Dramione One Shots

2. Make Him Sweat

There were certain things in life a man couldn't unsee. The intestines of a lifelong peer oozing from her gaping gut, only to become snake feed like long, chunky strings of spaghetti. His wife's deranged sister scooping fresh blood from a half-breed's liver into the curved tip of her pinky nail, and swallowing it with an audible slurp. The rangy frame of his only child pinning a young woman against the timeless foundation of their ancestral home, one probing hand shoved up her school skirt, and the other buried somewhere in the mass of brown ringlets flattened against Narcissa's favourite wallpaper.

The otherwise silent corridor was a cacophony of whimpering breaths, rustling fabric, and hushed romantic fooleries murmured against joined lips. He compared the scene to a pair of wolves in the wild. The male curled around the female with a certain air of dominance as he bit, nuzzled, and licked his mate to claim her before the rest of the pack. He knew they should have tried for a second child. Draco was far too possessive of his belongings and his treatment of this young woman was no different.

His footsteps went unheard as he approached the scene and caught a glimpse of the girl's side profile. He scowled.

His only boy was playing pack alpha with the most famous Mudblood of his generation.

But was he shocked? When did Draco ever accomplish anything halfway? His predictable son either succeeded brilliantly at his determined endeavors or failed so miserably it was outright humiliating. Lucius was unsure how to categorize this prickling incident. For his family and his own treasured pride? —failure of the utmost variety. But for his son?

Possibly the biggest achievement of his young life.

Lucius had heard of Ms. Granger's remarkable accomplishments. Unlike that one Weasley boy's tagalong and soak-the-glory approach, it was obvious that this witch's intelligence was Harry Potter's key to ultimate victory. No, he couldn't fault his son for his choice of—consort. Though, he most certainly could try.

He cleared his throat.

Draco froze and the girl sucked in a harsh breath that Lucius heard from several feet away. Draco's exploring hands released their grip at once, falling to his sides as he turned, blocking the girl from view. "F-father. I didn't know you'd be home so soon." He yanked the hem of his shirt but it was not long enough to hide the incriminating arousal beneath his trousers. Lucius's teeth grinded as he averted his gaze anywhere else.

"Clearly." He stepped to the side. "Hello, Ms. Granger."

"S-sir." She straightened her rumpled blouse, though two buttons in the centre remained unfastened, revealing the wire of a soft pink bra. Was there nowhere to affix his focus that wouldn't make him inexorably uncomfortable?

Years of raising his son with polished etiquette, gentlemanly manners, and the utmost propriety all rinsed away by the siren-temptations of a flimsy, Mudblood child. "Is this your school project? Frolicking beneath the portrait of your Great, Great Uncle Barnaby?" He had no Great, Great Uncle Barnaby, though it certainly made Lucius smirk as the portrait harrumphed and disappeared. At last, a point to settle his weary eyes.

Draco said, "We finished the project a little while ago."

"I see." Oh, he certainly saw everything he needed to see. Too much.

When Draco was ten, he'd shattered an ancient Black artifact, an invaluable figurine of a nude lady with plump assets that had fascinated his growing boy. A powerful gust of dark magic had blasted within the house, bursting every glass surface at once. Draco had denied the accusations profusely, pointing fingers at the house elves who'd been nowhere near the scene of the crime. While Draco argued in defensive huffs and puffs, Lucius had spotted the tail of his new broom beneath the couch. He'd Accio'd the telling weapon and Draco's neck had bloomed with dusty patches of pink, like dusk-saturated cirrus clouds.