AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was my entry for Smutty Clause – that famous Fest on LiveJournal. I have the prompts listed at the end, and have marked all of what I've used. (Italicised and underlined)

On a side-note, a good news is that the next chapter of INO (It's Not Over) is halfway done. It's Draco's POV with quite some amount of action, so be prepared! I'll try to get it out by the end of this week.

WARNING: This is an MA rated, hardcore smutty piece. But not without a plot. God help me, I can't do PWPs! Be warned about virginity loss, and slight foodplay.

Don't like? Don't read. No flaming, please. And kindly don't come here to merely warn me about the norms of the site. I am very well aware of them, myself. You may not know, but according to said norms, I also have the liberty of reporting your reviews.

Anyways. To the mentally mature audience, out there, read on!

Fortuitous Winter Blooms

Hermione Granger was awakened, that frozen morning, not to the cold that was settling over the castle of Hogwarts, surprisingly – considering how there wasn't any cover shielding her legs from the atmospheric chill – but to the loud echo of the door to the Heads' Common Room being banged shut. Her senses slightly haywire, she sat up in her bed and dragged an errant lock of hair away from her eyes.

Then she took a breath and recognized the day for what it was: Christmas. Hopping off the bulky pool of sheets that she'd made of her bed, overnight, she stepped onto the plush carpet covering the expanse of the wooden floor, and stretched, when—

"Whoa! Yes!"

Hermione stopped short, arms stretched high up, above her head and mouth agape in the middle of a yawn. The victorious-seeming whoop indisputably belonged to her fellow Head.

Confused at this highly uncharacteristic expression of delight by the usually reclusive Draco Malfoy, Hermione padded towards and slipped through her bedroom door, silently, and began tiptoeing down the stairs that led to the Common Room. She stalked into the dimly-lit room – the only source of its illumination being the fireplace – completely unmindful of her rumpled appearance that consisted of an over-sized T-shirt and woolen socks and really disheveled hair. She was much too eager to discover the cause of the Head Boy's misplaced joy.

And then, after a moment, she did spot it – literally, too. Or them, actually.

Draco Malfoy – clad in a snug, black set of silk pajamas – sat on the rug next to the couches, opposite the fireplace, surrounded by at least a dozen boxes of chocolate truffles. Looking at how it was the Christmas morning, it wouldn't have been that preposterous, a sight, had it featured anyone but the blonde Slytherin.

Hermione's sleep-addled brain paid no heed to the equation she shared with the Slytherin, and a really girly giggle erupted out of her throat of its own accord, when she noticed the entranced expressions on his pale face while he investigated one of the truffles.

But, as it turned out, giggling was the worst thing to do, actually, because his head immediately snapped up at the sound and his eyes found Hermione's, and—

All traces of delight drained off his face when their eyes met; a mask of indifference quickly sliding on.

And his gaze woke Hermione up from her sleep-induced stupor, the way a slap would have, as her lungs felt ready to collapse by the intensity of the venom that shone in his eyes.

Swallowing, she tried taking a breath.

They'd organized the Halloween Feast, together – along with the numerous elves that ruled the Hogwarts kitchens, of course – and he'd asked her out on the first morning of the month of November, claiming how he'd come to adore her as he came to know her. Never the one to lie, Hermione had confessed her admiration of him, back, and had accepted his proposal.

At the end of a week – a week of Common Room dates and hours after hours of snogging – he'd asked her, over a pint of Butterbeer at Three Broomsticks, about when she was planning to tell her two best friends that she was dating their ex, sworn-enemy. Going by the light-hearted flow of conversation, Hermione had went along to tell him that she hadn't, actually, had any plans of telling them, anytime soon. That was when he'd grown serious and asked her if she even saw him in any version of the bright, brilliant future that she'd planned out for herself. Again, never the one to lie, Hermione had, softly, told him that she didn't. By that, she'd actually meant that it had been way too early to paint up a future with him.

He hadn't taken anything softly, though, and had made an abrupt exit from the pub – and her life – with tears shining in the depths of his eyes.

Hermione hated the heavy tension that replaced their usual, blithe banter, ever since that day. But, then, all of it was her fault. Her cowardice, really. She'd been way too terrified of the heart-stopping flutters she felt in her nerve-endings in his proximity. That hadn't ever happened to her. Not even with Ron—and, well, that had been the closest thing to 'love' she'd had in her life.

She let out a deep, weary sigh and twisted on her heels to walk away.

She shouldn't have come here—heck, she never did enter the Common Room if she was aware that he was occupying it. Well. At least since past month – since she'd built up this new, elevated level of animosity between them.

"Granger!"

Eyes wide, she turned back to him. He'd called her name after ages, and it felt so good to hear it, now, that her heart felt ready to burst out of her chest. Maybe Christmas had made him forgive her. Maybe he was intending to start afresh, forwarding a hand of friendship, this way round – not that she would prefer friendship when she could have so much more – and maybe he'd decided to begin with wishing her Christmas—

But when she actually glanced back at him, to her utmost dismay, he was looking intently into the fireplace with his eyebrows as knotted as they'd become on registering her presence.

"I hope you have plans of spending tonight, elsewhere. I'll be having company." His voice was icy, piercing through her heart like icicles.

Nodding numbly, she twisted on her heels to dart back to her bedroom; trying, and failing, to swallow past the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat.

Hannah Abbot and Padma Patil had been the only other girls in her year to have stayed back for Christmas break. And they were making the most of it, by the looks of it. But, for Hermione, sitting here and watching them down pint after pint of Butterbeer was nothing less than torture. They'd forced a mug down her throat, too, to her utter chagrin.

Sitting here reminded her too much of her last date – and, eventually, her breakup – with Draco. And Christmas was the worst occasion for such thoughts, she knew.

And then there was that ever-present heaviness in her chest that hadn't quite eased since her conversation with him, this morning. If that could be called a 'conversation'.

She hadn't seen him, since then. She'd been locked up in her room till some late hour of the morning, and he hadn't been in the Common Room when she'd finally left. And, ever since, she'd been tagging along with Padma and Hannah, getting a late breakfast and skipping lunch as she'd spent her time listening to the – fascinating? – tales the two had to share.

Honestly, spending her day the way she was doing, despite seeming a bit monotonous, wouldn't have felt as heavy as it did to Hermione, had her brain been at peace. Because, however much might she hate to admit it, she was deeply disturbed by Draco's idea of celebrating Christmas.

I'll be having company.

She winced as his voice reverberated in her head. Such a blatant confession of his escapades!

But then, when had Draco ever been inconspicuous?

She couldn't help but mentally catalogue the females that were staying at Hogwarts, right now, and were even remotely close to him in age.

There weren't any in their year – apart from herself and her companions, that is – for one. And, other than two fourth years and a handful of first years, there weren't any Slytherins, either.

So there went the two, most susceptible categories.

Then, there was the fact that none of the Gryffindors and none of the Hufflepuffs would partake in dirty deeds with Draco Malfoy, and so it didn't matter that there were masses of fifth and sixth year girls staying back from both the Houses.

That left Ravenclaw, and better yet—

Hermione's breath caught, while her sloshed, gleeful companions – oblivious to her mental troubles – howled with laughter.

That left Ravenclaw, and better yet, Justicia Arch.

Hermione had noticed, on numerous occasions, how the sixth year's eyes never quite left the Head Boy when the lot of them were present in the Great Hall. And the Head Boy, being the jerk he was – his reactions had never really been less than enthusiastic.

Suddenly, Hermione was having trouble breathing.

She blamed it on the thought that she didn't want her Common Room – the place she was planning to redecorate on New Year's, dammit! – christened in the worst possible way, but she did accept that the prospect of Draco Malfoy and Justicia Arch 'going at it', sent highly unpleasant shudders wracking through her body.

Rolling her eyes when Padma burst into another fit of giggles, Hermione slipped off her chair, unnoticed, thankfully, and excited the pub.

Stepping into the cold, frosty air, Hermione dragged in a large breath, and broke into a sprint up the path that connected Hogsmeade to the school.

She was nearly out of breath, and her brain was completely void of thoughts – aside from a really ornamental string of curse words directed at the chill of the atmosphere that seemed to have settled in her very lungs – when she stepped through the gates of Hogwarts.

She took another deep breath, passing a fleeting smile to a passing by second year, Gryffindor boy who had grinned at her with teeth when he saw her, and continued up her way to the Heads' dormitory.

Quite predictably, she didn't bump into anyone of significance on her way, and had enough time to square her shoulders and drape a mask of indifferent disgust – was that even possible? – as she changed staircases and rounded corners.

The moment she actually did reach the entrance, though, she was a bundle of nerves. Gulping down her rapidly cooling saliva and brushing back a sweat-slick tendril of hair from her forehead, she pressed her wand against the gigantic, teak wood gate, and whispered, "
Divisa est autem corruent."

The door cracked open and a sliver of golden-yellow light, probably belonging to the fireplace, fell next to Hermione's feet, illuminating the dark corridor. She put a shaky hand on the warm wood and pushed, keeping her ears overly sensitive to any sorts of animalistic hums that she was very much expectant—not hopeful, though; far from it—of.

When she heard nothing, and was convinced that the only source of luminescence in the large room was the fireplace – the way it had been in the morning – Hermione squared her shoulders, again, and stepped in.

Then her breath was knocked off her lungs.

Her eyes surveyed the entire span of the gigantic room to spot the "company" Draco was meant to be having, but came up short. She shakily looked back at the glum, bare-chested blonde seated in exactly the same place – in almost the same position, too – where he'd been the last time she saw him, and her eyes widened when she noticed the details.

The boxes surrounding him seemed to have multiplied. The fingers of one of his hands were covered in chocolate and he seemed to be holding two truffles in his palm. But, that wasn't what actually irked her. It was the half-empty bottle of amber colored liquid that was kept near his bent knee, a glass of liquid of matching color clenched in his other hand. Firewhiskey?

Hermione let out a ragged breath, completely at a loss.

That drew his attention to her, though. His sharp, grey eyes fastened on hers, and as she resolutely looked back, a lazy, self-depreciating smile curled upon his thinned lips. He raised his glass up in a mock salute.

Her steps jittery, Hermione shut the door and walked up to the couch he had his back rested against. She perched upon it, clenching the woollen hem of her cardigan in tight fists.

He looked at her, over his shoulder, cocking an amused brow, before forwarding a piece of chocolate – which, she noticed, was actually pure, dark, moulded chocolate and not a truffle. Gulping noisily, Hermione extracted the piece from his hand, minding his skin, lest they touch.

"So," he murmured after he'd turned back to vacantly staring into the fireplace and had taken another gulp of his drink. "D'you like my company?"

Taken aback by his question – because her mind was still caught up with his version of "having company" – Hermione frowned at the back of his blonde head, for a moment, before her eyes widened. "Oh, your… ah—spending time with you?" she confirmed.

"Nah, this," he accentuated, chuckling darkly, causing Hermione's fist to tighten on her sweater as he gestured around him, at the boxes of chocolates and the bottle kept next to him. "I know you hate sharing space with me, Granger, don't fret."

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. That stung.

And then he craned his neck, resting his head against the front of the couch to look at her upside-down, and she was transported back in time – back to their last date at the Three Broomsticks – and found herself looking at his shocked, devastated face, when the redness of his eyes had been increasing exponentially by the second and there hadn't seemed to be much time before that redness would be replaced by tears of heartbreak that she had caused him.

Suddenly, Hermione's throat closed up and lungs ruptured. Oh, how she regretted that blasted moment of weakness in her life…

Barely able to keep her lower lip from trembling, she looked away with a deep inhale. She needed to put certain things right – she needed to apply salve to the wreckage, that was her doing.

She took another breath. "I'd go back and do things differently if I could, Draco," she whispered, then, shutting her eyes against the prominent, warm sting of tears. "Back then, before our l–last date."

She watched, out of the corner of her eye, as his head snapped up and a breathy noise – probably a loud exhale – left his gaping mouth. "Diff… differently?"

"You haven't any idea how guilty I feel," she continued, almost overlooking his question. "I was antsy about our – our relationship, knowing how dysfunctional it could get because of our backgrounds. And, Harry and Ron – the two lifelines of mine that haven't left my side, once, ever since they got to me – I couldn't imagine pushing them away." She sucked back tears, her brain racing back to the time when her and Ron had separated, and she had spent two miserable weeks without a single contact with her two boys. "It was a wonder they both came around after my breakup with Ron. I couldn't give myself another chance of losing them," she finished on a sob, and hastily wiped away the traitorous drop of salty water gliding down her cheek.

"And, now?" Draco sounded...bitter. Her eyes snapped to his face, wide in surprise. And, sure enough, he looked bitter, too. "What's changed, now?"

She sniffed, holding his judgemental, accusatory, cold, grey stare. "My feelings for you," she stated, proud of the firmness of her voice, just as amazed as she was of the myriad of emotions that crossed his face. Clearing her throat for good measure,she continued, "I've outlived more than a month of watching your pallid face that does little to conceal the hurt of your heart," she whispered, trying to force a smile on her face. "I don't want to have to do it for another minute, Draco."

In hindsight, she probably shouldn't have gone so poetic. He was drunk, and there was huge possibility that he wouldn't decipher much.

A beat of silence passed between them, where she waited with a bated breath, and he stared at her, unblinkingly.

"Ar―are you drunk?" he asked, then, hoarsely, with a lilt to his voice that she recognized as disbelieving wonder.

Hermione coughed to cover up her disappointment. "I do not have a love affair with firewhiskey, Draco," she said, wryly, with a shrug. "Unlike you."

His low groan seemed to echo about her very soul. "But why didn't you so much as – oh, hell, Granger," he mumbled, growling as he went, "fucking come here, right now!"

Hermione's breath hitched, and insides heated up. Acting on instincts – and guilt, repressed emotions, and a pint of Butterbeer, too, actually – she maneuvered her calves, daintily, and sunk to her knees, next to him.

No sooner had she made a contact with the Persian rug strewn before the fireplace, than one of Draco's large hands was curling over the back of her neck and his mouth was latching onto hers. Hermione melted against him, immediately, and sealed her eyes shut. His lips pressed firmly against her mouth, once, before plucking at her lips with insistent, intense motions.

Hermione was transported back in time, yet again, to the numerous evenings that they'd both spent snogging the life out of each other, in this very Common Room.

Draco's other hand came up to rest on the jut of her hip, fingers digging into the meat of her arse through her denims as he pushed her back with the force of his knees against hers.

Her back pressed up against the lower front of the couch – and he overtook all her senses. His wandering tongue swiped over her already reddening lips and she parted them on a sigh, giving him as much of room as her permission to take her lower lip between his and sink his teeth into it.

"Favorite fucking flavor," he growled into her mouth, pushing his tongue against hers, coaxing a vigorous response out of her.

But, along with a response, the lack of oxygen caught up with her, and she pulled back with a loud inhale, her heaving breasts rubbing against his pale, naked chest. Biting down on her lower lip, Hermione looked up into his sparkling eyes. He was almost as much out of breath and seemed to be as much in wonder as she felt. His words from earlier registered to her, then, and a corner of her lips quirked up, playfully.

"Don't lie to me, young man," she whispered – more like, breathed out on his lips, actually – and grinned when he cocked an eyebrow with an amused glint entering his eyes. "Your 'favorite fucking flavor' is smeared all over your glass of firewhiskey."

He gave her one of those lopsided grins of his that she loved, and ―

Wait.

Loved?

Yes, she decided, that she loved and missed.

"That isn't entirely true," he mumbled back, reaching behind him to drag a box of chocolates towards them.

He hadn't broken their eye contact for a single second, ever since he'd given her that look of disbelief after her monologue, and she wasn't about to complain. She had loved his eyes, long before she'd found any sort of interest in him.

"Let's see…" Draco said, pursing his lips and frowning. "How about we, um," he faltered, twirling the piece of dark chocolate between his forefinger and thumb as his eyes skimmed her lips. Then, the next moment, his chocolate covered fingertips accompanied his gaze, and Hermione's eyes widened on a gasp when she realized that he was coating chocolate over her lips.

Before she could have reacted, though, he leaned forward, again, and planted his lips over hers. They groaned, together, and Hermione's mind tingled as the cherished taste of dark chocolate – mixed with the essence of him – broke out on her tongue.

He pulled away, then, allowing a sliver of space between them as he brushed his smirking lips against her sticky ones. Hermione whimpered, leaning into him – trying to pull him back.

"This," Draco growled against her lips, making her whimper, again, at the throaty timbre of his voice, "is the best flavor. A combination of the world's sweetest sweets."

Despite herself, Hermione blushed at his words, ducking her head to hide her cheeks in the curtain of her hair.

"No, really, you taste better―"

She placed a nimble finger over his lips, shushing him, and fought to keep her insides from liquefying by how soft his lips felt. "Stop exaggerating," she whispered, playfully, trying to keep the flaming heat on her cheeks at bay, "you're too drunk for that."

His tongue flicked out to wrap over her finger, then, eyes turning a shade darker as he pulled it into his mouth.

Her heart went wild with its beating as he rolled his soft, velvety tongue over her finger, and heat infused all of her nerve endings. "Draco," she groaned.

With a smirk, he pulled away and his hands immediately travelled to the Gryffindor scarf twirled about her neck. Deftly, he plucked it off, and, looking into her eyes with his dilated ones, threw it aside. His hands went to the buttons of her cardigan, next, but Hermione was sufficiently distracted by the golden glow of the firelight reflecting off his bare torso to take much notice.

Biting on her lower lip, she extracted another piece of chocolate from the box kept next to them, and, with little hesitancy, dragged it over his collar bones.

He pushed her cardigan off her shoulders, teeth visibly clenched as Hermione rose to her knees to cradle his head in her hands. Leaning down, she smacked a wet, open mouthed kiss over his lips before sinking further to lick off the trail of chocolate spread over his alabaster skin.

"Salazar's arse!" His grunt echoed about them when she fastened her lips over the hollow between his collar bones and sucked.

His hands fisted the flimsy material of her shirt, and muffled groans fell from his lips that he'd pulled in and tucked between his teeth.

His chest was glistening with her saliva by the time Hermione pulled back. She was allowed a moment's smugness, before Draco's sinewy arms were ripping her shirt off, buttons flying in every direction, and his large, callused hands were mapping the comparatively cooler skin of her waist.

She let out a breath, dropping down to sit on her calves, and wrapped her hands about his nape with a shy smile. Draco's irises were blown – huge discs of black that were framed by thin rings of silver – and his breathing was laboured as he held her gaze. But, then, his eyes were falling down to trace the the globes of her pale pink, cotton bra clad breasts, and Hermione's breath hitched when he licked his lips.

His palms swam up her torso, thumbs rubbing provocative circles into the skin of her abdomen, and finally cupped the underside of her breasts. Then, before she could blink, his forefingers were tugging the cups down, and, letting out a sultry groan, he'd proceeded to circle her areolas with the pad of his thumbs.

Hermione's jaw dropped, head falling back as sensations burst through her veins.

"These are beautiful, Hermione," Draco rumbled, the lust coating his voice sending a delicious shiver down her spine. "Can I taste them?"

A muffled moan was the only coherent response she could form, clenching her eyes shut, as she pressed her head back against the cushiony front of the couch.

Her eyes opened with a jerk, though, when he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her towards him – settling her astride his lap. Her breasts pressed up against his hard muscles as he pulled her into a fierce kiss. Hermione clutched his shoulders, opening her mouth to let his tongue in. But, the kiss ended way too soon for her liking, and Draco separated their fused bodies with a frustrated sounding grunt.

His hands, then, cupped her breasts, squeezing gently and tweaking the pink, erect nipples. Hermione moaned, loudly, leaning back to give him more space.

A sticky sensation made her look up, and she gasped to find him circling her nipples with a piece of chocolate. His dark eyes were trained on the motions of his fingers and lower lip crushed beneath a row of teeth.

Draco's head lowered to her breasts, then, and he flicked his tongue over her chocolate covered peak, once, before engulfing the entire tip into his mouth and sucking hard. The sharp, almost painful pleasure stole the thoughts right out of Hermione's head, and, while he alternated from breast to breast, she could do nothing more than clutch him to her chest, her head thrown back in bliss. She screamed, finally, at the sensation that lit up her entire body, igniting sparks in her breasts and sending them down to the place where she could feel moisture gathering up, really quickly.

His tongue flicked over her hardened nub, repeatedly, making her babble rubbish – comprising of all sorts of encouraging words – and he groaned around her breast when she released a particularly high pitched shriek.

Hermione had thought that the sweet torture would never end, but it did, eventually, when she'd been turned into a complete mess that almost didn't remember her own name.

He gave her – undoubtedly, quivering – lips a gentle kiss before wrapping both of his arms about her waist and looking into her eyes. "Do you want to go further?"

Hermione was immediately self-conscious, despite the glassy, and sincere – so, so sincere! – look in his eyes. She nodded, biting down on her lower lip. "But, I'm―you know… I've never gone all the way through," she said in a breathy voice, trying to frame an explanation out of her broken thoughts. "I mean, I have done… stuff. Fooling around, I'd say, really, but the actual―"

His lips met her in another fierce kiss, and all her thoughts fled, again. "I'll be gentle," he breathed over her sore lips, before lowering her to the carpet.

Her breath came in small pants, making her breasts jump with them, and his eyes – those half-masts of grey – never left the bouncing pair. She looked back at him with half open eyes, while he removed the shirt hanging on her shoulders, and arched her back to help him remove her bra. He pressed his warm lips on her sternum while he unhooked her pale pink bra, and Hermione sighed.

He sat up, then, and popped the button of her jeans, tugging it down and off her legs in a single, swift motion. Hermione shivered when he pecked the jutting bone of her left hip. Then, she groaned, clenching her teeth, as he extracted another piece of chocolate and smeared it on her abdomen, right above the elastic of her knickers. As she'd known he would, he proceeded to lick – sucking at places – the strip of chocolate of her skin, making her mewl in pleasure.

He pulled her knickers off, in quick succession, and raised his eyebrows at Hermione's most private place. She frowned, for a moment, before she understood what he was surprised at. Her cheeks warmed up for the umpteenth time, that night.

She was clean shaven.

"I…" She coughed, licking her lips as she tried to explain. "Ginny discovered a spell, few months back, and I gave it a... try―not that I'd wanted to, you know, because it isn't as if I need―"

She cut herself off with a muffled shout as his palm cupped her mound, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the soft skin of her hips while his fingers tapped against her opening, making squelching sounds and telling them both just how much slick she was.

His palm slid south, then, the heel pressing over that button of hers that made her―

"Draco!" she squeaked, biting down, hard, on her lower lip.

Then, he sat up, abruptly, and confusion swam through her head when he summoned his wand, out of nowhere, and cast a wordless Scourgify on his hands. "What…" She trailed off, panting still, and jerked her chin towards his hands.

He smirked. "I've read, somewhere, that sugar is harmful for vag―uh, that sweet, soaked flower of yours," he murmured, making her shut her eyes in an attempt to control the blush on her cheeks.

She failed, obviously, but was distracted from her embarrassment, when he slid a finger into her slippery channel. Blood pounded in Hermione's ears, and she couldn't hear her own moans when he lowered his head down to her left nipple, nor when he added another finger with his already pumping digit, nor when he brought up his other hand to squeeze her other, neglected, firm globe of flesh. She was only aware of an earth-shattering scream – which was supposed to belong to her, given the circumstance – and her body floating among clouds as nothingness captured all her senses.

After an eternity, she peeled her eyelids back to find Draco's glistening lips an inch above hers. Before she could kiss him, though, he leant half a fraction away.

"This may hurt," he whispered, and slid in.

Hermione wanted to smack him for giving her a faux warning, because it felt so heavenly, that she moaned at the―

"Godric!" she cried out, wincing in discomfort when he pushed all the way in.

It hurt, alright. Like a bitch, at that!

Hermione couldn't have been prepared for a pain so intense even after a million counselling sessions about virgins and first-times. It felt as if she was being torn apart – ripped into two pieces, and from the most sensitive place of her body, at that. It was all she could do to not shove Draco off her and curse him to the next century.

Instead, she held onto his shoulders, shamelessly digging her nails into his flesh, and clenched her teeth as tightly shut as her eyes. Almost all of the haze of her blissful completion, from moments back, had dissipated, leaving her with a sore mood and bruised body.

Belatedly, as she gradually came back to acknowledge her surroundings, she became aware of mumbled, muffled apologies being pressed into the skin of her neck and shoulders, along with sloppy, wet kisses from Draco.

She sighed, prepared to tell him that she was too broken to continue, when he lifted his head and, accidentally, moved their lower bodies.

Hermione gasped. What happened to the pain that had driven her insane, a minute ago?

Draco reared back in shock, already pulling half of his length out of her. "Oh, Merlin, Hermione, I'm so, so sorry, I―" He cut himself off when his eyes met hers. He must have seen something in them because his expressions turned to disbelief and he slid back in by half an inch. "Hermione?"

"Do―do that again," Hermione whispered, voice awfully hoarse, and trailed a hand down his naked back to rest upon the left cheek of his arse. "Please."

As if automatically, his hips jerked back and surged forth. And, as if automatically, yet again, Hermione's own hips lifted up to meet his in the motion.

Wonder broke out on his sweaty face. "Are you okay?"

Hermione flashed him her entire row of teeth. "Never been better."

He snorted out a laughter of disbelief before bracing both of his hands on the rug, on either sides of her head, and raised his upper body a few feet above her. The first thrust was deliberate, full of consideration, and not satisfying enough. The second, and the third and the fourth became increasingly more frantic, less deliberate and far more satisfactory.

Between those thrust and their combined, repetitive shouts of pleasure, Hermione found her arms wound about his frame – the fingers of one hand digging into his buttcheeks and the nails of the other scratching at his scalp. In the same instance, she found her legs hooked up over his hips, and the heels of her feet digging into his behind, urging him on.

His teeth latched onto her pulse-point in time with another deep, deliberate surge of his hips, and he ground their pelvises together, pressing against her bundle of nerves while his teeth sunk deeper still, lighting all her senses up – she came with a scream, and her world filled up with white, blinding light of bliss.

Hermione woke up to the feel of puffs of air against her nape, blowing away her hair and making her shiver.

Her eyes opened, slowly, and she blinked to adjust them to the streams of light falling through the crevices between the green drapes hanging over the windows.

Wait.

Green?

Hermione blinked, again, and a smile slid up on her face, slowly, as the acknowledgement dawned upon her.

She was in his room.

Well, that was putting it simply. In the elaborate meaning, Draco had picked her up and brought her up to his room – his and not hers! – after she'd passed out from the powerful orgasm he'd given her, last night.

Smiling wider, she took a deep breath, and―

Stopped short when the smell of firewhiskey – albeit mingled with chocolate – invaded her nostrils. Her euphoria cracked, suddenly, as she recalled a really terrifying fact about last night.

He had been drunk.

What if he had been too drunk? Had her first time been with a person who wouldn't remember? Or worst, had her first time been with a person who wouldn't have wanted her, had his mind not been alcohol induced?

"Regretting already, I see," came a bitter, venomous hiss from near her left shoulder.

Eyes wide, Hermione twisted in place and hooked an arm around Draco's waist before he could have gotten out of the bed. His face displayed nothing but a blank mask of indifference, but the pain in his eyes told an entirely different story. Hermione leaned forward to press her lips against his. "No. No, Draco – I would never." He scoffed, and Hermione's horrific presumptions made a comeback. She let out a stuttered breath. "You were drunk, remember?"

For a moment, she felt nervous and vulnerable and all sorts of scared – but his brows furrowed with an incredulous expression crossing his face, and he pulled her tightly against him with an arm wound about her naked hips, the next moment, burying his face into her curls. "That was the most memorable – the most beautiful – night of my life, Hermione," he mumbled into her hair.

She giggled into his shoulder, all her euphoria returning with full force as she relaxed against him and felt all of her insecurities leaving her.

He pulled back, but, and looked at her with narrowed eyes. "We forgot something."

Hermione frowned, the gears of her brain turning to think of a situation that would require such a confession after a night of lovemaking. "Contraceptive?" She squinted at him. "Don't worry about that. I'm on Muggle Pill, so…" She trailed off as the blonde hollered in loud peals of laughter. She pursed her lips at him, scowling. "What, Draco?"

His laughter ceased and a slow, mesmerised smile curled over his lips. "I like that. The sound of my name in your voice," he told her, huskily.

Hermione smiled back, brushing her fingers over the fringe of his pale blonde hair hanging over his forehead. "What did we forget, Draco?"

He let out a contented sigh, shutting his eyes. Hermione chuckled, leaning forward to plant a light kiss over his nose. He smiled wider, not changing his position even as he reached behind himself to extract something from the nightstand.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione," he muttered, opening his eyes, slightly, to lean forth and kiss her blushing cheek while he slid a small box into the hand she'd flanked over his waist.

Gasping, Hermione sat up, mindful of the cover that she pulled up to her armpits. "You got me a gift?" She opened the box to find a pair of platinum earrings that were little, otter figurines with emerald cravings on them. "Gosh, they are so gorgeous, Draco! And… how do even know what my Patronus is?"

Draco shrugged, smirking up at her, smugly, as he readjusted his position to cross his arms under his head, in the bed. "I had wanted to gift these to you on that evening when I'd asked you about how you saw our future." He looked away, a streak of sadness sliding into his eyes. Hermione's heart clenched with guilt. Did he love her? Huffing out a breath, he looked back at her, again, grinning this time. "And, about your second question… Well, I know a lot about you, sweetheart."

Hermione smiled, feeling all sorts of giddy at his endearment. Taking a deep breath, she made up her mind. Though she did feel nervous, she knew that this was going to be her call – she was going to be the one to take the big step, this time.

She tilted her head to a side and held his gaze, heart aflutter with nervousness. "We forgot something, else, too."

Draco cocked a brow at her, playfully. "Not the contraceptive, right? Because someone has just told me that she―" He broke off with a laugh when she smacked his chest.

"Well… I didn't get you a gift," she continued, channeling all of the Gryffindor in her, "so, a few words will have to make-do."

"And?" he asked, too quickly, with his eyes widened, and mouth dropping open a fraction. He had some idea where this was going, she guessed.

"We might be a dysfunctional pair, horribly screwed up when the couples out there are elegance at its best. But… I'd rather be screwed up with you than smooth with anybody else, Draco. Will you be my boyfriend?" she finished in a breath, holding it in, immediately, as she waited for his reaction.

She didn't have to wait long, though, because his eyes glided shut, the next moment, and expressions of pure ecstasy overtook his features. "Yes, Hermione," he groaned out, "a million times, yes, and always, yes – I do want to be your boyfriend and let you do things the right way, this time round, yes."

Her eyes brimmed, and she let out a shaky laugh. But, before she could ponder much on how to proceed, her boyfriend of a minute back was pulling her down, and rolling over her to capture her lips in a kiss with a sigh of bliss. She let out one of her own.

Of course, she did.

THE END

Liked it? Hated it? Drop your thoughts.

The Prompts (by unbroken_halo on LJ):

◇ 4-8 preferred characters/pairings: Harry/Hermione, Draco/Hermione, Hermione/Harry/Draco, Bill/Tonks, Charlie/Tonks, Bill/Tonks/Charlie, Narcissa/Lucius, Severus/Lily

◇ Pairings you do NOT want to receive: Canon pairings not requested, Death eaters other than Snape or Lucius.

◇ Tropes I enjoy: Friends-to-lovers, Smart, passionate women, intelligent men, respectful relationships, kid fic, second chances, getting together fics, plot over porn, paranormal aspects (hey this is a magic worldif you can make it work, go for it!), happy endings, humor, holidays (actually going on one or an annual celebration)

◇ Kinks I enjoy: realism in the story/plot, consensual and mutual experimenting with one another, playful teasing with or without props, romance without too much saccharine, first times, established relationships.

◇ Prompts: First Christmas/Solstice/Winter holiday together
• Discovery of a new kink together
• Fate/time/circumstances has given them a second chance.
• He leaned forward, touched his lips to hers. "Indications are we're having a romance." (reverse the pronouns if you wish)
•"I'd rather be screwed up with you than smooth with anybody else."

Tell me a good story and have fun with it!

◇ Anything else you'd like your gifter to know?(i.e. deal breakers, head canon, new canon etc...) I'm pretty easy to please, but if you want/need more, check out this post. I like the canon of the books versus anything JKR has said on Pottermore, and I don't care to know anything about the Cursed Child Play nor the Fantastic Beasts movie. That said, you want to make up something out of whole cloth that fits your plot, go for it. Just leave my squicks out of it. Not real fond of dirty talk or overly flowery language, Call it what it is, we are adults.

xoxo,

Aishwarya!