
True to Pansy’s word, Hermione hadn’t had to do a thing she didn’t want to. In fact, the more she told FinanceMan08 he wasn’t worthy to even set eyes on her elbow, keeping herself fully clothed during their video chats, the more he seemed to get off to her.
He’d been the first in a steady stream of regulars.
Hermione’s financial woes were now a thing of the past. The debts she'd owed due to Ron's indiscretions were cleared in no time. When the money had continued to pour in from her lucrative hobby she'd found new ways to spend it — embracing life's luxuries and developing a taste for designer labels. Besides, being a findomme was good for her mental health. Her self-esteem got a nice boost as men quite literally paid for a scant moment of her time. And, most importantly, it gave her a sense control — something that had been in short supply since Malfoy joined her department. When she entered her Goddess persona it was as if she were in a world of her own creation. She was unflappable. All-powerful. Hermione’s word was law and her little pay piggies would happily break themselves bending over backwards to do whatever she asked. For once in her life she felt pampered. Didn't she deserve to feel pampered?
Together, shopping and findom had become two symbiotic pillars holding up her mental health — one an easy seratonin hit and the other a stress release valve.
As soon as Hermione logged in a barrage of notifications popped up. Likes and comments on her most recent photos. Tributes paid by her regulars. Some new subs begging for her to take them on. For the moment, she ignored them all.
Glancing over her Friends List Hermione brightened when she saw her favourite regular online: Slithering. She suspected whatever muggle man existed behind the username had chosen it for it’s pathetic implications. Slithering like a lowly worm. But for Hermione it had always scratched some itch in the back of her mind. It sounded so close to Slytherin. On days when Malfoy had been particularly vexing Hermione always sought out Slithering. He’d almost become a sort of stand in on which Hermione could take out her Malfoy-related frustrations. Poor bloke.
Before she could even click on his name a DM popped up.
Slithering: Your tribute has been sent Goddess. Please can we video chat? I want to worship you.
Hermione checked her muggle bank account. True to his word Slithering had sent her £1,000 – the amount they’d agreed upon as a weekly tribute. It was, of course, just a starting point.
GoldenGoddess: That's it? Pitiful. You don't deserve a video chat with me for so little.
Slithering: Yes, Goddess! Please forgive me. Another £1,000 sent.
GoldenGoddess: Is that all you have? You’re wasting my time.
Abruptly, Hermione logged off.
This was their game. She knew Slithering well. He liked to be kept waiting.
Hermione would go to dinner and return to find him hard as a rock from edging himself and nearly bursting with anticipation. That's when she'd really lay into him, spending the rest of the evening degrading and belittling her pay pig.
Sometimes Hermione imagined what he must be like in the muggle world. Some high-powered muggle businessman, no doubt, who’s demands everyone leapt to fulfill. He could probably turn his charm on like a faucet, enamoring or bullying those around him till he got his way. Likely no one who knew Slithering in real life would guess how much it turned him on to be left waiting. Insulted. Ignored. How it was one of his favourite forms of foreplay.
Taking a steadying breath, Hermione readied herself for the hotel restaurant. She just had to make it through one business dinner with Malfoy and then she could return to Slithering.
Draco
Draco indulged in a quick wank before heading down to the hotel restaurant. Granger was already there by the time he arrived, drumming her fingers impatiently on the table.
“You’re late,” she leveled at him, glancing overtly at her Cartier wrist watch.
“There’s no professors or department heads here, Granger. No one to suck up to with your grating devotion to punctuality."
"I do not suck up!"
"Ah, perfect.” Draco ignored Hermione, turning his attention to the waiter that had just appeared before them. “I’ll have the 96 chablis. And for my companion – “ he nodded towards Granger, “ – perhaps something she can drink with a straw. She so dearly loves sucking up”
“I am not a suck up! I do not love sucking – “
“Shh!” he hushed her in a stage whisper. “No need to share the intimate details of our love life my pet.” He turned to the waiter. “She's quite the animal. Two glasses of the chablis, please. Thank you.”
“I’m not the animal here. But I'd be happy to jog your memory if you want to spend the rest of the evening as a ferret." She smiled sweetly at him.
"You don't have the best track records with weasels. Or men, for that matter."
Granger's gaze turned venomous as Draco's insult landed. Since she and her schooltime-sweetheart Weasley had broken up, Draco never missed an opportunity to shove reminders of her failed relationship into any conversation he could. Of course, the fact that she had yet to find anyone else willing to date her, even months later, made for easy cannon-fodder.
The waiter returned, setting two glasses of wine on the table and placing a straw in front of Granger with wavering confidence before leaving again.
Granger eyed it, annoyed. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, as she seemed to search for the inner strength to be the bigger person. When she spoke again her voice was even. “Have you had a chance to look over the new properties P&D sent over?”
“I took the liberty of having my house elf take additional photographs of the properties beyond what P&D provided. It’ll make us more efficient when we’re deciding which ones are worth seeing in person. Here, have a look.”
Granger flipped through the photographs, not spending more than a second on each one. Draco wasn’t surprised. All the properties P&D deemed within budget were in severe disrepair or nearly toppling from neglect.
“No. No. No. Crackhouse. No. Skrewt infestation. No. The floor's literally lava in this one. No. No. N – oh! This! This is – lovely. Malfoy, have you seen this property? This little country estate? It’s certainly big enough. And it’s beautiful! Looks like it’s been decorated impeccably. And the gardens! This is in budget?”
She shoved the photo of the property which had so caught her attention towards Draco’s face. His mouth split into a vicious smile. “Oh dear. That’s one of my country estates. However did that get in there? Must have been a mistake. You can’t have that one, Granger. It’s not for sale.”
“So you just put it in there to brag?” she asked incredulously. “You petulant little – “
“But any of these other ones,” he flipped through and picked out a particularly disheartening photo of a dilapidated bathroom with a dead rat and bits of the ceiling in the sink “like this are available. Actually, this one looks like it has a lot of untapped potential! What do you think Granger?”
She pursed her lips as though it took everything in her to fight back a retort.
Despite his needling they did make progress, settling on three properties to scope out the following morning. It would be Saturday, the last day of their work trip, and despite his antics Granger seemed determined to make good use of it.
Draco opted to skip dessert. He was eager to get back to his computer. Salazar, the way GoldenGoddess had logged off as though his £2,000 were nothing!
One of the unforeseen benefits of prioritizing their muggle investments was that it had introduced him to all sorts of immensely useful muggle technologies. Muggle online banking. Muggle credit cards to spend the money. And, best of all, the muggle computer. It hadn’t taken him long to master the thing. One only had to type in what they were looking for and a veritable Library of Alexandria would be at their fingertips.
After a few months Draco had grown tired of the websites filled with airbrushed photographs and contrived videos of women. He wanted something more personal. More specific to his tastes. That’s how he’d stumbled upon his latest obsession: Findom.
He’d tried out a few dommes before he found his perfect GoldenGoddess. She always knew exactly what he needed. The days he felt most powerful were the days she seemed most intent to tear him down. Never before had he been so in-synch with someone. It was almost like magic.
Draco loved to win. He loved to chase and fight and kill. To dominate. To establish himself firmly at the top of whichever hierarchy he found himself within. But it was freeing, in a way, to set it all down. To discard his dignity and abandon his ambition. To forget the constant jockeying for power that permeated all other aspects of his life. To relegate himself to the status of a lowly pay pig — no longer the heir of a great dynasty but a nameless being whose sole use was the money in his wallet.
It was simple. Much simpler than real life had ever been.
The sooner he wrapped things up with Granger the sooner he could retire to his hotel room – and his domme – for the night.
Distracted by the thought of his Goddess, Draco only half paid attention to Granger's yapping as they rode the elevator back to their rooms.
“Are you even listening to me? I think we should allocate part of the purchasing budget to renovations. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Granger, it’s impossible not to hear you when you’re so incessantly and unnecessarily loud.”
“I asked if you were listening to me. Not hearing. Listening. Taking in my words. Being mentally present so – “
Just then the waiter from earlier turned the corner of the hall, coming towards them with an empty room service trolley as he made his way towards the elevators.
“What a little nymphomaniac you are,” Draco said, loud enough for the man to hear. “I told you that you could suck it later. You’ve got to be patient.”
The waiter rushed past them on his way down the hall.
“Stop it!" Granger commanded through gritted teeth. “It wasn't funny the first time.”
“Oh so you think the idea of us being together isn’t funny? You think it’s – what then – serious? Plausible? Romantic? Desirable? Have you been pining after me all these years, Granger? Is that why you’re so sensitive about it?”
“Pining? Have I been pining after you? Rest assured Malfoy. I hate you. I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anything.”
“Anything? You hate me more than anything? I think we both know that’s not true.” Granger unlocked her door, now completely ignoring him. “What about blood supremacy? What about elf slavery? What about – “
Draco stopped when her door slammed shut an inch away from his face.
A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest. It was fun winding Granger up and putting her in her place. But that was only play. His Goddess was pleasure.
Draco slipped into his own room. Using his wand, he charmed his hair a mousy brown and put on a pair of glasses. A few minor adjustments to his bone structure and he was hardly recognizable. It was unlikely he’d run into anyone he knew on a muggle findom website. Still, a bit of caution put his mind at ease so he could fully immerse himself in the experience.
He logged back on, eager to find release with his Goddess.
Hermione
Hermione knew when she was beat. Malfoy was the victor — for today at least. She'd sunk to his level, meeting him tit for tat as any semblance of professionalism evaporated before the scorching heat of his devilish personality.
With a sigh, Hermione crouched in front of the fireplace in her room, placing a floo call to their P&D liaison and requesting their budget be adjusted to allow for renovations. Malfoy hadn't agreed or disagreed with her idea to tweak it. But if he chose to spend his time irritating her rather than focusing on work he shouldn't be surprised when she moved forward without his input.
Hermione stood from the hearth, unsure of what to do with herself. She didn't want to return to Slithering too quickly. Instead she made her way to the closet — so full it was nearly bursting — and sifted through it's contents. A sort of peace began to settle over Hermione as she cataloged each piece of clothing. The modest closet was over-stuffed with new additions to her wardrobe courtesy of her shopping excursion the previous evening. Circe knew she'd needed it after a full day of Malfoy.
A black Versace mini-dress caught her eye. The fabric had clung so naturally to her curves in the store she'd had to buy it. Already she'd singled the dress out as the perfect look for her upcoming date with Cormac McLaggen. After weeks of pestering, she'd finally agreed to a dinner with him, deciding it was time to get back on the horse. Ron certainly had.
It didn't have to be the most prized horse. Just a horse. And for that, Cormac would do. At least until something better came along.
Returning to her laptop, Hermione typed in the website for La Perla. She ought to buy some sexy lingerie — in case, in the heat of the moment, she decided getting back on the horse extended to her bedroom. Hermione added a few negligees to her cart. And some stockings. A garter. A bodysuit. And she couldn't not add the robe that went so well with it.
Remembering a perfume she'd been wanting, Hermione opened a new tab in her browser and began to fill a virtual cart at Dior as well.
Oh! She'd seen a pair of Louboutin pumps that would look just perfect with her dress.
On and on Hermione shopped, flitting from one website to the next, filling virtual shopping carts as she went. By the time her spirits felt sufficiently lifted the tabs at the top of her browser were squished small by the sheer number of them — and in each, a cart waiting to be checked out.
Hermione glanced at the clock, content she'd left Slithering waiting long enough.
Time to earn some money to pay for her fix.
She logged back onto the findom website, confident she'd milk Slithering for enough pounds to afford everything she wanted.
A notification popped up. And another.
Slithering seemed to have bought every item on Hermione's wish list. The packages should be arriving at her P.O box sometime next week. Satisfaction bloomed in Hermione's chest. It felt good to be worshipped.
Perhaps Slithering deserved some type of reward. That was, after all, quite a large number of gifts he'd laid at her altar. And there'd be more tribute tonight — in the form of pounds — of that she was sure.
She worried her lip, considering. Malfoy had been so frustrating today! She could use an extra bit of stress relief, even beyond what shopping and degradation could provide.
Hermione didn’t tend to actually get off on her side of the computer screen. Thus far being a domme was more emotionally and financially validating than sexually gratifying.
But what if she did? She certainly wasn't opposed to the idea. Especially not when Slithering had worked so hard to please her.
Hermione rummaged in her luggage till she found what she was looking for — a vibrator that had been a gift from another of her finsubs, Worshipper99. Bullying Slithering a bit – and then perhaps a relaxing bubble bath followed by an orgasm – was exactly what she needed. There was no reason her evening plans couldn't pull double duty, both relaxing herself and rewarding Slithering.
He could listen in.
Adrenaline thrummed through her veins.
Hermione changed into the white, terry-cloth robe left in her hotel bathroom.
GoldenGoddess: I'll video chat you for a few minutes. We'll see how long you can keep my attention.
Slithering’s camera flicked on. His face and shoulders took up the frame. He wasn't terrible to look at; emotive eyes behind black-framed glasses, a strong jawline and brown hair slightly tousled.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione slipped mentally into her Goddess persona and turned her own camera on, angling it to show her body from the neck down. Slithering's eyes crinkled at the edges as his face filled with reverence.
“Did I please you Goddess?” He sounded desperate. Good.
“I suppose if that’s the best you can do," she said haughtily, putting on a tone and cadence she saved exclusively for her findom persona. "You can get me ready for my date next week. With a real man — not you. And why is that?”
“I’m not worthy.”
She nodded, pleased, as though he were a struggling student who’d finally gotten something right. "You’re going to help me look perfect. Book me an appointment at a nail salon — under the name Goldie — in London this Sunday. Make sure it's a high-end place. Pre-pay for the service and don't forget to tip generously. Maybe if you do that I’ll keep paying attention to you. In the meantime I’m going to go relax in a nice bubble bath while you pay for me to look good for another man. You can wait for me to finish like a good little pay pig.”
Hermione muted her computer's microphone and shifted the camera's view downward so it showed her keyboard rather than the hotel room previously obscured by her body. As much as Slithering was her favourite sub letting him peer around her private room — the room she occupied as Hermione Granger, not GoldenGoddess — was a bit too real.
Hermione threw her hair into a claw clip and made her way to the lavatory.
Draco
Draco found the highest reviewed luxury nail bar in London, paying in advance for every Sunday time slot they had open and bribing enough for them to bump any appointments they’d previously had penciled in.
His Goddess deserved her pick.
And then he waited just as he'd been told.
Salazar, what a lucky bastard his Goddess' date must be. Envy splashed through Draco's chest, clinging to his rib cage like sea foam at the idea of some other man getting to touch her.
He imagined his Goddess laying in a warm, scented bath like some naiad.
She probably wasn’t even thinking of him.
He was so pathetic.
Maybe she’d forgotten he was waiting, so small was her regard for him.
Draco felt himself grow hard at the thought of it, straining against his pants almost painfully.
At a sudden thud he whipped around in his chair.
A ministry owl landed inelegantly on the floor of his hotel room from where it had flown in through his cracked balcony door. The bird waddled forward awkwardly, judgement in it’s glassy eyes as it dropped a thick envelope at his feet before spreading it’s wings and taking flight again.
Draco ripped the seal open. Hermione must have contacted their P&D liaison via floo call. A new budget, modified to accommodate renovation costs.
Well that about ruined it.
Draco’s mind was thrust unceremoniously back to reality, pushing images of his naiad just out of reach.
Granger would want to see this right away. She’d need to floo call immediately to their liaison if she wanted to make any adjustments to their amended budget, it being Friday, otherwise they’d miss him as the ministry emptied out for the weekend. In that case tomorrow — the last day of their work trip — would be completely wasted as they tried to work off of an inaccurate budget. Granger would no doubt be insufferable if that happened. And not in the fun way where he knew he'd poked and prodded till she snapped, but in the annoying way where they both knew he’d fucked something up and she managed to work that fact into every sentence that left her mouth despite it being unprofessional because she just couldn't help herself.
He glanced longingly at his Goddess' camera, still angled towards her keyboard. There was no sign of her yet as she seemed to be enjoying her soak.
He’d just run the budget across the hall, put the papers in Granger’s hand, and be back before his Goddess noticed he’d left his seat. Stepping out of the frame, Draco removed his muggle glasses and undid his disguise with a Finite Incantatem. With his hardened cock tucked discreetly into his waistband he dashed out of his room with papers in hand.
Hermione
Of course Malfoy would be pounding on her door when she was in the middle of a relaxing bubble bath. The ass seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to agitating her. Hermione threw her robe back on and begrudgingly crossed her hotel room.
The knocking grew increasingly impatient as she neared the door. “For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy. What?”
“Here’s-the-new-budget-we-can-talk-about-it-tomorrow-bye.” He pressed an envelope into her hand, already turning away to dash back through the door to his own room across the hall. It shut after him with a quiet click leaving Hermione alone in her doorway.
Well that was odd.
She flipped through the new budget. The last page was missing. Malfoy must have forgotten it, the thoughtless git.
Hermione glanced at her computer screen. Slithering was sitting in his chair as she’d instructed. From the rise and fall of his chest she could tell he was breathing slightly heavy, as though he'd just run a sprint.
Oh, he must really be enjoying the anticipation.
Keeping her body out of the frame she held the vibrator in front of the camera, unmuting for just a moment. “Turn your volume all the way up. I want you to hear what it sounds like when I cum and I want you to know you’ll never, ever get to see it.”
Slithering could wait another minute. It would only amount to more foreplay. His ears would be straining desperately for even a hint of her pleasure and the longer she left him waiting – building anticipation – the more he’d enjoy it.
Robe fastened tightly around herself, Hermione crossed the hall and knocked on Malfoy’s door.
Draco
“Go away, Granger. I’m indisposed.”
The knocking grew louder.
Draco strained his ears hoping to hear his perfect Goddess.
This was something new. Never before had she gotten herself off during one of their sessions. That aspect of their relationship had always one-sided. Transactional. He was the pathetic miscreant touching himself and she was the Goddess, condescending to grace his unworthy self with her presence so long as he kept her bank account filled.
He listened for the buzz of the vibrator.
Perhaps a wayward moan?
Nothing.
Nothing but the insistent, tapping at the door.
“Dammit Granger, fuck off!”
She made a scandalized sound and the knocking stopped.
Thank Salazar. Finally.
And then Draco’s ever so temporary peace was shattered when he heard her mutter a spell.
High-pitched screeching bombarded his eardrums. It was as if a localized Cauterwauling Charm was going off in his room.
No, no, no.
Draco couldn’t hear himself think, nevermind hear his Goddess pleasuring herself.
Grasping his wand under his desk and out of sight, Draco tried a few noise cancelling spells to no avail.
This was his time. After months his Goddess had finally seen fit to bestow this gift upon him. This was his reward. And he couldn’t even get himself into a sub space. He couldn’t even enjoy it because of Hermione sodding Granger.
Oh for Salazar’s sake! Why did she have to be such an accomplished spell-caster? Nothing he tried seemed capable of muting the racket. What options did he have, really? He couldn’t very well explain to his muggle GoldenGoddess that his coworker had cast a magical noise spell into his room out of vengeance.
There was no other option. He’d have to pop next door to make the vindictive witch cancel the terrible screeching in his room. He only hoped his Goddess was too preoccupied with herself to notice his brief disappearance.
With a frustrated sigh he ducked out of his camera's view and waved his wand to cancel the charms on his appearance before tearing across the hall.
If Granger ruined his evening with GoldenGoddess — if his absence was noticed and his chance at hearing his Goddess orgasm was revoked — Granger would pay.
Hermione
Hermione tried desperately to clear her mind. She’d been so ready for her little bit of auditory exhibitionism only minutes ago. And then one interaction with Malfoy had knocked her so far back from her domme headspace it was difficult to return. How did he always make her feel so small?
A gentle buzzing filled the air as she lay back in her bed, holding the vibrator loosely in her hand. She’d practically conditioned her body to respond to the hum of her sex toy at this point. Still, nothing. Come on. Domme space, she told herself, eyes screwed shut in concentration as her mind desperately reached for the nirvana that remained just beyond her grasp. You’re the Goddess. You're powerful. You're in charge. What you say goes.
There was a knock at the door.
Dammit, Malfoy!
Turning the vibrator off, Hermione tossed it carelessly onto her bed. She shoved her arms through the sleeves of her robe and tugged the belt into a haphazard knot before wrenching the door open.
“What do you think – ”
She took a step back as Malfoy strode angrily into the room, rounding on her as the door clicked shut behind him. And he was wearing – glasses? Since when did Malfoy need something as banally muggle as glasses?
“Can’t you take no for an answer, woman? I said I was indisposed! Now turn off that bloody racket in my roo – “
His eyes roved her body, seeming to take in her bathrobe for the first time.
Traveling to the bed, his gaze landed on Hermione's vibrator.
Her heart fell. She knew he’d never let her live this down. Masturbating. And on a work trip, no less! As if she was some deviant that couldn’t tear herself away from – well, herself.
She might need to find a new job.
But there was no triumphant gleam to his eyes. No vengeful mockery. Instead, the muscles in Malfoy's jaw tensed.
"You're..." His voice trailed off.
Malfoy’s reaction didn’t make any sense at all. He should have been falling over with laughter by now. He should be three jokes deep into making her regret ever embacing her sexuality. He should have her wishing she'd become a nun.
And then it clicked into place.
The reason his eyes were fixed on her vibrator – the same one she'd waved before her camera only minutes ago for Slithering.
The glasses Malfoy was wearing – Slithering’s glasses.
The familiar broad shoulders.
The reason Slithering had had so much wealth at his disposal – so much to shower her with.
She glanced at her computer screen to find Slithering's chair empty.
Because he was here.
In her hotel room.
Because he was Draco Malfoy.
Because he had been Draco Malfoy this entire time.
Hermione's heart dropped leaving her chest suddenly hollow.
Her mind felt thick and over-crowded as she struggled to orient herself in this new reality.
Malfoy stood frozen and – for the first time since she'd met him – speechless.
Malfoy. Draco fucking Malfoy this whole fucking time!
Hermione wanted to shrivel out of existence at the idea she’d been getting him off for months. But some other part of her, louder and larger, purred happily above the din that she, Hermione Granger had had such power over him. He’d begged and obeyed and paid. He’d been her little pay pig. And if she knew anything it was that she was a Goddess and her pay pigs existed solely to serve her.
Hermione’s Goddess persona snapped easily back into place, her voice dropping low and dangerous.
“I didn’t give you permission to leave your desk.”
Malfoy’s eyes widened ever so slightly. She watched his mind work for a moment till he seemed to reach a decision.
“I’m sorry Goddess,” he said, slowly. “Please forgive me.”
A dark smirk pulled slowly at her lips.
“You’re going to have to be punished. Did you bring your credit card?”
He pulled his wallet from his trouser pocket, removing a Mastercard.
Hermione almost laughed. How absolutely muggle of him.
“Good. You’re going to sit at that desk and check out every single cart. You're going to buy me everything. And while you’re typing out those teeny tiny numbers from your credit card again and again I’m going to be on this bed getting myself off.” Malfoy licked his lips in some subconscious physical response to her words. His eyes darted to Hermione’s bed but she only snickered, sardonic and cruel. “You don’t deserve to watch. Eyes on the computer.”
Malfoy did what she’d instructed. No back talk. No snarky remarks. He just went over to her computer and sat down with his back to her, setting his credit card on the desk in front of him.
Hermione returned to her bed, parting her legs as the buzzing of her vibrator resumed. At the unmistakable sound Malfoy squared his shoulders but he kept his eyes facing forward. Draco Malfoy, she thought to herself again before letting her head fall back on the pillow. She ran her finger along her opening, letting it dance over her clit. Already she was practically dripping.
The buzzing grew muffled as she slipped the toy inside herself, feeling her body stretch around it.
It was thrilling, laying exposed with Draco Malfoy only a few steps away. Hermione's blood felt electric as an intoxicating mix of adrenaline and lust pumped through her. Circe, she’d never felt so turned on before.
A button near the base of the vibrator swapped out the steady buzz for a pulsing sensation.
Another push and the speed quickened.
Hermione stared at the back of Malfoy’s head.
At his white-blonde hair.
His neck.
She watched the way the muscles in his forearm shifted when he typed in the numbers to his credit card.
She listened to the clicks of the keyboard as he entered them for the umpteenth time.
Tension coiled deep in her abdomen and a quiet moan pushed past her lips. She knew Malfoy heard it from the way he stopped typing for a moment, seeming to gather himself before soldiering on.
She effected him.
And he was effecting her.
She wanted more.
Teasing Slithering like this would have been enough. Letting him touch himself to the sounds of her pleasure even as he was forbidden from watching. Degrading him till he finally found release. That’s what her favourite pay pig deserved.
But Malfoy?
Draco Malfoy who had bullied her through her teens into adulthood. Who used his wealth as a shield to avoid ever being held accountable. Who for years had used it as a bludgeon in his arsenal of weapons with which to make Hermione feel lesser.
He deserved worse.
He deserved to hurt.
Hermione turned off her vibrator. She rose from the bed, stalking towards her nemesis turned coworker turned personal wallet.
Looking over his shoulder she glanced at the computer screen. There were barely any tabs left open. Barely any carts left for him to buy her. She watched him check out another cart – some summer dresses from Ralph Lauren – and then another – lotions from Givenchy.
It was such a strange thing, seeing him at a muggle computer. Perhaps she didn’t know him quite as well as she’d thought she did.
Malfoy's long fingers tapped over her keyboard with ease.
Time for Malfoy to see exactly what his galleons could never buy him. The one thing that, at this moment, was completely within Hermione’s control: Herself.
Hermione pushed her bottom onto the edge of the desk placing her body between Malfoy and the computer. She spread her legs so they bracketed him and placed one foot on the rim of his seat to either side of his lap. Hermione slid off her robe, exposing herself fully.
Malfoy's adam's apple bobbed as he audibly gulped.
She never would have revealed her body this way to a stranger on the internet. Not even for Slithering. But for Draco Malfoy? She wanted him to see what he couldn’t have. She wanted his insides twisting with lust and desire for her if only so she could deny him.
Malfoy's eyes roved over her hungrily.
”You like it when I take all your money don’t you?”
He nodded eagerly, eyes fixed on her cunt.
“I’m gonna leave you with nothing. Does it turn you on, knowing I’m going to take it all?”
She grazed her foot over the crotch of his pants and wasn’t disappointed.
“Oh it does. Take it out."
Malfoy unzipped his pants, adjusting his briefs to free his cock without a moment’s hesitation. What a good little pay pig he was.
He licked his lips again. Hermione tsked when he made to touch himself. His hand froze, hovering an inch from his shaft as his gaze rose to hers.
“Can I, Goddess? Please?”
His tone had a simpering quality. Nothing like the self-assured drawl of Draco Malfoy. It was no wonder she'd never discovered him.
“You can touch yourself. But,” she added dangerously, “for every time your hand slides on your cock you’re paying a month of my rent.”
Malfoy whimpered. Draco Malfoy actually whimpered — a pathetic sound from the back of his throat. And then he began stroking himself.
Hermione watched, mesmerized, as time ticked by. She couldn’t tear her eyes from him.
Draco Malfoy.
Vulnerable.
Exposed.
Doing whatever she said.
She was in control..
It felt glorious.
“How many pumps has that been? How many months of my rent are you paying now?”
“Sixty-three,” he answered promptly. “Sixty-four.”
Hermione’s lips lifted into a cruel smile.
“Draco Malfoy: The pampered prince of Slytherin,” she jeered. “The spoiled brat who gets anything he wants. What is it you want right now? More than anything in the world?”
”You – to fuck you. Please, Goddess.”
A sense of triumph welled within Hermione’s chest. Draco Malfoy, bane of her existence, reduced to a pleading mess.
”Kneel,” she commanded, parting her thighs further.
Eagerly, Draco slid out of the chair to his knees. Slate eyes gazed hopefully up at her from below.
”Go ahead. Let’s see if you’re good for anything other than your wallet.”
Hermione was prepared for Malfoy to bring his mouth to her cunt. She was ready for it. What she was not ready for was his fingers tenderly brushing against her calves as he dragged his hands exaltingly up the length of her leg. He was reverent, as though he were committing the shape of her to memory. When Draco brought Hermione's ankle to his lips, mouth beginning to follow the trail set by his fingertips, a shiver rolled up her spine.
Draco’s warm breath ghosted over Hermione’s opening and she nearly melted into the desk. Instead of putting his mouth on it, he shifted past to nibble on her opposite thigh. The open-mouthed kisses were bruising as he sucked at her sensitive flesh with such devotion Hermione was sure her inner thigh would be covered in marks.
Her head dropped back in ecstasy.
And then she caught herself.
No. This was not the time for Malfoy to tease her. This was not the time to give him control.
That's not what this was.
She was in charge. She wanted to use him to get off — granting him as much emotional attachment as she afforded her vibrator. She would reduce him to parts. Wallet. Mouth. Both were mere tools for her to use.
Hermione didn't want tenderness. She didn't want him humanized at all. He was nothing but a pay pig. And she was a Goddess, with power and bliss in her hands.
Gripping Malfoy’s hair she pulled his mouth to her aching cunt.
There was no more teasing. No more taking it slow. Greedily he lapped at her, running his tongue the length of her opening in wide, broad licks.
”You’re so pathetic,” she crooned. “What would your parents think – knowing you were begging for the chance to sully that precious bloodline. Or your housemates?” His mouth became hungrier. “If they could see you now, feasting on a muggleborn. Buying her anything she wants. Kneeling before her. Grovelling. I only wish I’d ‘put you in your place like this back at Hogwarts. I wish they could have witnessed how pitiful you really are.”
Malfoy rolled his tongue over Hermione’s most sensitive place and she inhaled sharply.
”Just wait till I get my hands on your Gringotts vault. I’d bet you’d give me the whole Malfoy fortune if I asked. You’d let me drain it all, wouldn’t you?”
”Yes, Goddess,” Malfoy gasped, tearing his mouth away from her for only as long as it took for him to say the words. “Use me. Please.”
”Mm. Nails. A new wardrobe. You’re gonna pay for me to look perfect on my date next week aren’t you?”
Draco nodded, tongue pressing harder against her with each pass.
”Merlin. I can’t wait. You remember Cormac McLaggen, don’t you?”
For the first time Malfoy’s tongue seemed to stutter. He began to pull his head back. Hermione used her fingers, still tangled in his soft hair, to hold him close. Slithering liked to be cuckolded. Whether Malfoy was ready to admit it or not, she had an inkling he did too.
”I didn’t say stop.”
Obediently he sucked at her, pulling her clit into his mouth. Hermione flinched at the intensity of the sensation.
”I bet he’s going to fuck me so well. I bet Cormac can satisfy me. I’m just imagining it’s him now.” She shifted her hips slightly to grind against his mouth. “Imagining it’s his mouth on me. Mm. Circe, you’re pathetic. Getting me off while I pretend you’re another man. It’s still more than you deserve. You’re not worthy to even look at me. Say thank you.”
She released her iron grip on his hair. Malfoy pulled back, panting. “Thank you,” he managed before diving greedily forward again.
"Mm. Maybe if you're good I'll let you watch."
Tension was coiling tighter and tighter within Hermione’s lower abdomen. How was it she felt simultaneously boneless and stretched taut?
She’d never felt so powerful. Graduating top of her class had been notable. Helping to defeat the most fearsome dark lord of the Wizarding World had been an achievement. But having Draco Malfoy kneel before her – doing anything she said - thanking her for the privilege of eating her out? That was truly monumental.
The orgasm crashed over Hermione, making her blood sing as it roared through her nervous system. She leaned forward, curling in on herself. Her hands found Malfoy’s shoulders and he lowered her to the floor.
As the rush of sensations receded Hermione took in her surroundings. Malfoy sat on her floor, bent legs tucked under himself. Hermione was half under the desk, arms still wrapped around Malfoy’s shoulders as she hung off of him.
Their faces were only inches apart. Hermione could smell herself on Malfoy’s breath. See how his lips and chin glistened from what they’d done. His tongue swept across his lower lip, gathering her arousal, as his eyes flicked downwards. Hermione followed his glance, finding his still hard cock protruding from his trousers.
"Please," Malfoy begged. His eyes were on her mouth now. "Please, Goddess. I'll be such a good pay pig for you. I'll do anything."
”Good. I’m not done with you yet. There’s one more tribute I want from you tonight.”
”Anything, Goddess.”
Hermione felt her expression turn to steel.
”You’re donating your country estate. For the project. I don’t want a sickle coming out of my budget.”
Malfoy's eyes cleared slightly. Even still, he acquiesced, nodding in agreement.
”And you’re going to pay for any renovations I want done. And you’re going to pay to remove any dark artifacts. And you’re going to pay staff for it’s upkeep. Human staff, not house elves. Understood?”
Another nod.
”Good,” Hermione encouraged. “You did so well pleasing me.”
A hopeful eagerness settled over his features. It was almost charming enough for Hermione to forget herself. To give him what he wanted instead of what he deserved. Almost.
”Please. Can I…” Malfoy eyes dragged down Hermione’s body, landing at her cunt.
”What is it you want?”
”I want to fuck you, Goddess. Please.”
”Not Goddess. Who am I?”
His eyes searched hers, She could almost see the gears of his mind turning as he tried to catch up.
”Granger.”
”Try again. Who is it you're so desperately, pathetically begging to shag?”
Finally it seemed to dawn on Malfoy that, this time at least, he may not get everything he wanted.
”Hermione,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing.
Triumph rushed through Hermione’s veins. It was as though their entire history – the years of rivalry and antagonizing – had led to this moment. The moment she won this and all future battles. The moment she finally put Draco Malfoy in his place after years of torment.
Rising onto her knees to make herself taller, Hermione carded her fingers tenderly through Malfoy's hair. Without warning her grip tightened and she tugged his head violently back, looking into his eyes.
"No, Malfoy. You can't." She reached onto the desk, groping hand closing around his credit card. "I’m going to be keeping this. And you're forbidden from touching yourself until tomorrow."
Hermione stood, shoulders squared and expression suddenly sadistic as she looked down at his cowed form, bent down before her with cock in hand.
"Now get out."
Draco
Back in his room, Draco leaned his head against his door.
Hermione Granger. Never in a century would he have guessed she was his GoldenGoddess.
Hermione Granger.
Little Miss Gryffindor.
Miss Rules.
Miss Professionalism.
His favourite person to belittle and all this time —
Draco didn't know how to come back from this.
He didn't know how to retake the upper hand.
What's worse — he didn't think he wanted to.
Draco found himself suddenly faced with a choice. What was more important to him? Bullying Granger or pleasing his Goddess?
He could stay like this forever, being her benefactor. Her patron. Her sub. Her money slave. Her pay pig.
Draco looked down at himself. He'd never been so hard. 9:32 PM. The second the clock struck midnight — the moment it was officially tomorrow — he was going to give himself what he was sure would be the most intense orgasm he'd yet experienced.
Who was he fooling? Between displeasing Granger and pleasing his Goddess the choice was easy.
Draco sat at his desk, pulling out a quill, ink and parchment. He began writing a letter addressed to Gringotts, requesting the transfer of a large sum of galleons. And another letter addressed to the Fudges. They were always looking for projects with which to firmly establish themselves in society's good graces. And then the Bulstrodes. On and on Draco wrote, addressing letters to the most wealthy philanthropists in his circle.
Granger's initiatives — her Magical Creatures transitional homes — were about to receive quite a substantial boost in funding. Surely, once he told her of his deeds, she'd see fit to reward him on their next scouting trip. Maybe even sooner. Perhaps tomorrow morning.
After all, he was determined to prove what a good pay pig he could be.