Invitation to the Hunt

Chapter 2: Invitation to the Hunt

"I want to go on the hunt, too."

"Excuse me?"

Practice with bows and arrows had advanced to shooting at simulated charging spiders. Now, Hermione, assuming a defiant stance, was giving Draco her most determined look. "I want to join you and the centaurs. I'm as accurate with the bow as you are at short range." She braced herself, ready to reply to his derision.

"You do know that's it's possible to get killed," he said. "The Malfoys and the centaurs are risking life and limb for profit." He sounded genuinely puzzled. "Why would you want to risk your life and limb for our profit?"

"It's to help the centaurs," she said. "We've treated them horribly the last several hundred years. All wizards and witches should be ready to do something to help."

"Is this Hermione Granger to the rescue?"

"What if it is? What's wrong with that? And it's not Hermione-Granger-to-the-rescue; it's Hermione-Granger-lending-a-helping-hand."

Draco was temporarily lost in thought. "You were alone in your campaign for the elves. With this, you get to be a member of a team." He paused. "A member of a team doing good that doesn't include Ron and Harry. Are you establishing your independence?"

"Yes. No. And why do you have to be so smart, I mean, suspicious? And what do you care anyway?"

"You might be surprised at what I care about," he said.

"Then why don't you join me for tea after work today?" she asked.

They both looked stunned. How had this happened?

An hour later, Hermione was in her office, staring blankly at a form.

"Uh, Miss," said the goblin.

"Oh, yes, the next item on the form," said Hermione, returning to the matter at hand. It was a routine application for a small business.

"We need the address, the type of building, and the square-footage," she said.

She wrote down the information and sighed, "I'm not dressed for tea."

"Excuse me," said the goblin.

"How many employees," she asked.

At quitting time, Draco knocked on her door.

"You look bonny," he said as they strolled into the streets of London. "We can do tea, or I can offer you a special coffee."

"Where do we get special coffee?" she asked. "How special?"

"Specialty coffees are an acquired taste," he said.

"Unlike tea, which is natural," she replied.

"Exactly," he said. "One of the milder ones is latte."

They entered the shop, ordered, and sipped their lattes.

"I'm surprised you frequent a non-wizard establishment," she said. "But I suppose you're determined to be sophisticated in all things."

"Sophisticated enough to expect continuous barbs from you," he said. "What are you taking your final year?"

She said that she wasn't certain, and he replied that she meant she didn't know how many. He guessed that she would certainly try for Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmancy, and Potions, and he offered that she was uncertain about History, Defense, Herbology, and Runes. She was surprised he followed her life that closely and asked about his plans, which, she assumed, consisted of Arithmancy, Potions, Defense, and Quidditch and which, she informed him, was rather paltry for a man of his ability. He made a great show of wincing at the barb and offered the defense that sports took a great deal of time and energy.

"I remember Ron and Harry ..." she started to say.

"It's okay to talk about Ron and Harry," he said.

"I remember Ron and Harry coming back to the common room after practice too tired and beat up to open a book, let alone write an essay."

"I can imagine how sympathetic you were to them," he said.

"I was younger then, and if you want to talk about what we did when we were kids, I can remember lots of things about you," she said.

"We wouldn't have to worry about the conversation having awkward pauses and dying on us," he said. "Did you ever think that being sports stars would be good for Ron and Harry in the long run?"

"I didn't then. I was too idealistic, and I thought academic success would be rewarded. Now I see that most people aren't scholars but they can relate to sports."

"There's employment," he said. "And there're girls, too."

"Oh, think of all those starry-eyed girls. I suppose that explains why Mr. Malfoy rides his broom," she said.

"Me? I'm already rich."

The conversation had an awkward pause.

"Doesn't your family miss you this summer?" he asked.

The conversation turned to her visiting her parents and their disappointment when she stayed in her flat for a weekend. She observed that he still lived at home and hadn't cut the apron strings, to which he replied that the apron strings were currently tied around nests of spiders.

"Can I go on the hunt?" she inquired again.

"I can ask," he replied.

"Would you like lunch this Saturday?" she asked. "It can be at my flat. Think of it as increasing your sophistication by observing a non-wizard abode at close range and having a meal not prepared by elves. Not to mention that you can get away from the apron strings and save the price of a meal at the same time."

"How could anyone refuse an invitation so graciously offered," he said.

The next morning at the manor, the lady was unstringing and putting away her bow when she heard someone behind her.

"Your husband missed practice again."

"You dare criticize him, boy?"

"Yes, he's putting us in danger. When we face the spiders, we can't have a weak member of the team."

"He's busy."

"Blonde or brunette?"

Bellatrix whipped out her wand and pointed it at Draco. Suddenly, it was in his hand and at her throat, and the look in his eyes caused her to step back until she was against the wall. He followed her with the wand at her throat. A strange feeling went through her. When had her nephew become this powerful? She realized she was breathing heavily, realized he was looking at her bosom rise and fall, and realized she didn't mind. She licked her lips.

He trailed the wand down her throat and between her breasts. "Your husband's a fool."

She didn't protest.

He leaned closer and whispered, "The fire in those eyes."

She softened, put her hands on his arms, leaned forward. And bit his nose.

"Bitch," he yelled, tossing her aside.

She made a noise somewhere between a triumphant yell and a wild cackle, hiked up her skirt, and sprinted out of the shed and across the lawn. Draco performed a quick healing spell for his injured beak and dashed after her. The hot pursuit became warmer as the sight of her flashing legs sent jolts of admiration to his base of his spine.

Bellatrix screamed when only a few yards later, she felt his arms go around her waist. Damn, he was fast. She tried to keep running, but she couldn't break his hold, and she was falling toward the waiting grass. She hit the ground and tried to twist free. By the gods, he was strong. She was in a secure grip that wasn't hurting her. They began rolling down the hill toward the lake. She grunted and strained. She heard him chuckle as she writhed to get free, as she writhed and her breasts moved against his chest. Her breasts hadn't moved against a chest for a long time, such a long time. She groaned and struggled to break free as she tried not to notice that it felt good to have her breasts against a male chest, that she wanted to have her breasts against him, that he was between her legs, that she could feel his maleness, that his maleness was pressed against her, that she liked it and tried not to want it, that her thighs were squeezing him as her skirt rode up, that her skirt was up and her smooth, silk-covered ache was pushing against the bulge in his trousers, that her legs were around him and her hips were undulating and her knickers were getting moist, and she was rubbing against what she wanted.

Draco broke loose and pulled away.

She lay on the grass panting for a while before sitting up and saying, "Well, well, the little boy doesn't know what to do with a woman he's just wrestled into submission."

She watched him stand and assumed he was going to leave in an insulted snit, but when she glanced up, he was giving her a fond look. She took his outstretched hand and let him help her to her feet. She heard him say, "You're very tempting, Auntie. You know I've always admired you."

"Are you making fun of me?" she asked.

"Absolutely not," she heard him say. He stepped closer. She felt an arm go around her waist and his fingers combing her hair behind her ear. "Absolutely not," he repeated as he embraced her and stroked her hair. His holding her was comforting even though she was thinking she had never liked affectionate contact.

They walked back to the house holding hands.

It was Saturday noon.

"Give me some space. Let a master do his work."

"Honestly."

"You can watch if you want to," said Draco, taking a board, a knife, and some vegetables out of a sack.

"I wouldn't mind watching you cut off your thumb," said Hermione, eyeing the large knife.

"Blood-thirsty Gryffindor. Why don't we skip the salad, put away the frying pan, and tear into the raw meat with our claws? Oh, I know why not. No one could compete with a primitive Gryff, and you want to play nice hostess."

"Your insights as a civilized wizard and your manners as a guest are impeccable," she said. "I'm having fun already."

"Well, get ready to have more fun as I introduce you to the novel idea of washing our food before preparing it."

"Next you'll be suggesting that we wash up, too," she said.

"I wouldn't mind scrubbing you," he said.

"Wow. Insulting to flirting in a single leap. I am impressed."

Despite herself, Hermione was impressed as she watched Draco prepare the American-style salad she had enjoyed when she had dined at the Malfoys.

He noticed her interest. "Mother and Father sometimes have a large number of guests who want to assemble without publicity. That means we can't hire a caterer and I have to help the elves."

She was too surprised to be sarcastic. "You help the elves?"

"I help elves. I hunt spiders. Did you think that all I did was parade around waving my silver spoon?"

"Let's not fight," she said.

"Demanding wench," he said.

"Yes, I am," she agreed.

Hermione's plans were to have salad, pork chops, and potatoes and then to go someplace for dessert. Draco mentioned that his father was fond of the non-wizard boat tours and the boats served a variety of refreshments.

Two hours later they were leaning against the rail and watching the city float by when she said, "The department is having a costume party next Friday."

"Who are you going as?" he asked.

"What do you think of Little Red Riding Hood?" she asked.

She related the non-wizard fairy tale.

"Just think," he said, "you could get some boy to play the wolf and then cut him open at the end of the evening if he danced like grandma." He looked out over the water. Teasing her was so easy. It wasn't fair. When he looked back, she was appraising him. "What?" he asked.

"I suppose you've already asked one of your rich, pureblood girlfriends," she said.

"No, I'm not even sure I'm going," he said. He glanced her way. She was still appraising him. "I am not going as the wolf," he announced.

"You could go as another person," she said.

"Ron Weasley? You want me to go as Ron? That's kinky. Why don't you just ask Ron?"

"I was thinking of someone else," she said.

"I refuse to do Harry Potter," stated Draco.

"I wouldn't ask you to," she said.

"Well, who?"

She hesitated.

"You may as well tell me right away instead of making me drag it out of you," he said.

She bit her lower lip. "Your father?"

He rolled his eyes. Whatever went through the minds of females? "As long as you don't ask me to come as my mother," he said.

Hermione gave a small start.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No, no, nothing at all," she said.

"It's a bit cool on the water," said Hermione, edging closer to Draco.

"This will help," said Draco, surreptitiously performing a warming spell for her.

Hermione sighed. "Perhaps if you spend some time as your father, some adult male wizard will rub off on you."

"Excuse me?" he said.

"For all the action out here, we may as well go inside where we can sit and be warm," she said.

That evening at the manor, Draco's mum insisted he write a thank-you note. It was good practice, and it was good for his soul.

Dear Ruth Helen Hermione,

I shall forever treasure the evening we crossed the bridge hand-in-hand and joined the promenade on the Champs-Elysees. Oops, wrong girl.

I fondly remember shredding the lettuce into small bits with a sharp blade although I would rather have shredded your bra and fondled your bits.

It was fun preparing a tomato in your kitchen even though it wasn't the tomato I wanted to peel.

Preparing a bed of lettuce and tossing the salad with the dressing was exciting, especially while thinking about tossing you on a bed and doing some undressing.

I've always been fond of potatoes and all other round and firm things that I can sink my teeth into.

Thanks for the pork loin. It was succulent. Visions of your succulent and dripping loins are dancing before my eyes.

Everything was elegant and in its place. Has anybody ever mentioned what a cock tease you are?

The boat ride for a sweet was a good idea. And riding you would have been even sweeter.

Lustfully Sincerely,

Your Frustrated Grateful Dragon

PS: Can't write more. Time to play footsies with play a round of cards with Auntie.