AUTHOR'S NOTES:

UNSEENLIBRARIAN's FIC CHALLENGE criteria to me were...

- Story must include Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger

- Story must include The Mirror of Erised

The story below is the second story in the series I've written (the first was "The Mirror Series: That Which You Most Desire"). You don't have to read any of the other "The Mirror Series" fanfics to know what's going on here. "The Mirror Series" is a series of self-contained fanfics that are not interconnected in any way, except by the criteria listed above. This is an experimental series that is open-ended.

The story below also includes a special request that five other readers (LUCY-IN-THE-SKY, Wraithskid, Jubibeebee, SnarkyMum, hikari1hikaru, and CAREYLAN) have requested from me. Their criteria for this piece were:

- Story must contain Veela!Draco x Hermione

- Story must contain the use of sex magic

Please leave a review, if you would be so kind! I would love to hear your thoughts!

REVISION 2.0 (as of May 1, 2011)

Characters (in alphabetical order, by last name): Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy

Details: Romance-Drama. Post-Hogwarts, EWE (Epilogue? What Epilogue?) format. Novel compliant, but fills in the story in the middle of sixth year between the times when we have no idea what Hermione Granger or Draco Malfoy are actually doing (as JKR didn't chart out their day-by-day comings & goings for us in the novels). Characters act a little OCC (out of character).

Timeline: 2007 - ? (ending date is a spoiler, so won't give it away)

Summary: Hermione Granger books an appointment with the famous sex practitioner, Draco Malfoy, to answer the question as to why her love life has been such a mess since the day he kissed her (back at the end of their sixth year, ten years previously). What does his family's past have to do with why both of them are so miserable in their hearts?

Rating: NC-17 (explicit sexual situations, profanity, alcohol consumption, pregnancy).

URL to see images for this fanfic (remove all spaces): http:/ / s905 . photobucket . com / albums / ac260 / RZZMG / The%20Mirror%20Series/

THE MIRROR SERIES: FORBIDDEN DESIRE

By RZZMG

CHAPTER ONE

What in Godric's Great Mystery was she doing sitting here? She should get up and leave right now. This whole idea was completely insane.

Sighing with dread, Hermione ran a shaky hand through her tumbled, dark chestnut curls, bucking up the nerve to pull a runner while there was still time. He hadn't come into the room yet to greet her; their appointment wasn't for another eight minutes, so scramming now would probably be the sanest, wisest thing to do.

Yet, his policy was clear: cancelling or no-shows weren't allowed a second booking, period.

Perhaps that was for the best, though, she rationalized. Being this obsessed with someone of Draco Malfoy's reputation was a bad preoccupation, after all... And yet, here she was in his flat, contemplating the ridiculously forbidden: actually paying to have sex with him.

Oh, gods above, what had she been thinking when she sent that first owl to him two weeks ago?

If she went through with today, this wouldn't just be a primal, lust-filled one-off for her, as it would be for him. The riotous feelings she'd been secretly carrying around for him for the last decade were too convoluted to be so simplified and casual. But she was sure they were one-sided, as Malfoy was a professional practitioner of Kāmaḥ – a man magically gifted with the ability to enhance sexual pleasure by manipulating auras. The society pages had stated that he was the first child in the wizarding world to fully manifest these abilities in over one hundred and fifty years – which made him a special and very sought after commodity by women everywhere. He'd taken probably hundreds to his bed since his secret had come out eight years ago, so Hermione knew that she would be no more than just another clandestine, paying client for the next few hours; just another woman who would take what pleasure she could get from this fake, role-played fantasy that he could provide. And when she left, there would be a line of beauties behind her, an endless sea of women, and she would be forgotten in that mix, just another notch on his bedpost. End of story.

Basically, she was setting herself up for a possible major fall from grace here; a crash and burn of epic proportions. So why go through that kind of hurt? Scheduling this rendezvous had clearly not been a well-considered decision on her part to begin with, and therefore, she should just leave.

Talking herself into a course of action, Hermione stood on trembling legs, quickly gathered her light, spring-time jacket and purse and headed for the door… where she stopped, hand on the polished, antique brass knob, forehead pressed to the cool wood.

This is your only chance.

Malfoy's rules were specific: one time per woman. That's all he ever allowed. No getting personal. If she wanted even a slice of him, in whatever capacity she could get, it was now or never. And she wanted to know the answers to those questions that had burned her mind for almost a decade now. She really did.

True, their past had been terribly tainted. She'd despised his bullying, cowardly self from the first moment they'd met in her first year back at Hogwarts. Malfoy had been a despicable child with foul prejudices and an even nastier temper. He'd hurt her more times than could be counted; for her first three years at school, her pillow had been constantly stained by the tears he'd conjured with his cruel, taunting words. It wasn't until Viktor Krum had taken a liking to her that her self-esteem had blossomed and she'd realized that she was not just smart, but rather pretty, and that Malfoy was nothing but a spoiled, horrid git who was jealous. She'd effectively ignored him after that, not allowing him to have the power to hurt her anymore.

But then, the oddest thing had happened during their sixth year: she'd become surreptitiously obsessed with her bitterest rival. It had started out with the best of intentions, of course, but where it ended up had left her shaken and guilt-ridden in the end – not to mention continually tormented by the memories a full decade later.

After a very thoughtless Ron had broken her heart by throwing her affections away for the likes of Lavender Brown that November, Hermione had needed a project to take her mind off of her grief. Focusing on Malfoy, trying to determine if what Harry had guessed at – whether he'd really taken the Dark Mark or not – had filled the void when her studies had finally exceeded the curriculum. Starting that December, in between her well-juggled school and supplementary activities schedule, she began a concentrated observation of the Slytherin Prince, thinking that perhaps she could, at least, do something to ease Harry's growing paranoia. Being so thoroughly engaged with the task helped her to cope with Ron's obnoxious displays of affection with his new girlfriend, too.

To her chagrin, Malfoy had noticed her scrutiny from pretty much the very beginning, and so her covert operation wasn't as cloak-and-dagger as she'd hoped. She didn't let that deter her, however. From that point forward, for the rest of that school year, every time they passed in the corridors or out in the open quads or on the stairs, they'd lock gazes and she'd let him know in those silent looks that she was watching him for any suspicious activity. In class or during meal times, he'd sometimes turn his head in her direction, letting her know right back that he could feel her stare and wasn't in the least bit bothered by it. They'd even come face-to-face on the Owlery stairs once, completely isolated from everyone else at that moment, and all they'd done is gaze upon each other, their silent wills testing the other's resolve. Strangely, no actual words were exchanged between them for months, not even in their shared Labs. She heard his voice only when he was asked a direct question and required to answer. Other than that, he remained withdrawn and taciturn – very un-Malfoyish, in her opinion.

In truth, Draco's response to her obvious stalking was completely unexpected and foreign. He didn't avoid her, he didn't confrontationally smirk at her, nor did he bark at her to mind her business. Instead, he'd simply studied her right back, seemingly as curious about her as she was about him. Further, he never encouraged her snooping by overtly acting suspicious, but neither did he dissuade her attempts to unveil any of his alleged secret activities either. He was neither smug about this fact, nor worried by it, either. Plainly, he was undaunted by her in any fashion. His blasé attitude is what fueled her continual interest in him, drawing her in like a pixie to the flame. So it was no great surprise, really, what ended up happening.

She'd never forget the date: May 24, 1997. Hermione had followed Malfoy up to the seventh floor corridor that Saturday afternoon… and there, he'd became the first, true skeleton in her life's "experience closet" – one that she could never, ever tell another living soul about. Their encounter that day was a secret that she determined she would take with her to her grave.

If she closed her eyes now, she could still phantom feel, see, hear and smell him with vivid clarity, as if something had fundamentally changed her that day, heightening all of her senses. The clearest memory had been his flavor, however; his breath had scented of fresh, summer berries and his taste had addicted her, made it so that for all the years following that incident, any other man's kiss had paled in comparison, repulsed her a little, even.

She'd followed him up to Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry, thinking she was finally going to catch him at something prohibited, but all he did was stand before the massive hanging, considering it in silent contemplation. With a spin on his heel, he turned about towards the opposite wall, where she knew the secret entrance to the Room of Requirement was located, but he froze before he'd gotten all the way about, noticing her for the first time. It had been a tense several seconds after that, as they'd warily stared at each other and she remembered thinking she should run from the intense, dark expression on his face, but her feet seemed unwilling to obey her mind's command.

He'd moved quicker than she'd expected, and in the blink of an eye, she'd been pushed against the far wall, trapped by his more powerful hands. Her voice had simply failed her at his touch, her brain having gone numb from the ferocity of his actions. Without her consent, he'd aligned their bodies perfectly, pressed into her, and dipped his head, capturing her lips with his own without hesitation. At that first tentative brush of his mouth, all reasonable thought had scattered from Hermione's brain as she'd felt herself captivated by his taste and scent and nearness. It had been almost too natural a reaction for her to open up for him, to move her mouth to return the attention, shy and unskilled though she had been. She'd felt compelled by some nameless, illogical instinct to participate in his seduction… no, to surrender to it, and she had without thought, without rationality, without sanity.

Their kisses had been wild, desperate – a scorching meetings of lips and tongues and… oh, gods, he'd burned her up, turned her mind inside out, and had caused her belly to flutter with riotous butterflies! His hands had plunged into her hair, holding her steady and still, as his rock-hard body had effectively pinned her, holding her up even as her knees had weakened. He'd moaned and gasped just as fervently as she, as they'd moved together in a tangle of anxious limbs. She'd recalled actually whimpering when the fire he'd stoked in her breast had pulsed its way into her mouth, and she'd shoved that feeling into him with single-minded ferocity. He'd growled like an animal in response, intensifying their mouth lock, his fingers tracing a path downward, possessively roaming over her clothed breasts, stopping just long enough to grab a hold of the round globes and push up.

"Yes," she'd whispered, as he'd begun trailing a path down her throat, nudging aside her collar to suckle at the tender flesh above her hidden pulse. "Oh, yes…"

He'd continued his dance over her body, hurrying over her hips and down, down, down to her bared thighs, just above the hem of her skirt. With light, deft strokes over the cream of her skin, he'd hypnotically lulled her into insensibility and found his way under her knickers and inside her with little effort, touching her most sacred, protected sex with a gentleness that was surprising. Trembling from head to toe, shocked into silent consent by the burgeoning feelings that had been coaxed into arousal over the last few months, and that were being enjoyed by her oh-so-willing body at that moment, Hermione had closed her eyes and given in to her basest desires and his expertise.

He'd stroked her small bundle of fleshy nerves at the top of her slit with the pad of his thumb in scintillating circles, running two fingers along her cleft, dragging liquid, silken heat behind. The assault on her senses had taken up simultaneous residence at that point - both below and above, as he'd thrust his tongue back into her mouth again and again, curling it about hers even as his fingertips carefully pierced her entrance, pulsing their way inside. He'd added a second finger soon, and when he'd rather forcefully thrust into her on the third pass, stretching his fingers apart while inside her canal, she'd felt her virginity give way, tearing apart on his hand's rhythmic pumping. She'd cried out, he'd captured her pain with his mouth and stilled his motions. With eyes wide open, they'd stared into each other's souls across tiny centimeters, neither backing away, despite what they'd just done.

It had been an unexpected hurt, a surprising consequence; Hermione hadn't even known a girl could lose her innocence without intercourse. Yet, strangely, uncharacteristically, she had felt no distress or regret over the accidental giving of such a precious thing and in such a manner, to such a man. Her body seemed primed for more, in fact. The drive consuming her, burning her up inside and out, had allowed no recourse, no hesitation, absolutely refused to let her end this until she'd found some pleasure, and she'd been helpless to its alien power over her senses.

Wrapping her arms about his neck, she'd thrown herself at him, heatedly pressing inexperienced, fumbling kisses to his lips. "Don't stop," she'd begged.

He'd groaned and given in, melting back into her mouth, slowly teasing her body into shivers with gentle, slow gliding of his fingers up and in, down and out. His thumb rubbed rings around her clit again and in moments, he'd brought her to the edge. With a last, tender brush against her tiny bead, she'd cried her pleasure into his mouth, her legs trembling so hard that she couldn't support her own weight. He'd captured that gasp with another moan of his own, passionately kissing her, even as his arm had tightened around her waist and drawn her close to hold her up. It had been her first time being touched in such a way and being brought to climax, and she had technically given him her virginity. The experience had seared her soul, indelibly marking and changing her, moving her away from childhood into maturity.

After, as their hearts had calmed, he'd withdrawn his pocket handkerchief and purposefully, carefully wiped between her thighs and over the hand that had been inside her, capturing as much of her innocent, crimson blood with the snowy white fabric as could be caught. When finished, he'd meticulously folded it up and put it back in his pocket, letting her know without words, but with sincere expression, that he was keeping this reminder of what she'd given him - not as a trophy, but as a precious gift. And then his arms had protectively wrapped around her, pulling their bodies into erotic contact again, making her feel safe and truly desired.

She couldn't explain her behavior that day, or why it had all felt so right for them to have done what they did, nor why she'd even allowed things to unfold the way they had - there in the middle of an open corridor, in plain sight of whomever might cross their path. What Hermione had known was that everything she'd previously felt and believed about Malfoy was changed in those few minutes. And more importantly, everything she'd known about herself, the fundamental belief in who and what she was, had suddenly become suspect, as she'd felt a hidden and previously unknown part of herself peek out and take control. She'd remembered feeling guilty and ashamed that she'd betrayed her feelings for Ron and her friendship with Harry for that stolen moment with the enemy (for by then she'd had no doubts that Draco had been working for Voldemort, despite having no proof other than her instincts), and her confusion had been eclipsed only by her fear over what would come next. Yet, when he'd finally pulled away long minutes later, she hadn't wanted him to let her go. She'd wished the rest of the world would just go away, so that they could continue with this illicit, new romance without interruption or censure.

But it was not meant to be. They were not meant to be.

With a deep, careworn sigh and a stiffening of his shoulders, Draco had placed his forehead on hers, locked gazes with her once more, and issued his final warning – the only words he'd directly spoken to her that whole year - reminding her of who they were and that they'd stood on opposites side of a war:

"Stop following me around, Granger. It's not safe. I don't want you getting hurt. Don't you understand? I… care. Bloody hell, just stay away from me from now on!"

With panting breath and agonized features, he'd kissed her once more – a soft, tremulous goodbye – and then he'd let her go and hurried off, his long legs quickly pacing the hall. Rounding the corner at the end, he'd disappeared out of sight in seconds and had avoided her gaze from then on, pretending nothing had ever happened, refusing to speak a word in her presence, even when called upon in class. A week later, Dumbledore had died.

Hermione had spent the last decade trying to bury the memory of those fleeting minutes in that hallway. The guilt at having failed to divine Draco's words for what they truly meant was horrendous, but the longing to repeat the act – to go even further with him - was even worse. It's what kept her from marrying Ron, who had loved her so completely and true, leaving him with a broken heart for his honest efforts, and it had kept her from forming serious relationships with other men over the years as well. At almost twenty-nine years old, Hermione had finally forced herself to take a good, long look in the mirror, and honestly, she hadn't liked what she'd seen. Yes, she had good friends and a loving family, but unlike those within her inner circle, she was still utterly alone in the vaults of her heart – and all because she couldn't let go of a destructive childhood crush with a man who was now known for his well-established bachelorhood.

Malfoy's innate magical powers over the Kāmaḥ must have somehow changed her that day in the seventh floor corridor. They must have addicted her to him, made her incapable of ever being freed from the chains of his talented hands and mouth - because that was the only rational explanation she could assume and accept for why she'd allowed what they'd done all those years ago... and for the mess that had been her love life ever since.

Even if that was the case, though, how was confronting Draco today going to matter, except to confirm or deny her suspicions? It wouldn't change the past. And what would happen once she got her answers? What was she doing here again - seriously?

She started to turn the knob, having pretty much talked herself out of this mad scheme, when a familiar, smooth voice stopped her cold.

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to have courage," the object of her inner torment breathed against her neck, causing an eruption of fluttering in her belly. Pressing in close behind her, not quite touching yet, the heat radiating off of Malfoy's body prickled her bare arms, even as his magical aura lightly, teasingly caressed hers. "Leaving so soon, Granger?"

TO BE CONTINUED…

AUTHOR'S POST-NOTES:

Kāmaḥ= Sanskrit for "lust."