Dramione- draco blackmails Hermione
Draco quirked an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. “Want?”
She scowled at him and pulled an envelope out of her bag, throwing it venomously down on his desk. The force caused the flap to open, several pictures slid out.
They featured Granger’s extremely recognizable face involved in a scene that would, even conservatively, be termed an orgy.
She wasn’t engaged in anything illegal, but the very existence of the photos was career ruining in a culture as fastidiously conservative as the British Ministry of Magic.
Draco only glanced at them for a few moments before looking back up at her.
Her cheeks were stained scarlet as she glared at him. “I assumed this envelope was from you—given that you’re the only one who continues to see the need to interfere and try to destroy everything I do.” Her voice was shaking and slightly choked sounded. Her teeth were bared and she looked nearly feral. “So—obviously: you. What do you want?”
Draco leaned back and gave her a hard smile. “Now, now, Granger, think of how much weaker an opponent you’d be if I hadn’t been here all these years, going to all the trouble of bringing all your legislative loopholes and vulnerabilities to your attention.”
His smile grew razor-sharp and he laced his fingers together, resting his chin on the knuckles. “I must admit I was beginning to question whether I’d ever manage to knock you low enough to finally come crawling into my office. But even the Muggles know the higher the climb the longer the fall. It just goes to show that none of us are perfect, not even you.”
His eyes peeled away from her and he reached down to pick up one of the photos. He stared at it for several seconds while Granger seethed.
“Since we’re here, alone, I have to ask,” he finally said without looking away from the photo. “What on earth possessed you to do something this idiotic?” He glanced up at her. “You’ve had your eyes on the Minister’s seat since before you graduated. You had to have known this kind of—indulgence had the potential to destroy all your dreams in a manner both permanent and spectacular.”
He tsked and shook his head before flashing one of the photos at her. She immediately averted her eyes.
Granger’s cheeks were stained red but the rest of her face was steadily growing whiter and whiter.
Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before she swallowed visibly. “It wasn’t my idea,” she finally said in a strained voice.
Draco snorted. He was tempted to roll his eyes and assure her that that much abundantly obvious, but instead he waited to hear her try to explain it.
“It was—it was—” She actually looked as though she were on the verge of fainting in front of him. “He—he said I treated my job like it mattered more than our relationship. That I—always based my decisions on it, rather than him. It was—it was supposed to—“ her throat bobbed, “to spice things up. I didn’t know it was going to be—like that. He promised it was very discreet.”
Draco snorted again and glanced at the date on the back of the photo. “Anything Pucey knows about does not fall anywhere in the realm of discreet. You should have asked me,” he leered over the photo at her. “I could recommend several places that take the privacy of their clientele seriously—if this is your kind of thing.”
His eyes slid over her, and then flicked back to the photos on his desk.
Her chest was heaving sharply. “What do you want, Malfoy?”
He cocked his head slowly to the side, laying the photo down and tracing his fingertips lightly over it. “Come now, Granger, put that oversized brain of yours to work. What do you think I want?”
A decade earlier and she probably would have cried. Granger used to cry about things. When she was angry, or overwhelmed, or happy, or sad, she cried.
She appeared to have rooted out the habit at some point, although not—he noted, some of her other ones. Her fingernails had been bitten to the quick and she stared at him with her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“I won’t withdraw the bill,” she said after a moment. Her voice almost a whisper but nearly vibrating with determination. “I don’t care what you threaten to do with those. You can ruin me.”
Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. “Gracious me, Granger, you still have all the subtlety of a beater bat. How exactly would forcing you to withdraw your beloved house-elf protections bill benefit me?”
“I don’t know.” She appeared to be shaking with rage. “How have any of your attempts to block my legislation benefited you? At this point I just assume you exist to try getting in my way.”
“I didn’t say a word in opposition to the WRA,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “It was legislatively flawless. I believe I even sent you a congratulatory note on your excellent work.”
She looked angry enough to spit.
Draco shrugged and gathered up the photos again, flipping through them slowly. He paused at one and stared at it for several seconds before turning it so she could see. “This is a lovely shot of you. You have better tits than I would have credited you with.”
She twitched and her jaw started trembling minutely. “Just—tell me what you want. You have infinitely more money than I do, unless you just want to ruin me financially. Do want me to remove my name as a sponsor of the bill? Are you expecting me to withdraw from politics altogether?” The trembling appeared to have spread from her jaw into the rest of her body, she was swaying like a broken tree branch. “Just tell me what it is, I’m sick of trying to guess what you’re doing.”
Draco looked down and slid the photos neatly back into the envelope. “As it happens, Granger…” he said her name slowly. “There are several things I’m interested in.”
She stared at him for a moment and then her eyes widened and she looked as though she were on the verge of screaming or bolting.
He chuckled under his breath and tapped the sharp corner of the envelope on his desk. “You do have a filthy mind, even if a sex club wasn’t to your—tastes. No, despite how surprisingly lovely your tits are, I’m didn’t send this because I wanted a turn as well.”
She didn’t relax in the slightest.
Draco leaned back and stared coolly across his desk at her. “I want you to add my name as one of the sponsors for your house-elf protections legislation, and I want you to include me on whatever your next campaign is. I want to be consulted, I want to be a co-sponsor. I want a seat at the highly exclusive little table of do-gooders, and you will be the one to get it for me and ensure that I stay there. And—“ he gave her a slow smile, “you’ll owe me favour, which I will call in someday whenever I happen to feel like it, and you will do it whatever it is I that I ask.”
He straightened as he watched her reaction carefully. “In exchange, I will ensure that these photos never again see the light of day.”
Granger stood frozen for several seconds. Her expression was masked but there was confusion behind the obvious strain in her eyes.
“I won’t do anything illegal,” she said in a tight voice.
Draco rolled his eyes. “It will be an entirely legal favour.”
“Fine,” she finally said in a voice that only had a hint of tremour underlying it. “I want a blood oath.”
When it was done, Granger gripped the vial in her hands as she backed away from him towards the door.
Draco stepped back over to his desk and caught up the envelope, flashing her a final grin. “Did you want these as a keepsake?”
She shot him a look of pure loathing as she disappeared through the door.
The smile dropped from his face the instant she was gone. Draco slid the envelope into his robes, withdrew his wand, and cast a quick disillusionment on himself before stepping out of his office. He moved slowly in order to make as little a visual disturbance as possible.
At the first hallway, he turned and walked quietly down it until he stood outside an innocuous, and difficult to notice broom closet.
He pressed his ear to the door and listened to rapid, hyperventilating sobs for a few seconds before stepping back and pulling the envelope out of his pocket. He slid a photo up just enough to verify the date on the back once more.
Just days before her very public breakup with Adrian Pucey.
He tapped the envelope against his fingers for a moment before heading up towards the Ministry floo.
Blaise cracked an eye open and found Malfoy staring down at him with an icy expression on his face.
He blinked, pushed off the naked witch draped over him, and sat up. He hadn’t seen Malfoy in years and hadn’t expected to wake and find him in his bedroom.
“Why the fuck are you blackmailing Granger?”
Blaise rubbed his eyes and gave the pretentious wanker a droll smirk. “Easy target. Easy money. Mother’s training.” He shrugged as he stood up. “How did you find out?”
Malfoy’s lip curled. “She assumed this was from me. Did it not occur to you she’d have trouble paying you off if she didn’t even know who sent them.”
Blaise yawned and pulled on a robe. “I fancied leaving her to stew and panic about how bad it’d be before moving in for the kill. She must be frantic if she went straight to you. It’s convenient you came by, you deal with her all the time. How much would you say she’s worth?”
He eyed Malfoy while he stretched his shoulders. “I’m thinking installments rather than a lump sum. She’ll probably be good for a few years at least.” His pulled a velvet chord on the wall to call for a late breakfast and coffee. “I couldn’t believe my luck when Pucey brought her through the door. I think she must have sedated herself, she went with it for less than an hour, then panicked and bolted.” He nodded towards the envelope in Malfoy’s hand. “Stayed long enough though.”
Malfoy was staring at him expressionless. “I want to buy all of them.”
Blaise froze as he stared at his old schoolmate.
Malfoy was politically weaker than Granger, but financially he was a larger fish by several orders of magnitude.
Blaise hadn’t considered seeking out a third party for the photos. Granger was beloved by nearly all, with the very notable exception of Malfoy, who had an inexplicable vested interest in attempting to subvert or fuck her over with any political machinations he could scheme up.
He grinned at Malfoy. “How much is finally ruining her worth to you?”
It turned out, it was worth more than three times Blaise’s annual income.
Malfoy held the cheque lazily between his thumb and index finger and stared at Blaise with glittering eyes. “This sum is conditional, Zabini. I want a list of everyone there that night.”
Blaise started to open his mouth and deny keeping records, but Malfoy leveled him with a cold glare. “I’m certain you have one. The last thing I need is to have her claiming it was polyjuice, I want to know exactly who the corroborating—participants are.”
Blaise shrugged and retrieved it from his logbook. As he held out the list of names and extended his hand for the cheque. Malfoy held it back.
“I also want an Unbreakable Vow. I don’t want to worry someone that else is going to fuck up my chess pieces once I have them in place. I want a Vow from you that I have all the photographs and any other evidence, and that all the particulars of this little business arrangement will die with you.”
Blaise’s throat tightened as he noticed the burning intensity in Malfoy’s eyes. The man was deranged in his vendetta against Granger. Then he looked at the figure on the cheque.
Draco stopped at Gringotts in the evening after a day’s work. He sat silently beside the goblin as the cart raced into the depths of the bank, beyond the Malfoy family vault, to a smaller private vault.
Draco unlocked the door, stepped inside, and closed it with the attending goblin waiting outside.
He pulled the file with all of Blaise’s pictures out of his robes, along with the envelope that Granger had brought him.
His jaw tensed as he stared at them. His hands shook slightly and the photos abruptly burst into flames.
He dropped them on the ground.
He walked over to all the boxes of mind-bogglingly detailed analysis of several hundred legislative documents. He dragged a finger along them as he wandered through to the far wall.
A small postcard was pinned to the wall.
“Men of sense often learn from their enemies. It is from their foes, not their friends, that cities learn the lesson of building high walls and ships of war.”
He stared at it for several seconds and then sighed and turned around. The room was burning, the fire consuming the photos had spread to the boxes.
Feuding with Granger legislatively had honed her into a lethal political weapon far more rapidly than any advisor could have hoped to.
Advise Granger about weaknesses as a friend and she had a habit of dismissing it and assuming the best about others; come at her as an opponent and she‘d strategize, strengthen her position, and then coldly outmaneuver them.
Draco had thought she was nearly untouchable until that morning. He ground his teeth together. Her personal life would be the one area that she’d remain vulnerable.
Obliviating Pucey had been by far the most satisfying aspect of the day. Draco had thought he wasn’t a killer, but he very seriously reconsidered it when he’d had a wand leveled at Pucey’s face.
Draco walked slowly around the burning boxes towards the door of the vault.
He paused by the door and stared at a newspaper clipping on the wall.
It had faded after nearly a decade.
1998. Granger was standing in the witness stand, testifying on Draco’s behalf during the post-war trial. If Draco had been found guilty, he’d be up for release in three weeks.
Hermione Granger Wants To Save The World.
He stared at the picture and nearly reached out and touched it.
Becoming her political rival has been accidental. She’d gone straight to the Ministry after school and begun her magical rights campaign with righteous fury and no training. Her team had been equally oblivious to political pitfalls.
Draco had not been, but no one listened to him.
So—he wrote an editorial pointing out all the potential risks of Granger’s legislation until she withdrew and reworked it. Draco kept publicly harassing her until it was ironclad.
It became a bizarre type of political chess. He unapologetically hounded her over her political vulnerabilities and she rapidly learned to protect herself, and spot her own legislative weaknesses without him.
Draco was tired of feuding with her.
He hadn’t considered that she’d see their rivalry as personal or malicious until she appeared his office. He considered there to be a vast difference between being politically at odds with someone and actually wanting to ruin their life.
Not for Granger. For her everything she did was morally rooted.
He sighed as he pulled the vault door open and stepped out.
Someday—he should probably admit he fancied her.
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