Exception to the Rule
by Lyn Lloyd
Chapter One: A Glorious Mistake
He was, no doubt, the greatest mistake of her seventeen years. And the most glorious.
The starlight drifted in through the tall windows in the ornate head boy bedchamber to silhouette the profile of his face. It was an exceedingly noble profile—high forehead, strong straight nose, lips just as full enough to be at once arrogant and exciting. Even in slumber he had the appearance of a pureblood, a young man born to be great.
She should leave, and had ever intention of doing so before he woke; indeed, she had made him promise to allow her to go before the break of day. Still, at the moment, she could not bring herself to stir from his side. She started to brush aside the light hair that had fallen over his forehead but hesitated, her hand hovering over the contours of his face. In spite of the intimacies that had passed between them in this very bed, this simple act seemed rather too intimate. Rather too personal. A liberty she had no real right to.
Of course, in truth she had not rights to him at all. Nor did she expect any. She knew full well what to expect when she'd selected him. He'd been chosen for his charm and his reputation with women and the very fact that there was no possibility of a future with him. She had no desire for an emotional entanglement with a man who was not free to return her affection. No, that path led to heartbreak, and she would not tread it again.
She had wanted him for the very reason countless other women had no doubt want him: for his handsome face and figure, for the enticing aura of power that surrounded him, and lusting for the forbidden. A lust that bore no responsibilities of any heartfelt morning declarations of affection and commitment. She wished for nothing beyond tonight. Or at least that had been her plan.
She sighed softly and slipped out of the massive bed, grabbing her cloak from the floor and wrapping it around her naked body like an oversized shawl. She padded to the open doors and gazed out beyond the balcony the overlooked the Forbidden Forest.
The starlight danced off the waters below on lake, and even at this late hour, or rather early hour, the faint strains of music sounded from somewhere in the distance. The students at Hogwarts did not seem to adhere to the curfew that had always been in place. This was the place of magic and passion and all the things Hermione had once thought dreams were made of. The kind of place where she, a mud blood, could be something. At least that is what she thought when she was a first year, but now she was with a man of experience whom she never intended never to see again.
It had been two years after all, since she'd lost her virginity, squandered it foolishly, really, and it was past time to move on with her life. And why not? She was certainly not the same silly girl she had once been. Ron had been the boyfriend she had always expected him to be, shy and bashful at times, romantic in a stupid way, and boring. Making love to her, as he had called it, was alright, she remembered. It had been in his room at the Burrow when his parents were gone. It was on an early sunny morning, polar opposite of the dark sky she looked at now. This was better, she thought as she felt the ribbon on the back of her head that tied the feathered mask to her face.
He could not know who she was. She did not want him to. It would be better that Draco Malfoy never knew that he had successfully and willingly seduced Hermione Granger. She had expected his seduction to be fairly easy. He did have a sizable reputation. Rumor had it that he enjoyed a touch of intrigue, at least when it came to amorous pursuits. Where better to entice him than at a grand masked ball? It was the perfect setting to play to his love of mystery. She had even refused to remove her mask long after the rest of her clothing had been shed.
What was not expected was the undercurrent that had run between them from the first. An odd spark, perhaps of recognition of a common spirit, most certainly of mutual attraction and possibly something more. Something intense and indefinable and irresistible.
And really rather wonderful.
From the moment his lips had first brushed her hand there had been the strangest sensation in the pit of her stomach. A physical sense of anticipation, of excitement, of desire she had not truly experienced before. She had allowed it to carry her forward and provide her with a courage she might not have otherwise had.
Certainly, the anonymity provided by the mask helped in that regard. And indeed some of it, much of it perhaps, could be attributed to the danger of being entranced by someone she did not know at all. The very air around him had a sensuality that made her thirsty for more. She'd been far more forward and flirtatious than she'd ever been. He'd been intrigued and interested and responded in a manner both exhilarating and gratifying. And she had indeed ended the evening in his bed.
That, too, was not as she had expected. Certainly she knew her previous experience had been cursory and hurried and secretive, but it had been colored, at least on her part, by love, and was therefore exciting—or so she'd thought. She had never anticipated what an experienced lover could provoke in her. How he could bring her sense alive with pleasure. Even now her body still hummed with a tense excitement.
"I do not even know your name." His voice came softly behind her, and she was rather glad he had awakened to join her. He rested his hands on her shoulder, and she leaned back against him.
"Is it necessary to know my name?"
He paused for a moment, not long in the scheme of things, but long enough to provide a measure of satisfaction, of pleasure really that he might care enough to want to know who she was. At last he laughed softly. "I suppose not. Still, I admit to a certain curiosity as to who I made scream with pleasure." The last word, pleasure, made her whole body shiver.
"Why?" It was her turn laugh. "I cannot imagine that a guy with a reputation like yours would be overly concerned with names. It is said you have sleep with half the women in Europe."
"Don't be absurd. Half the women indeed. I am not nearly old enough to have slept with even a fraction of that number." She could hear the smirk in his voice. "Although I have given it a fair amount of effort."
"No doubt," She said wryly.
"Is that jealousy I hear?"
"Not in the least."
"Pity," He said, more to himself than to her.
In spite of her best intentions her heart sped up, and the oddest sense of something that might well have been hope leapt within her. Utter nonsense of course. She thrust it firmly aside.
"Do you realize you are precisely the right height for me?" He pushed her hair aside and kissed the nape of her neck. "It is extraordinarily easy to kiss you."
"It is?" She shivered, but felt annoyed by her stupid response.
"Indeed it is," he murmured against her neck. "You know who I am. It seems entirely unfair that I do not know who you are."
"Life isn't fair. We can't always get what we want."
He scoffed. "Rubbish. I always get everything I want."
"Always?"
"Always." Without warning, he spun her around to face him and stared down at her. "I will not have it any other way."
She sensed he was trying to make out the details of her features in the faint light and was confident he could not do so well to identify her. Anonymity was part of the magic of the night. It made no difference at any rate; she would be gone by morning, and there was little chance they would encounter on another ever again.
"Admit it. You're jealous."
"Why?" She shook her head. "There is nothing between us. You are Draco Malfoy and I—"
"Yes?" A hint of eagerness sounded in his voice. "You are?"
"I am not supposed to be here." She tried to move passed him, but he caught her.
"Aren't you?"
Her breath caught. How had it happened that what she had intended to have no significance beyond a romantic interlude with a handsome stranger had become rather more important as well as dangerous and wrong? It was not merely the pleasures he had provided in their hours in his bed, the responses he had coaxed from her, the unexpected joy in their coupling. Something had touched her somewhere in the vicinity of her heart, although such thoughts were the height of absurdity. This was a moment stolen out of time, nothing more than that. It was mere fantasy with a stranger, who happened to be Malfoy…who happened to be somewhat sensual and surprisingly romantic in his own arrogant way.
"I confess. I do not care who you are."
She adopted a teasing tone. "And that is which part of your anatomy speaking?"
He paused, and did not answer her.
"You are just caught up in the moment." She paused for a moment resisting the impulse to accept his words, embrace them, and revel in them. "I understand, as do you that come morning, what has happened tonight will be of no significance—Malfoy."
"Draco," He growled, and kissed the curve of her neck.
"Draco." She shuddered with his name and the feel of his lips on her flesh still sensitive from lovemaking. She resisted the urge to melt into his arms. "Draco, I—"
"What should I call you?"
"It doesn't matter."
"I must call you something. It is still some time before sunrise, and I do not intend to permit you to go before then."
"We agreed I would leave by dawn."
His hands caressed her back through the silk of her cloak and he nuzzled her ear. "Mine. That is what I will call you."
"You're going to make me a possession then? How typical."
"Not merely a possession."
"I am hardly yours."
"Oh, but I shall make it certain that you will be." He smirked, then quieted and turned her around to face out again into the night.
"I have always loved it here."
"Such a fanciful notion, Draco, I would not have suspected it from you."
"I would not have suspected it of myself," he said in a wry manner. "I doubt I have ever said it aloud before."
She stared out of the lake and the trees, at the stars overhead and the light that reflected in the windows.
She laughed lightly, "I fear another night with you, Draco, I might fall madly in love." It was supposed to be sarcastic, but it came out sounding real.
"That would be a shame." Of course"—his voice was thoughtful—"it might end in the breaking of my heart."
"And that would be a greater shame."
"Because I am a Malfoy?"
"Yes," She said softly.
He pulled her back to his room and laid her on the bed and stretched out beside her. She thought of kissing him and exploring the features of his face. He caressed the curve of her hip and the length of her legs. She slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her body closer to the heat of his. She realized as her cloak fell off her onto the bed, that he was as naked as she and noted in the back of her mind how odd it was to be in this position and yet not feel at all exposed or embarrassed but rather quite, quite lovely. He stared back at her.
"You are very good at this," she said.
"I suppose I am." Her gathered her to him and fell silent for a long moment. She felt his heart beat in his chest against the press of her breasts. His growing arousal nudged between her legs, and her own newfound desire pooled within her, "I could keep you here."
"But, you won't." Even as she said the words she knew the truth of them. He was a Malfoy, someone with unlimited power that he would use to get exactly what he wanted, yet she hadn't the slightest doubt that, in spite of his threat, he would not do anything to keep her here. She knew that he was still Malfoy and everything that happened now was only another one night stand to add to the long list of them.
"I am well aware what you are getting at, but I cannot offer more."
"And I am well aware of your obligations Malfoy."
"Still—"
"Draco." She brushed her lips against his.
"You will leave before dawn?" His voice rang hard in the shadows, and he drew away. She sensed him studying her. "You initiated the seduction yet you have little experience in such matters."
She caught her breath.
"Don't be surprised." He chuckled. "You didn't expect that, with my reputation, I would not notice you are not what you appear. I know what game you are playing."
"It is not a game, Draco." She said quietly.
"Then what is it?"
She looked up into his eyes and said nothing.
"Who will you be tomorrow?" He asked.
She frowned up at him, "I will be…" She looked down at his chest. "I will never be the same again."
He groaned and met her lips with his and all rational thought vanished beneath an onslaught of passion and sensation of utter, indescribable delight.
And in the moment before she gave herself completely to the pleasure of his touch she wondered if whatever had passed between her and Draco Malfoy was far away and too forbidden and rare to ever know again.
He was indeed a glorious mistake.
To be continued….