Chapter Text
The city lights of London bled across the floor-to-ceiling windows of a random penthouse that the first party of the school year was being held at. Gold and white lights smeared across the wet concrete. People were by the pool, and fairy lights glinted off the water. Staff had been offering hors d'oeuvres as he walked up. A few friends slapped him on the back in drunk greeting. Draco Malfoy was already bored by the time he got into the heart of the party. The hostess, Jennifer? Jessica? Julie? (He didn’t know, nor care), smiled at him as she answered the door.
“Draco Malfoy, I was hoping you’d show up.” The foyer was empty as he stepped inside. She smiled, bold red lips stretching around straight and white teeth. She flicked her black hair off her shoulder, allowing Draco to see more of her cleavage in her tiny black dress.
Let the games begin.
“Oh really?” Draco’s voice dropped to a seductive murmur, causing a deep flush of scarlet to run up her neck. He picked an invisible piece of lint off his cashmere sweater. “Why is that, darling?” She leaned up, her tits pressed against his shoulder. Her lips grazed his ear before biting the lobe gently.
“I haven’t had a good fuck in ages, and if your reputation precedes you…we’re overdue to get properly acquainted.” He smirked, kissing the underside of her jaw.
“Well, aren’t you a straight-to-the-point little minx. Lead the way.” Her hand wrapped around his, and they walked to a coat closet found nestled in an alcove.
Classy, though I suppose I’ve fucked girls in places worse than this.
The party had to be a record for Draco. It only took minutes before a girl was impaling herself on his cock while she whimpered into his ear about how good he felt.
Starting the school year strong, he guessed.
Hours later, he was sprawled on a black leather sofa that seemed designed to swallow him, one arm thrown over his eyes. Sneaking away from a party wasn’t something he did, but the low, rhythmic thrum of a bass-heavy track that vibrated through the glass, made his head throb. After the quickie, the girl had disappeared with a sated smile on her face. Predictable.
Everything was predictable. The bimbos he knew and fucked were high maintenance; only wearing designer labels, with vacant eyes, half a brain, and dopey lovesick smiles. Naturally, they had fathers who worshipped the Malfoy name. Their conversations consisted stock tips and holiday destinations. While the sex he had ended up being a perfunctory exercise in ego-stroking that left him feeling more empty than before. He was nineteen, heir to a fortune, and he felt ancient.
The soft click of Louboutin heels on the glossed wood was the only warning he got before a familiar, cloying scent of Chanel filled his senses.
“Quiet time, love?” Pansy Parkinson’s voice was a purr, laced with amusement. “Don’t tell me you’ve already worked your way through the debutante roster. It’s only eleven.”
Draco didn’t move his arm. “When did you get here?"
"Around the time Jennifer came around your cock in that closet, I suppose."
"So that's her name."
"Mm. I'm just surprised you haven't fucked your way through the roster yet." Pansy moved closer, a predatory gleam in her eye that Draco couldn't see, a sigh falling from her lips as she smoothed her red blazer.
"They’re a recycling bin of the same DNA, Pansy. I could fuck them with my eyes closed and not know the difference.”
A low chuckle escaped her as Draco felt the headrest of the leather couch creak as she moved herself behind him, trailing her fingers along the material. Her hands, cool and smooth, came and settled on his shoulders. “A poor workman blames his tools,” she murmured, her thumbs beginning to press into the tense muscles of his neck. It was a practiced, touch. They’d been playing this game since they were fifteen, a constant, simmering war of one-upmanship and raw, unspoken tension.
“Maybe I need a better challenge,” he grunted, arm falling to his side before tilting his head forward to give her better access. The pressure was good, a sharp distraction from the monotony.
“Maybe you do,” she agreed, her voice dropping, becoming a warm whisper against his ear. Her hands slid down his back, her nails raking up and down through the thin fabric of his sweater. He bit his lip. “Someone who won’t just fall into your lap. Someone who requires… finesse.”
He snorted. “I don’t need finesse. I can make any girl spread their legs.”
“Not all of them,” Pansy cooed, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. A shiver traced its way down his spine. “I have the perfect candidate.”
Draco twisted his head to look at her. Her dark eyes were glittering with a malevolent light he knew all too well. It was the look she got right before she suggested something truly, beautifully cruel.
“Who?” he asked, his interest piqued for the first time all night.
A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. “Hermione Granger.”
Draco’s eyebrow arched. “Granger?” The name was an anomaly in their world. Hermione Granger, the new headmaster’s niece, a scholarship student who had transferred in before start of the final term for their sophomore year. Draco found out quickly that she was a walking, talking library. Curly brunette hair. She's short and skinny, dressed as prudish as she probably was, with her skirts an appropriate length and her shirts neatly tucked.
There was something about her eyes, warm honey that blazed hazel when she was speaking passionate about something. He’d seen her in the cafeteria on the first day last week, holding court with a group of equally earnest types, debating the ethics of factory farming while everyone else around her was trying to get through syllabus week in peace. Her face flushed red at a challenging retort someone gave her and it made the smatter of freckles across her nose stand out. then in the next class period, he heard her use the word ‘hegemony’ in casual conversation. It was a boner-killer of the highest order.
Pansy nodded, her smile widening at his skepticism. She leaned fully against him, her breasts pressing against his back as her hands resumed their massage, working their way back up to his shoulders. “Exactly. She’s the ultimate prize. Virgin extraordinaire. The girl who thinks ‘hookup culture’ is a sociological disease to be studied, not participated in. She’s a fortress, Draco. And you love a good siege.”
He let out a sharp breath as she found a particularly tight knot, her fingers digging in with expert precision. Blood began to rush south, a familiar and welcome heat. “She’d never look at me twice. I represent everything she despises.”
“That’s what makes it fun,” Pansy breathed, her voice a low, hypnotic hum. She leaned in closer, her body molding against his. “Let’s make a little wager. A real one.”
He could feel the grin in her voice. He was listening now, fully engaged.
“You bed Hermione Granger,” she said, her words thoughtful, “before the end of the year. You get her to say ‘I love you,’ and you get proof. A picture. A recording. Something tangible.” Her hands slid down his chest, her nails scraping lightly against his nipples through his shirt. “You do that, and you get my spot on the Verbier ski trip. First-class tickets, the best chalet, the whole nine yards.”
He waited. He knew there was more.
Her voice dropped to a near-inaudible whisper, raw and filthy. “And you get me. For the night. No limits, no safe words. No more teasing. I won’t just be a pretty face on your arm. I’ll be on my knees, on my back, wherever you want me, however you want me. I’ll be fucking you, Draco. The way you’ve always dreamed.”
To emphasize her point, one of her hands drifted lower, cupping his hard cock firmly through his fitted dark-blue jeans. She squeezed, just hard enough to make him gasp. He was still sensitive from the closet-fuck with Jennifer. His head falling back against her chest as a low moan escaped his lips. The offer was obscene, irresistible. Pansy, completely and utterly his to command. It was a fantasy he’d been jerking off to for years.
His mind raced, calculating the odds. It was impossible. It was insane. It was perfect.
“If you lose,” she coos in his ear, her tone shifting from seductive to challenging, “I get your Ducati. The red one.” His hand tightened into a fist. That bike was his pride and joy. “And you owe me a month of service. You’ll be my lapdog, Draco. You’ll do whatever I say, whenever I say it. No arguments. No complaints. You’ll drive me to school, carry my books, and sit at my feet like a good little boy until I say you’re done.”
She squeezed him again, a hard, possessive grip that was both a promise as it was a threat. The thought was sickening. Humiliating. But the alternative… winning… was intoxicating.
The silence stretched between them, thick with tension and the scent of her perfume. He could feel his own heartbeat hammering against his ribs. He was a Malfoy. He didn’t back down from a challenge, and he certainly didn’t lose to Pansy Parkinson.
A slow, dangerous smile finally curved his lips. He turned his head, capturing her gaze. His eyes were cold steel, lit with a fire of pure, unadulterated ambition.
“You have a deal, Pansy,” he said, his voice a low growl. “But when I win, I’m not just going to fuck you. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”
Pansy’s own smile was a perfect mirror of his. “I’m counting on it.”
With the wager in place, Pansy pulled back entirely, sauntering back to the party as if the last ten minutes never happened. Draco sat on the couch, hard and aching. With a sigh, he got up, and rejoined the party too.
Now, where’s Jennifer...?