Author's Notes:

This was my first of two 2018 Dramione-Duet Fic Exchange Fest-Round 10 (dramione-duet . livejournal . com) entries. The fest is long over and reveals are out, so now I can post this for you here. This fanfic is finished. It is multi-chaptered.

My Duet partner was: courtinsanity

My prompts for the fest were: alcohol, plot, use of secondary characters in a more prominent role, Ministry event, costumes/masquerade, lusty Hermione, snarky Draco, pining

To the Mod, Ningloreth: Once more, thank you for all your hard work on this fantastic fest, a favourite of mine!

DISCLAIMER: "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

TIMELINE: Post-Hogwarts, EWE (2009)

MAIN CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger-Malfoy

SECONDARY CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): Blaise Zabini, Viktor Krum + original characters

SUMMARY: Cupid's a Slytherin with a heart of gold, and he's determined to see one sexist Angel and a certain swotty She-Devil finally use their mouths for a much better purpose than sniping at each other.

RATING: PG-15 (T+)

WARNINGS: Insult war (sexist and offensive, because it's Malfoy and he can't help himself), sexual tension, implied sex, HEA.

CUPID MADE ME DO IT

(alternatively, "There's an angel on my shoulder and a devil in my cup")

By: RZZMG

~.~.~

Ministry of Magic's Halloween Costume Charity Ball

8:23 P.M.

~.~.~

As Hermione enters the vast ballroom, she makes a beeline for the bar, needing to start the evening off on the right foot.

To her delight, the bartender is a good friend: Blaise Zabini is dressed up as Cupid for tonight's event, complete with a silly bow and arrow set slung across his chest. Topless, his skin is oiled and painted in golden fairy dust, and his matching satin pantaloons hang low on his hips. He looks like a love slave with Veela-like wings, quite honestly, more fit for a BDSM dungeon than a Ministry charity event.

"Blaise, I didn't know you were a bartender, too!" she says as she takes a stool in front of him, then feathers through her newer, shorter style that Blaise had given her just that afternoon. "This cut is fantastic, by the way. I love how it makes me feel, so…"

"Naughty and free?" he suggests.

"Exactly."

She's been his client for the last three years, and over that time, their rapport has been growing by leaps and bounds. It's been a wonder to discover there is more to this silent, talented wizard than just his house affiliation and his close friendship with Draco Malfoy, her irritating co-worker.

"The best hairdresser in all of Britain by day, moonlighting as a mixologist for the Ministry? How very mysterious you are, Mr. Zabini!"

Blaise shrugs one muscular shoulder and flashes a quick grin. "I'm Slytherin," he reminds her with a wink. "We're always full of surprises, Ms. Granger."

"Is that so?" she challenges him with a wicked grin. "Why don't you prove it by making me something as unique and unforgettable as this new haircut? Ply me with a menu of drinks guaranteed to end with my socks being knocked off!"

With a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes, he accepts her challenge.

"I do believe I've got just the thing for you, Ms. Granger…"

~.~.~

8:49 P.M.

~.~.~

It begins as it always does between them: with an acknowledgement and an insult.

"Evening, Granger," Malfoy greets her with a bow of his head, taking up his customary place at her side as she hides along the back wall, attempting to blending into the fake greenery. "How goes the dick hustling tonight, you frumpy tart?"

She glances over at him, amused. His costume for tonight's ball is that of an angel—all white tux, shiny white shoes, magical white wings that are, apparently, fully functional. With a mouth like his, though, at least she knows why his halo is conspicuously missing. In his left hand, he carries a tall tumbler that is chilled and filled with a yellow concoction that glows green at the very bottom of the glass—a clever spell, that.

Hermione takes a sip of the cocktail her friendly, neighbourhood hairdresser-cum-bartender has whipped up for her, determined not to give into the whim to hex the other Slytherin in the room with a raging case of herpes. It's far too early in the evening for that sort of a juvenile response, and really she isn't drunk enough to convince M.L.E. it was an accident.

"Hallo, Malfoy," she cheerfully responds instead, still refusing to call him by his given name because she knows it annoys him. "Still seducing the ladies with a forked tongue, I see."

His serpentine smirk is chased by a sexually-suggestive leer. "You meant silver tongue, I'm sure. And if anyone's out to deceive…you're the one dressed like a She-Devil, Granger." He notices the drink in her hand. "I take it Blaise pressed one of his experiments upon you, too?" He shows off his cocktail. "A 'Jekyll and Hyde', he called it."

"Apropos." She holds up her glass. "Sassy Witch's Brew."

"Fitting." He eyes her up and down, his gaze taking time to admire the view. "My, my, but you do love to play naughty for me, don't you?"

The magical costumed horns on her head belch a small flame his way. It's one of the more fun spells she's invented for tonight's gala to deal with the requisite wandering hands and obnoxious mouths that attend these sorts of functions. "Naughty for you? That's the funniest thing I've heard all evening, Malfoy! Thanks for the ha-ha." She turns to assess the crowd of eligible men. There are more than a few faces she already knows, but others she'd like to know a lot better. "Contrary to your absurd and quite comical belief, I didn't dress this way for you. I've a specific agenda tonight."

"Don't you always at these things?" he dryly asks, taking a quick sip of his drink to hide a frown. "Speaking of which-" He leans in as if to impart a secret to her, appearing solemn and earnest in his proposal. "Look, the truth is I just came over here to offer you my services."

She turns her head and gives him a flat stare. "What services would those be exactly—teaching a witch what not to want in a man? Because you excel at that."

"You're the only one who thinks so," he baldly points out, and she knows he's right. The fact is Malfoy's got women crawling all over him, begging for a piece on a regular basis, despite his abysmal character. Apparently, having a boat-load of money is the great cosmetic for a truly deplorable personality. "As I was saying…my services," he continues. "Tonight I'm feeling magnanimous, Granger, so I'm going to make you an offer you can't possibly refuse."

Hermione sighs and waves at him to get on with what will, indubitably, a scandalous and ridiculous proposition. The answering grin he gives her is delightfully boyish and positively enchanting, and if she had fewer brain cells in her head she'd fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

"Alright, now listen up because I'm not repeating it," he says, preening as a peacock before her. "For one night only, for absolutely no money down and no contract necessary, I'm willing to save you the embarrassment of having to find and hunt down the elusive trouser snake." He crudely points at his crotch. "I've already got one right here that can fulfill your every dream. Totally free. I'll even throw in all the alcohol you'll need to work up the nerve."

Hermione purses her lips, trying not to laugh in his face. As far as trying it on goes, that one is rather original. "So, let me just understand your pitch," she replies, affecting indifference. "You're offering to ply me with copious amounts of alcohol and once I'm too inebriated to think straight, you're going to allow me a shot at some other witch's sloppy seconds…assuming I don't fall unconscious somewhere in between and make things that much easier for you." She fakes a yawn. "What is this, a bad rerun of 'The Young Ones'?"

His frown indicates he has no idea as to her Muggle reference.

"It's a British television show about idiotic university students," she explains in a conspiratorial whisper.

He blinks as if she's nailed him right in the gut, and gives a long-suffering sigh as if disgusted with her total lack of interest. "Granger, you really know how to stomp a man's grand plans into dust at the same time as grinding his bollocks into meat strips." He tosses back the contents of his drink, finishing off the glass. "No wonder I hate you so."

Now she laughs and turns her attention back to the crowd, eyeing the candy and seeing if there is anyone there who might even remotely catch her attention tonight. "No, you hate me because I'm the one female in England who refuses to fall for your charms, if you could call them that."

"Plenty do," he grouses, looking petulant by her refusal to be impressed. "I'm amazingly appealing to all sorts, you know."

"Yes, especially to small, wriggly animals, I hear."

He sniffs. "Your problem is you're too traditional…and a prude."

"No, I'm foxy and an excellent judge of character."

"Yes, well…" He sighs, twirling the stem of his empty glass between his fingers. "I don't suppose you'd consider lowering your stuck-up standards for a night to aid a fellow charity-dodger deal with his todger?"

"Not for all the tea in Britain."

"Ah, well, your loss, love," he says, sounding not in the least put-out by her rejection.

He is, after all, quite used to it by now. This is a familiar ritual for them, one they'd been having on and off for the last five years or so. It always ends the same, too: he 'flirts' outrageously with her then ducks out with some random woman on his arm, and she, unwilling to be the brunt of jokes about a lack of a sex life come Monday morning, eventually leaves with one of her friends-with-benefits for a Saturday night of vigorous shagging…followed by a Sunday morning filled with hollow excuses and quick goodbyes.

Really, the way she and Malfoy dance around each other at these events and in the office would be comical, if it wasn't so bloody obvious that they both wanted a good, hard go at each other. The problem is Hermione wants more than a one-off with her co-worker. Unfortunately, he's highly allergic to commitment.

Hence the sexual tension with the mean bite.

"Have fun dancing with the greenery," he offers and heads off in the direction of a trio of leggy, model-gorgeous witches who represent the delegation in from Durmstrang.

As he walks away, Hermione tries not to let her disappointment overtly show, or derail her from the plan: she is going home with some man tonight and will lose herself in their sex. After all, that always helps her, at least temporarily, to forget her unrequited feelings for Draco Malfoy.

She finishes off her drink, giving a surprised hum at how pleasant it tastes…and how light it makes her feel by the time she hits the bottom of the glass.

TO BE CONTINUED...