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Summary
Nothing prepared him for her. Minister Hermione Granger swept into the room like a force of nature wrapped in tailored charcoal robes that hugged her ample curves with infuriating precision. She moved like she owned the room—because she did. Everything that made his blood run hot and his self-control paper-thin. Her hair, that wild cascade of chestnut curls, was tamed into a professional knot at the nape of her neck, though a few rebellious strands had already escaped to frame her face. Freckles dusted her cheeks like constellations, and when she turned those honey-brown eyes—warm, intelligent—toward the assembled Aurors, Draco had to clench his jaw so it didn’t fall open.
Merlin, she was maddening.
*COMPLETE*