It was yet another long, draw-out day at the Ministry of Magic and Hermione Granger found herself, for the fourth night in a row that week, working deep into the evening after hours. Once again, she found herself glued to her cauldron, bound in furious concentration to perfectly combining the last few ingredients of the potion she had most-recently devised. Sadly, her past few attempts had gone poorly, ranging from bad to worse. Luckily a member of the ministry's accidental magic reversal squad had been present on her most disastrous potions mishap to date a few days prior and had managed to restore her laboratory to one piece, salvaging a good bit of what had been damaged, but she suspected she would not be so lucky this evening should she fail so colossally again.
It was incredibly uncommon to find anyone in the ministry in the hours past six p.m. She was frequently the last to leave, not only in her own department but of all the departments as well. Yet, this evening, she could not force herself to abandon what already seemed to be a failed attempt. Each failure had to be properly documented. Every stir, every bubble, every change in color, it all had to be taken down. If there was one thing she'd learned in her tenure as an experimental potioneer, it was that failure was the key to success and that the detailing of it was critical to striking the proper balance. To the inexperienced wizard, brewing was guess-work, but Hermione knew better. It was far more of an exact science than most people thought.
Those who were truly familiar with potions knew what to look for when making adjustments to their formulas. For example, a mixture that turned oddly colorful almost always had too much of a potent ingredient. If a potion became too thick or solidified, it usually meant that she needed to adjust the number or direction of her stirs. Or if a potion exploded, it usually meant that she'd done almost nothing right. Still, it was a finicky business, and while breakthroughs and new potions were commonplace, so were trips to St. Mungos and numerous attempts at combining the same ingredients different ways.
She felt like she was right at the cusp of perfecting the potion before her. Each time she'd done it prior, everything had gone well until the very last steps. Sadly, as she stood over her cauldron, giving it the last few stirs, she knew it had failed once again. It felt like she had already tried everything. Stir count, stir speed, stir direction, heat adjustments, common closing incantations, and the past week she'd even done it under the light of the full moon, though she hadn't expected it to go any differently. None of the ingredients she was using were commonly tied to specific time-related conditions, so it had been an attempt purely for the hell of it; she'd been trying something different with that attempt anyways.
Hermione sighed, looking down at the weakly bubbling mess of lilac-colored liquid below her and with a wave of her wand, vanished it. In minutes her station had been cleared, the apothecary bottles whisked away to their positions in the nearby cabinet and her mixing vials cleaned and stowed away next to her scales. Hermione tapped her fingers lightly on the table and glanced over to the clock, the source of the room's only sound. Only 8:32. If she was quick about it, she might still be able to fit in a visit to the ministerial archives to refresh her memory on counter-active ingredients. It was that or go back to her empty apartment and sit with only her books to keep her company, then attempting, but failing, to read a reasonable amount and get to bed at a good hour.
Work was what Hermione found her purpose in, or at least, what kept her busy enough not to feel too sorry for herself. Every so often Ginny and Harry would have her over to tea, or Molly Weasley would extend an invitation to family supper, or she would third wheel on Ron and Harry's double dates to quidditch matches or the theater, but for the most part, she found herself drawn to her laboratory. It was her best and, really, only excuse for how dull her social life had become. Sad as it was, she'd been pulled into the monotony of a workaholic's routine, trapped with no incentive or method to escape it.
The tapping of her shoes on the marble floors echoed hollowly through the Ministry's empty corridors. Stepping into the lift, she pressed the button for the floor on which the archives were located and leaned back against the cage, feeling it lurch sideways before making its creaky descent. The doors rolled away moments later, revealing the dimly lit rows of shelves stretching back several quidditch field-lengths away from her. It was one of her favorite places to visit in her spare time, second only to the Hogwarts library for its familiarity, though she much preferred visiting in the day time. In the evening, the lights were always dimmed and, since it was almost always deserted, felt eerie and made her somewhat melancholy. Libraries filled with books no one was reading always had that effect on her.
Clutching her briefcase, she wound her way through the towering shelves towards what had become the most familiar sector of the library: the potions section. After a few minutes of perusing and a quick accio to find the specific book she'd come for, she sat down in a chair nearby and began leafing through its pages. Almost an hour later, she closed the book, its cover sending a muffled thump echoing through the adjourning aisles, and she muttered the incantation to return the book back to its proper location.
It had been a good idea to seek out that book for a refresher. Already she felt like she knew exactly which ingredient she would need to add as the counter balance to the potions recipe she had waiting upstairs. But by this hour, even by her standards, it was far too late to get started on another draft of her potion. It would need to wait until tomorrow.
For now, she would go home. Grabbing her briefcase, she wound her way back along the route she'd just taken, this time reversing her steps and coming upon the entrance, surprised to see a lone figure standing at the closed door to one of the lifts. Even from a distance she knew immediately who it was. Platinum blonde hair stood starkly against the library's muted colors, somehow still brightly reflecting what little light the room had to offer- Draco Malfoy standing tall several yards ahead of her.
An unpleasant taste invaded her mouth and she fought the urge to duck behind the nearest shelf. She had found herself fortunate in her years at the Ministry, that even though they worked at the same place, collaboration between her offices and his were few and far between, mercifully, limiting the number of times she and he would run into each other. Even now, having received his "apology" for his pitiful excuse at philanthropy from their Hogwarts years, it was far from a joy to run into him. His particular brand of arrogance and coolly extravagant demeanor always left her feeling mildly irritated after any of their unfortunate run-ins.
She regarded his form, toying with the options available to her. She could wait until he left, hopefully, quickly, or she could take the kick to the groin that was fate's dark humor and accept their predestined encounter. Mulling it over for a moment, she decided upon the latter of the two, stubbornly refusing to allow him any sort of power over her or her decisions, whether he was aware of it or not.
The carpets beneath her concealed what would have been the tapping footsteps of her heels and so she wandered up behind him without his initial notice. Coming upon him, she found him leaning against the lift's door, impatiently jabbing a finger repeatedly at the call button. Stopping short- and leaving a healthy amount of space between them- she swallowed in an attempt to rid herself of the awful taste in her mouth and then cleared her throat.
Apparently startled, he jumped and whirled around meeting her initially with an expression of shock, morphing almost instantaneously into one of seeming boredom. Like metal on metal, the sarcastic drawl of his voice grated on her nerves, "Well, it must be my lucky day. My prayers have been answered. Hermione Granger, my knight in shining armor is here, come to rescue me from the depths of hell that is trying to use this bloody broken as shit muggle technology." He then turned abruptly away from her, resuming his assault on the lift's defenseless button.
Absentmindedly, she wondered if he ever had anything worthwhile to say, or if she'd find herself better off just tuning him out.
"What's this, Malfoy? Aren't clever enough to use the lifts? It's really quite simple. And you'd think if muggles could do it, then even you might have enough skill."
Stopping his motions, and without turning to her, he then said, "Ah yes, and she's brought her sharp tongue along as well I see. Excellent. Though maybe next time I should be more specific with my request for help." Then, turning to face her, "They're broken, Granger. Again, I might add, as they seem to almost always be in need of repairs."
"What do you mean broken? Did you try the others?" Hermione inquired, stepping over to press the button of the lift nearest her.
His grating laughter rang out sharply. "How wonderful it must be to be Hermione Granger. So sure that everyone around you has the mental capacity of an old shoe. Of course I checked the other ones! I've been standing around for the past half an hour pressing these goddamn buttons, and nothing!" Ignoring him, she stepped over to another one and pressed it as well. "But by all means, help yourself. Maybe my fingers aren't-" he stopped abruptly, evidently thinking better of whatever it was he had to say.
Improvement. Filtering the rubbish that came out of his mouth. Maybe he wasn't as stupid as an old shoe.
Satisfied that the lifts were, indeed, not working, she took a mental step back to assess the situation. If the lifts were, as Draco had put it, broken, they had a problem. The lifts were the only way in and out of the library and, furthermore, the only way out of the Ministry, seeing as though apparition in or out was strictly prohibited. Her brows furrowed as she glanced over at the closed doors once again. Then a shadow passed over her features, a change Draco was quick to pick up on.
"Put two and two together have you now, Granger? Maybe I'm not as slow as you think I am. Because I realized that the moment you walked over here. We're stuck in here, you and I, until bollocks knows when." He huffed indignantly, gave the button a last frustrated punch, and then stalked off, plopping himself down in a chair nearby.
Hermione, meanwhile looked around for any means of repairing the lifts. Though she'd been raised as a muggle, she, regretfully, knew very little about how their technology worked. Of course she knew that lifts and lightbulbs ran on electricity, and that cars used combustion engines and all that sort of stuff, but she knew little about the logistics of it all. She'd received her Hogwarts letter just as she'd been growing curious about those sorts of things and suddenly had found herself open to a wealth of information to scour about all sorts of mystical things she'd never even heard of before. Learning about and mastering the unfamiliar ways of the wizarding world had been her top priority since then.
If she'd known one day it'd come down to spending the evening trapped with Draco Malfoy in the Ministry of Magic, she certainly would have done more to prepare herself. But unfortunately, she had not, and as she looked around, no brilliant ideas came to mind. Discreetly drawing out her wand, Hermione silently muttered a few spells- accio in an attempt to summon the lift to her, locomotor in an attempt to force the door open, as well as a few others she could think of- but nothing happened. Equally frustrated at herself for not being knowledgeable enough to get herself out of the situation and at Draco for whatever reason he had to be there that evening, she turned away from the lifts and walked over to another chair positioned several feet away from the one he was now splayed across.
"Damn, we really are fucked," she heard him grumble as he stared up at the ceiling.
"And what makes you say that?" she countered inquisitively, taking a seat. "Someone will be along to fix them, we'll be on our way, and I can go back to trying to forget that you and I occasionally breathe the same air."
"While I wish I could share your optimism, I think we'll be here for a while. We'll be lucky if we're out of here by next week with how ineffective the repairs team is at their job. As I recall, the last time, they had to bring in a muggle to help fix the damn thing. Talk about humiliating."
Hermione closed her eyes, wishing at once that when she opened them she'd be home. Or anywhere but here, really. Here with him. What had she done to deserve this? Whatever it was, she would be sure not to ever do it again.
Suddenly, he jerked upwards, making Hermione jump slightly, and shifted, positioning himself in his chair so that he sat facing her. "Well, since we'll be here a while, might as well get acquainted. Up for a game of truth or truth?"
"Pardon?"
"Truth or truth, Granger. Surely you've heard of it. It's the game that pushovers play instead of truth or dare, or, in our case, a game to get to know one another a little better. I'm surprised, I thought for sure it would have been a favorite in the Gryffindor common room."
"And why would you assume that I would have any interest in getting to know you better, Malfoy?" she shot back. "As I see it, I know you far too well as it is."
"Well fuck, Granger, no need to hurt my feelings. I'm just trying to be friendly. Make small talk, you know." The slightest of smiles pulled at the edges of his lips.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "How does it work?" Though she thought she already knew the answer.
"Ah, now we're talking," he said, a vaguely mischievous smirk spreading across his lips. From within his jacket he pulled a small flask and two indeterminable objects. Noticing her expression, he said with a wink, "I always come prepared." Drawing out his wand, he incanted, engorgio, and the two objects enlarged, revealing themselves to be two crystal goblets. Unstoppering the flash, he asked, "Firewhiskey?" to which she grunted in displeasure, but accepted the cup when he handed it to her anyways.
She'd need a lot more of this if they were indeed going to be trapped there all night.
Taking a swig, he then said, "Okay, so the way this works is really simple. I ask a question, you answer it. You ask a question, I answer it. We do this back and forth until I realize that you're as uninteresting as I think you are or until we're so pissed we can't form proper sentences anymore. Sounds fun right?"
Hermione took an extra-long swig from her glass, absentmindedly wondering how much alcohol she'd consume if she drank at every backhanded insult he shot at her and then inquired of him, "So what's the incentive to answer the question truthfully? Normally, in truth or dare, if the person doesn't want to answer the question that means they have to do a dare."
"Guess I just trust you that much, Granger. Or maybe the firewhiskey. It's loosened tongues tighter than yours before. Now, do you want to go first or shall I?"
"You can go first," she allowed indifferently.
"Excellent, I've got just the question. Do you find me attractive?"
Mm. Wasting no time in making himself the center of attention.
"Yes," she teased, pausing before adding, "in the same way I enjoy looking at doxie droppings when I'm working in my laboratory."
"Ew, Granger. No need to include extra information. Especially not when it comes to your sick fetishes. Keep that shit to yourself."
Hermione sighed and took another swig of firewhiskey, noting that the amount in her glass had not yet dwindled. Some replenishing charm, she suspected. "Alright, my turn. Why are you here?"
"This game is going to end quicker than I thought if you keep that up, Granger. Could you possibly ask a more dull question?" He leaned back in his chair, holding his glass out to the side. "I'm going to assume that you're asking what brought me to the library this evening. And to that I would say, an ungodly amount of bad luck and the need to consult some old business records."
An ungodly amount of bad luck was right.
"My turn. Do you really have a stick up your arse? Or are you just naturally uptight?" He grinned.
"Neither. I'm a perfectly normal and pleasant individual, so, kindly, fuck off."
She examined him then, weighing the opportunity of asking him the question she had queueing. Tempted by curiosity, and with a gentler voice, she asked somewhat cautiously, "Did you choose to get your mark?"
He didn't get mad, as she'd thought he would, though a shadow passed over his features and he turned his head down to look at where it would have been but was concealed under his shirt.
"No," he said, in a voice softer than she'd ever heard him speak. "But I didn't fight it either." He sounded sad, remorseful. "After my father went to prison… he said he thought I could be useful… thought I could do what my father couldn't…" Draco trailed off. Shaking his head, as if to clear it and then tossing back a swig from his cup and clearing his throat, he asked bluntly, "Have you ever fucked Potter?"
Boy, he recovered quickly. "No."
"Thought not. Did you ever fuck the ginger one?"
"Ah ah ah," Hermione cut in quickly, "wait your turn. It's my go now." She sipped from her glass thoughtfully. "Since you seem so bent on being crude, I might as well play along and I've been dying to ask you this for some time now. How many times did you have to suck Snape's cock to pass potions?"
"Hilarious, Granger. None, because, as it so happens, I'm naturally gifted at potions. Now, did you fuck the Weasley or not?"
"Possibly," she replied innocently.
"Now now, Granger. That's not an answer."
"You didn't specify any rules regarding the format of our answers. I answered the question and now it's my turn. Have you ever shagged a bloke?"
"No, and I don't think I ever would. There's no appeal there for me. What about you, then? Have you ever had sex with a girl?" A greedy gleam seemed to flicker to life in his eyes.
"No," she replied simply, and then added, "and you can stop salivating." She contemplated her next question for a moment, wondering if she even wanted to know the answer. "Did you ever fuck Parkinson?"
"Obviously," he said, waving his hands as if brushing it off and she could tell he was annoyed that she'd "wasted" another question. "When's the last time you got off?"
In the chair opposite him, Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She hadn't particularly felt the need to lie at all in the game up until now. But with this question, she wondered if she shouldn't. The answer was unfortunate and his reaction to it, she feared, would be far more so. It was nothing to be ashamed of, at least, from her point of view. Most people would think very strongly otherwise, him being one of them, she suspected. She'd simply never had any desire to have sex. Sex was much more appealing to her within the clean confines of the scientific perspective, much more interesting on paper than in person.
Merlin spare me, she thought before throwing back a long swig of firewhiskey.
"Never."
From his chair across the room came loud choking noises, and for a second her heart leapt at the possibility of him dying then and there, sparing her any more agony. But they soon ceded and were replaced with disbelieving cries. "You've never gotten off? Never experienced an orgasm? Fuck, Granger. Well I'd say that answers several of my questions. Sweet Salazar, no wonder you're so priggish. I would be too if I were a twenty-five year old virgin."
"Look, it's not how you think it is," she jumped in defensively. "I've had plenty of time and opportunity to do so, I just don't find sex all that appealing. It's messy and tedious, and incurably unproductive. It's so much more interesting to read about it."
"What are you talking about? It's not any of those things, Granger! And for fuck's sake, you can't learn about sex from a book! Sex is meant to experienced, not analyzed and picked apart. How can you sit there and tell me what you think about it if you've never tried it?"
"I've tried it! Ron and I-" she stopped short.
"So you did fuck the Weasley," he chuckled darkly.
"Not exactly. We fooled around a bit, but it was awkward and uncomfortable so we never actually, um, did it…" she trailed off.
"Well fuck, I could have told you a long time ago that shagging a Weasley would amount to a less than satisfactory experience. You know, I've heard that their clothes aren't the only things that are hand-me-down." Hermione scowled at his insinuation.
"I'd wager that as a school boy you were no sex god either."
"True," he permitted. "But as it stands, I've been told on numerous occasions that I'm quite skilled in bed. One girl even described me as having golden fingers."
She looked at him with an expression that was a mix of disgust and the sentiment "I give approximately zero fucks," and then, hoping to change the subject quickly, said, "Indeed, well it's my turn to ask you a question."
Rising from his chair and flailing his arms slightly more than she would have deemed necessary, he said exasperatedly, "No, this game is officially on a permanent hiatus to be replaced with dare or dare, and my first dare to you Granger is that you allow me to pleasure the fuck out of you, right here, right now."
Hermione felt her jaw drop but then could not remember the necessary steps she should take to close it again. "Excuse me?" she stuttered.
"Look, Granger. I already told you. You can't learn sex from a book. So, thanks to my charitable generosity, I, a near expert at the art of sexual gratification, will lend you my time and my talents and teach you. We've got all this spare time, a fuck ton of space to ourselves, and a good amount of firewhiskey already in our system. And, I don't know about you, but if you give me a few more minutes I can almost guarantee I won't remember any of this tomorrow."
Hermione gaped at him in disbelief, her mind churning with the numerous thoughts that she suddenly felt the desperate need to pelt at him, ranging from "there's no way you could ever make me feel good" to "I'd sooner get cuddly with a mimbulus mimbletonia" to "I wouldn't let you touch me with the end of a flag pole."
She eventually settled with, "And what, pray tell, makes you so qualified to teach me the art of sex?"
"If you must know, a lot of bad sex with Pansy Parkinson and, conversely, quite a bit of good sex with a few other witches along the way. Satisfied?" She frowned at his smirk and the double entendre it represented.
"Not particularly. Besides, why would you, oh sex master," she said, taking care to douse her words with sarcasm, "have any interest in wasting your talents on me? At my current level of experience, I imagine I would hardly be considered a 'good bed.'"
"Though our game of truth or truth is now over, I will permit your question and even answer it truthfully; you're welcome. As it so happens, I'm horny as hell right now because- and I'll tell you even though you didn't ask me this specifically- the last time I got laid was nearly six months ago."
"Funny, I didn't think I was your type," she drawled in response, still finding it difficult to take his absurd offer seriously.
"Swotty, arrogant, intelligent, and stubborn as shit? You're exactly my type, Granger." Shock and an insuppressible blush rose to her face.
Finding herself completely incapable of processing this comment, she quickly switched tactics. "We're in a library, what if someone walks in?"
"No one's going to walk in Granger, the bloody lifts are broken."
"Well, what if we're not alone?"
"Granger, it's almost midnight. Who visits a library at midnight?" Noting her indignant expression, he then added, "Besides you, of course. I haven't seen or heard anything since we got in here, but if you insist." He drew out his wand and muttered Homenum Revelio. A single translucent marker floated from the tip of his wand and came to rest over her head. "Just you and me, Granger."
She looked him over. Was he actually serious? Despite her own blatant disinterest in the matter, she was skeptical that he would actually come anywhere near her. He looked at her expectantly and she sighed. Was she actually going to let him try? It seemed so pointless. What could he do that would possibly change her mind about the matter? That she was genuinely curious about.
"Fine," she said, throwing up her arms in exasperation. "It's not like anything is going to change. It'll just prove to me all over again how sordid the whole affair is." She got up from her chair and walked boldly over to him. "Alright, what do I need to do?"
A strange look had come to his eyes and when he spoke, the harshness of his voice was gone, replaced with a calm, almost gentleness she did not recognize. "You don't need to do anything. But seriously, Granger. We don't have to do anything if you don't want to."
"I want to!" she said, possibly more forcefully than she'd intended. He was trying to play her for a coward. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She wasn't scared. "I mean, I'm willing to give it a try."
His eyes met hers and he asked her once again, "Are you absolutely sure, Granger?"
She bit her lip, taking the moment to seriously consider it. "Yes."
"Okay. I don't want to do anything you're uncomfortable with, so if you want me to stop, just tell me."
Strange, he seemed to be acting so considerate.
Slowly he closed the margin of space between them, his grey eyes boring straight into hers as he drew close. She looked up at him, almost a head above her, as he stood, unmoving, for an interminably long amount of time before whispering, "I'm going to touch you now, okay?"
She nodded, granting him permission and braced herself for whatever would come next.
His hand brushed against her neck. A strange starting point. It fluttered gently over her skin and with its movement drew her chin up so that her face was angled directly towards his. She shut her eyes, dreading the moment that his pale, thin lips would meet hers but opened them with surprise when something soft met with the skin just below her jaw. Without thinking, she tilted her head back, allowing him an angle that exposed more of her neck to him. He kissed her slowly and gently, making his way down one side of her neck before switching to go back up the other.
Midway in his ascent, she felt his tongue dart out, tasting her, and immediately felt gooseflesh texture her exposed skin. He indulged himself on her neck, lapping at her skin languidly, a hand finding its way behind her head to weave its fingers through her wild hair as her head lolled to the side. Moving upwards, she felt his warm breath ghost the sensitive skin around her ear. She jolted slightly when he suddenly took the edge of it into his mouth and nibbled gently.
Entranced, she stood, bound by his whims, unsure of her movements. Slowly she let the tension ease from her body, allowing his actions to shape her, bending beneath him like clay. It all felt so much more natural than she'd expected. His unoccupied hand found her waist and slid slowly up the curve of her torso coming to rest on her shoulder. Fingers like scalding water slipped under her shirt, pulling the fabric down to expose her collarbone which he then covered with his lips. The hand then wandered back downwards, stopping this time at the hem of her shirt.
She waited, anticipation coiling within her as the fingers lingered above the barrier of cloth separating her from his touch. Gratification came when they snuck under, burning her own warm skin in their travels across her abdomen. Hot but gentle, they seared a pathway upwards skirting just below the edge of her brassiere. She hadn't known fingers were capable of leaving scorch marks until then.
Suddenly the warm lips disappeared, leaving a void, and she opened her heavily-lidded eyes to investigate. His hands had retracted, relocating southwards to her hips. Grey eyes shaded black with desire met hers and when he leaned in to capture his lips with hers, she mirrored his movements naturally.
Kissing him was not at all what she thought it would be and, instead of just receiving it, she found herself easing into him, kissing him back, finding no hindrances physically or mentally to dissuade her. Silken skin latched to hers, gentle and steady. No traces of hardness lay beneath his lips and when his tongue brazenly approached hers, she found that he tasted sweet.
Around her waist, his fingers snuck up under the hem of her shirt once again, this time dragging the fabric with it. Mildly frustrated at the need to pause, they broke apart, removing her shirt and discarding it nearby. The air around them welcomed her skin with a cool kiss, causing the hair on her body to rise as a shiver ran down her spine. As instantly as they had pulled apart, they crashed back together again, his tongue finding hers quickly once more.
She felt the need to move her arms, to have them do anything besides just hang there lifelessly, and so uncertainly rested a hand at his side. Sensing her unease, he reached for her wrists, guiding them so that one rested on his shoulder, its hand in the perfect position to ease him towards her, and the other to rest against his firm chest where she twisted her fingers into his shirt, the tension of her grip a poor rival to what twisted inside her.
Now unhindered, his own hands drifted gently over the exposed skin of her torso, drawing arbitrary shapes of passion with their heated trails. Cautiously, they tested their limits, threading through the narrow gaps between their bodies as they drew upwards and wandered over the lacy landscape of her breasts. Sneaking around to the sides and then to her back, she felt them attach to the claps of her last barrier and inhaled with a sharp gasp. He paused for a moment and she moaned her assent against his lips.
Expertly, he undid them, letting the loose ends drift apart. One hand moved downwards to rest supportively on her lower back, the other around towards her front, dragging under the line of her bra as it went. The scalding fingers worked their way to the last area of her unexplored chest, the lacy pads of her final upper garment falling away as they ducked beneath it and found the sensitive, velvety skin underneath, already taught with arousal. She pulled away momentarily again, this time to let the bra from her shoulders; yet another barrier done away with completely.
"You're a fucking piece of art, Granger," he growled, greedy eyes roaming her torso before his lips crashed back into hers.
He rolled the bead of her nipple between his fingers, eliciting a moan from between her lips while her hips jerked uncontrollably forwards, earning her a wonderful hum from his lips as they became flush and she felt his own arousal straining hungrily against the fabric separating them. Instantly she was overcome with a festering desire to feel his skin pressed against hers. Need coursed through her veins, granting courage to her limbs, and she pulled at the fabric of his shirt, feeling it come untucked from his trousers. With trembling fingers she undid the buttons one at a time, fumbling with them, as her lips were still occupied with his and her eyes were closed to feel each new breathtaking sensation.
When, what felt like a millennium later, the last button finally came undone, she tore at the garment voraciously, throwing it off his shoulders before he finished the job, releasing it from his wrists and discarding it with the others. Easing against him, his heated skin met hers, setting it further aflame but somehow quenching the thirst within her just the same. She moved the hand she had rested on his neck upwards, fitting it against the jut of his jaw as she desperately tried to pull him closer than they already were.
Her own clever fingers tentatively explored his back, cutting themselves on his pronounced shoulder blades and gliding over the faint notches of his vertebrae as she traced up his spine. A lightheadedness had overcome her and she wondered if maybe they shouldn't come up for air.
As if reading her mind, he pulled away from her and stepped back, causing her thirst for their connection to return once again, her skin prickling at the sudden lack of stimulation. Between their heavy breaths, he took a moment to reach up and tuck a stray hair behind her ear.
"It probably won't stay there," she murmured inadvertently.
"Then that will mean I'm doing a good job of pleasuring the fuck out of you," he replied simply, wetting his lips.
She bit her lip, insecurity suddenly eating at her. "Am I doing alright?"
He leaned forward, snaking his hands around her waist. "Considering your job is to just relax and do what you feel is natural, I'd say you're doing amazing."
He set his lips to her neck again, this time trailing downwards much more suddenly, dipping below her collarbone and traveling to the valley between her breasts. He paused for a moment before moving to take the stiff peak of one mound into his mouth, setting his tongue to it immediately. Shivers of pleasure rushed through her and she reached out for his shoulders to steady herself as she felt her body sway. She arched gradually into him as he suckled her, alternating between circling the sensitive bud with his tongue and nipping at her gently, taking care to attend to each of her breasts equally, switching every so often to allow both the continual bliss of stimulation.
Just as she was beginning to reestablish her balance, he wandered off, this time even further south, dropping to his knees as he kissed a path down her abdomen all the while causing the knot inside her to wind itself tighter and tighter. He stopped just above the hem of her trousers, right over the place within her so insatiably built up with pressure, and brought his hands to rest on her hips.
Hooking his fingers under the band of her trousers, he informed her, in a somewhat deeper voice, "I'm going to take these off now, okay?" She nodded and watched as he slowly slid them down, revealing her legs an inch at a time until they rested on the floor and she stepped out of them. He then turned, eyes alight with want, to the final barrier between his eyes and her complete exposure, a simple black pair of knickers.
Again he paused, looking up to meet her gaze and she wondered how he managed to keep so much primal desire confined to his eyes. "If you're not comfortable we can stop now."
Stop? The word pushed its way hazily through her bliss-clouded thoughts. Why stop when his fingers were searing themselves into the skin at her waist? Why stop when she could swim in the seductive captivation of his lustful gaze? Why stop when she needed so desperately for the coiling of energy at her core to find some finite form of release?
She whispered breathily, "We can't stop now. I... need…" Godric, what did she need? She didn't have the words describe it. Everything? She just needed to feel him again.
"Come on now, Granger. Use your big girl words. What do you need?"
"I need you to t-touch me."
"Where do you need me to touch you, Granger?"
"Everywhere," she exhaled. His fingers hooked under the waistband of her knickers, poised to bare the part of her clenched desperately with want, and began to pull when she suddenly cried, "Wait!"
Immediately he halted and looked up at her. "I don't know if I'm ready yet." Who was she fooling? She was practically melting away at the slightest touch. She needed him. But still, a nagging part of her wanted to somehow level the playing field. Feeling so vulnerable and exposed, she needed a way to feel some semblance of control again.
Cautiously, she asked, "Can I see it?" Her eyes darted to the strained fabric of the front of his trousers. He followed her gaze and his expression softened. Without speaking, he rose in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. Gently, he guided her backwards until she was sitting in one of the library's comfortable armchairs. Then, standing up straight again, he moved his hands to unlatch first the buckle of his belt and then the button of his trousers. Moments later he had discarded the top garment and stood before her as she had just done before him, near-starkers with only a simple pair of cotton shorts for cover, though they left little to the imagination as his erection fought to break free from its cloth prison.
Pulling them down in a swift motion, he stood before her, now completely bare, his cock at eye level, raised to full attention for her inspection. She studied it closely, marveling at how inviting it looked despite its obvious power. She'd seen numerous pictures and diagrams of male and female genitalia alike in her quest for knowledge over the years. As she'd already established, she knew the basics of sex and how each of the genders' reproductive systems worked. But seeing him in the flesh, she had to admit that he was right. It was far more captivating in person than any book had let on. And of all those she'd seen, his was by far the most impressive, seemingly perfectly proportioned, masterfully designed.
"Has anyone told you that you have a beautiful cock?" She inquired, still marveling.
"No, but I promise to let that go straight to my head." She looked up to see him grinning, observing her as she sat entranced before him. In all honesty, she wasn't sure what to do now that she had him before her. But, as usual, he was prepared to offer her guidance.
"You can touch it if you want."
Her eyes darted nervously up to his. Where? Where should she start? Again he seemed to sense her unease, reaching for the hand she had cautiously extended, pulling it over to him and setting it midway up his length. Her fingertips shifted slightly, feeling the softness of the heated skin underneath them. Again she marveled at the shape of him and delicately trailed her fingers upwards, the faintly ribbed skin's color growing more saturated in her ascent until she came to a lip indicating the boundary of a perfectly smooth tip. She ran her thumb across it curiously and felt him jerk underneath her, a groan following shortly thereafter.
For several moments she held still, simply allowing the feeling of her power over him to sink in, basking in his vulnerability, their measured breaths the only sounds to be heard in the empty room. Then she confessed, "I'm sorry, I don't know what to do with it."
"Not to worry," he replied with a grunt, regaining his grip on her wrist and removing her hand from him. "This is about your pleasure, not mine and, in truth, we haven't even gotten to the exciting part yet." Tell that to my racing heartbeat, Hermione thought. "Besides, I certainly don't expect to get a blow job every shag and certainly not from you on your first time. It's pretty simple, but maybe you can work your way up to that."
She eyed him hungrily, caught in a daydream of doing just that someday in the future.
"But for right now," he said, kneeling slowly before her, "this is all about you." A breath caught in her throat as his fingers reclaimed their ground, positioning themselves just above the band of her knickers. "Are you ready now?"
"I think so," she nodded with a heavy breath.
Again he hooked his fingers between the cloth and her skin and began to slowly drag it towards him, easing it down her legs. As she raised her hips slightly to aid its removal and the skin beneath it became exposed, the realization of what was going on hit her and she pressed her legs together, instinctively drawing her knees in towards her chest. He said nothing at first, simply continuing to guide the fabric downwards until he managed it over her ankles and gently laid it aside. Then he looked up at her.
"To do my job right, I'm going to need you to open your legs," he said delicately, resting his palms on her knees. She bit her lip and uncertainly eased her knees apart with the gentle force he applied to them. She watched his expression attentively and caught the exact moment at which he took her in, his pupils dilating to the widest she had seen them yet. If possible, his gaze grew hungrier and the churn of self-conscious anxiety in her stomach quelled.
They sat that way for several tense moments, her bared to his wandering eyes with his hands still cupped behind her knees. Then he adjusted his wrist, maneuvering it so that his fingers rested on the inside of her thighs and, with obvious purpose, ran them enticingly downwards, ghosting over the hypersensitive flesh bordering the culmination at which her legs met and causing her to flush all over.
He stopped then, just above the crook of where her thigh joined to her torso and looked up at her, but she was already squirming with impatience and didn't need to be asked permission.
"Please." The word fell from her lips, quickly as a sharp exhaling of breath.
He obliged, returning his attention to his hands and unabashedly moving his fingers into contact with the part of her still so aching with want. They moved slowly, but she could feel each slight adjustment acutely as they wound the knot within her still tighter and her head rolled back against the chair.
"Feeling anything yet, Granger?" His voice was gravelly.
Was she feeling anything yet? What an arrogant prick. He knew bloody well she was feeling exactly what he'd said she would. She let out an indignant laugh that morphed instantly into a sharp gasp as his finger dipped momentarily within her.
"Yes," she exhaled, drawing the word out between her teeth. She watched him pull his fingers out and hold them up for examination, noting that they were glistening with the same dampness she could feel pooling between her legs.
"Your body seems to agree with you," he murmured nonchalantly. A jolt coursed through her loins as she watched him quickly lick his fingers. Then she held her breath, anticipation burning inside her as she watched him lower his head towards her.
Then, without warning, he stopped, looking up with an expression she couldn't quite place. She watched him ease backwards onto his heels before standing and moving away from her, all the while trying not to let negative thoughts plague her mind.
"What are you doing?" she inquired uncertainly, watching him move towards their discarded clothing. He said nothing, bending over to grab something from under his shirt and then holding it up to reveal his wand. She heard him mutter something unintelligible before walking back towards her, setting his wand on the table beside her chair, and reassuming his position between her legs.
"Contraceptive charm," he explained, noting her confused expression. "If I get what I want, I might need it later."
She just barely managed to contain the strangled yelp that rose within her. Then she watched, eyes trembling, muscles tensed, barely able to draw breath as he moved in towards her, drawing one hand up her inner thigh and using the other to pull her closer from behind. He set his mouth to her slowly and though their first contact was little more than a light brush of his lips, she jolted at the feeling, her hips involuntarily rising to meet him. Then his tongue joined the exploration and she opened her mouth with a gasp, feeling it slip tantalizingly inwards, coming maddeningly close to the bundle of nerves taught with want but leaving her to hang on the edge a little while longer.
She was finding it uncommonly hard to remember how to breathe, panting as she watched his head move mesmerizingly between her legs, his hair falling over his face just enough to conceal his features from her. Overridden with curiosity, she reached a hand down, weaving it through his platinum locks and drawing them aside to reveal him, pressed intimately against her, eyes closed, bound in strict concentration to the orchestration of his movements.
Yet another jolt racked her body and she braced herself against the chair as, this time, he did dip between her folds and met with the sensitive node at the apex of her slit. Her toes curled as he maneuvered his tongue expertly around it and then her body quaked and she gripped his hair into a tight fist, moaning as he isolated it between his lips, nipping at it with gentle but electrifying pressure. Using her fingers tangled in his hair as leverage, she pressed him achingly against her, desperate to increase every acute sensation she was feeling and he hummed gorgeously against her, sending tingles up her spine.
She clutched at the chair beneath her with a death grip and it kept her grounded as she felt her body drift ever closer to a seemingly incorporeal state of existence. Within her, the knot grew impossibly tighter, somewhere just barely out of his current reach.
Moments later she felt a strangely foreign sensation just below where his mouth was set to her and she looked down to see two of his fingers running over the ridges her folds, coming frustratingly close to her center, just far enough away to cause her a spectacular amount of impatient discomfort. Somewhere in her mess of thoughts she knew what she needed. She needed his fingers inside her. Where, exactly, she did not know. That spot. She needed him to find that spot. She rolled her hips forward, his fingers slipping in her slickness to rest just above her entrance. The hint was all he needed and her breath hitched when he slowly inserted a finger and she felt the muscles inside her constrict at the unfamiliar intrusion.
It was vaguely uncomfortable at first, and she shifted in hopes of angling herself just so. But as he moved within her gradually and she felt herself coming further undone beneath his ministrations, the ache within her morphed from mild discomfort to insatiable need.
She felt that he had reached the boundary of that spot inside her, though she was coming to realize that it was not a physical place at all, but a threshold of her own stimulation. And he was tonguing her mercilessly and, having added another finger, was now testing the constricting muscles within her so perfectly, granting them their inaugural stretch. And she was rocking her hips up to greet him, squirming beneath his touch, and melting backwards into the chair, slipping down in it as her bones refused to support her any longer. He was meeting that spot within her, pressing at it with all of his actions simultaneously, coiling it impossibly tighter and she felt as though on the verge of slipping off some great precipice, just barely hanging on to the edge.
"Oh god, Draco," she panted breathlessly, curling her fingers tighter in his hair. "I- I… DRACO" she cried, drawing out his name as her whole body tensed and she felt the coil within her begin to unwind, pleasure rolling through her and pulsing from the point at which they were connected.
She watched through a haze of bliss, struggling to keep her heavy eyelids from closing, as he removed his mouth from her, replacing it with the gentle swirling of his thumb, and rose up to eye level, crashing against her with swollen lips. And even though it was vulgar and even though it was shamelessly erotic, the faint taste of her on his tongue took her even higher upon the wave of energy cresting within her as the rhythm of her grinding against his hand faltered.
She quaked beneath him as he stilled his movements, retracting his fingers from within her, and moved his lips from hers to lick the skin of her exposed neck once again. As her breathing slowed, she became aware of him pressed against her, both at the point where the hot, flushed skin of their torsos met as he rested above her and where the faint brush of his firmness grazed her inner thigh.
In the stillness that followed, and in the clarity of mind she experienced as her heart rate normalized and the buzzing sensation in her nerves quieted, she felt contented in a way she hadn't before. It seemed as though the release she had experienced had not only eased the building sexual tension within her core, but also the tensions of her body. Stresses from the long nights which often turned to long weeks at work.
He had certainly not lied to her. That much was evident looking back. His fingertips had been like gold and his endeavors had amounted to every bit the out-of-body experience he had suggested it to be. She should not have doubted him, she realized. He had taught her well, as she was now ready to admit that she had learned her lesson.
Sex, decidedly, was most certainly not something one could learn from a book.
Above her, his heartbeat was pounding steadily against her chest, flesh and bone, sturdy above her. Sturdy. His arousal still rested between her legs, unattended to. He should get to finish too, she thought. He deserved pleasure just as much as she, if not more for all the effort he had just dedicated to her own satisfaction.
"Draco."
"Mm…" he murmured halfheartedly, evidently too occupied with the devouring of her neck to be interrupted so easily.
"Draco," she prodded again and this time his movements stopped and his head rose so that he could look at her.
"What?" he asked, his tone conflicting between his desire to be attentive to her needs and his irritation at being disturbed.
"We're not finished yet."
"Ah, but I got you off just like I said I would. You can't lie to me, Granger. I felt you orgasm when I had my fingers inside you. You can't possibly have faked it."
"That's not what I mean," she said smoothly, despite the effect his words had just had below her gut. She reached a hand towards him and, running her fingers down his chest, specified, "You haven't finished yet."
"You're right," he permitted, grabbing her hand as it reached his abdomen. "But I've already told you that this is about you, not me. I promised to pleasure the fuck out of you-"
"And so you have," she interrupted, retracting her hand from his grasp. "But right now, what I really want, is to see you find the same satisfaction that I have. You've more than earned it as far as I'm concerned." She looked pointedly away then, blushing in anticipation of what she was about to say. "Besides, I'm curious now… you know," she paused, embarrassed, "to feel you inside me."
She watched as his eyes closed for a moment and then, groaning, he said, "Fucking hell, Granger, I don't think you know what those words do to me."
Her eyes darted downwards to the space where his erection rose stiffly between them, noting that it had developed a slight twitch.
"I think I have the general idea," she replied coyly and allowed herself to feel smug as she watched the black of his pupils expand, his eyes filling once again with lust.
He lowered his hips towards her and she felt the coil within her begin to tighten again as his length nestled itself against the valley between her folds.
"You're sure you want to give this a go," he paused to ask, though she could tell that he was aching to take her.
Feeling bold at the want that strained in his voice, she leaned in and whispered against his ear with the most seductive voice she could manage, "I want you to shag me senseless, Draco Malfoy."
He gave what seemed to be an involuntary thrust between her legs, causing him to run deeper between her folds and rub deliciously against her still highly sensitive bundle of nerves. Suppressing a moan, her hands found their way to his shoulders and she gripped them fiercely, grounding herself this time to his solid frame. Then she felt him recede only to come forward again, reaching a hand between them to guide himself back in and easing firmly into her center.
He went slowly, and mercifully so, as she could tell immediately that he was stretching her much more than his fingers had done jointly earlier. He slipped inside her with ease, despite her tightness, and she felt the same mild discomfort that she had not several minutes ago when his fingers had been in the same location. Still, she clung to him as he concealed himself within her, waiting patiently for that moment when the discomfort would turn to an insatiable pit of aching need.
She felt him stop then, fully sheathed within her, and found she couldn't pinpoint precisely where he began and she ended. He was pressing so deeply within her, that she swore she could feel him pressing within the space adjoining that part of her which was coiling so tightly again now. Then, as slowly as he had entered her, he began easing out of her. Her nails dug viscerally into his back at this strange new sensation and she arched underneath him, her chest rising to meet his.
Above her, he shuddered, and she felt it go all the way through him to where the extension of him was incased within her. She whined beneath him at the feeling and, to her body's great protestation, felt him stop above her.
"Am I hurting you?" The concern in his voice somehow made everything more acutely satisfying and she couldn't suppress a breathy moan.
"No… no, not really." She writhed involuntarily underneath him and then continued, "It's just too much and not enough all at the same time."
She rolled her hips forwards, burying him deeper within her again, earning a breathy "Fuck."
It was slow for a while, a near death-crawl as she adjusted around him, her walls stretching to accommodate his girth. Though, intuitively, when nearly all of her discomfort had vanished, he picked up the pace, rocking into her with a rhythm that reminded her of the steady crashing of the surf on sand. And when the moment came, and her discomfort had melted away to craving, she began to roll her hips up to meet his thrusts, moaning with satisfaction at the force of his body joining with hers.
Behind his neck, her hands pulled him closer so that his hot ragged breath spread across her chest and so that her lips were pressed against his ear, her own shallow breaths slipping between them with each fusion of their bodies. And now he was speeding up, each of his thrusts pushing deeply within her, the recoil of his body meeting hers sending her rocking steadily back against the chair.
He stopped for scarcely a moment to adjust himself above her and she found herself face to face with him, his features strained as he concentrated on his measured pace between her legs. And as he slid against her walls, the knot in her core tightened and she found that she no longer had strict control of the movement of her hips. Again, she felt her body lightening and her head filling with the steady pounding of his flesh against hers.
"Fuck… Hermione," her name tumbled from his lips in breathy groan and immediately she felt it send pleasure racing through her veins. In an instant she realized that she had been wrong earlier. Worthwhile things did come from his mouth; in fact, she doubted she would ever want to hear her name said any other way.
She could feel the tensing and relaxation of his muscles under the fingers she had resting on his back and, as she braced herself underneath him, his tempo only quickened. His lips were parted and his platinum hair was sticking to his forehead, matted with sweat and making him look all the more beautiful in his effort. His forehead fell against hers and his eyes flew open, fixing her with their furious gaze.
Hermione snaked an innately curious finger down between her legs, to the pulsing bundle of nerves above where he was entering her, careening at even the light touch that she brushed across it. She could feel it this time. She was close. He'd brought her to that cliffside again. Her head lolled to the side, her eyes fluttering closed as she touched herself again, this time circling the mound with the pad of her finger. But then his hand rose to her jaw, guiding it so that she turned her face up towards his.
"Look at me, Granger," he growled, and he was gripping her chin with near-bruising pressure, forcing her to look at him. "I want to see it crest in your eyes. I want to watch you come undone beneath me."
And she could barely hear his words, but they sent shivers down her spine nonetheless, her hips jolting forwards again without her say so. The finger she'd slid between her legs was causing her vision to blur amidst the rhythm he was pounding out against her skull. She looked up at him, straining to keep her eyes from closing when the tension in her belly broke and she called his name, waves of ecstasy coursing through her like warm water pouring from a breached dam.
Her body went rigid first, the muscles of her feet constricting and her back arching gloriously at the rush of energy up her spine. Moments later, Draco let out a string of curses and, through her own fog of pleasure, she felt him reach his end, making his last few lurches as he spasmed within her. A delicious warmth had pooled within her and she couldn't help but notice that she felt even more satiated than she had when she'd been recovering earlier. Her hands still gripped his shoulders, as he hovered shakily above her and when he finally gave out, he sank down so that the warmth of his cheek pressed against her chest, slipping from her as he did.
They stayed like that, their erratic breathing the only sound to be heard as the cool air of the room kissed their sweat-sheened skin. On her chest, his head rose and fell with her lungs' every draw of breath. His eyelids looked heavy now, as if he might just fall asleep on her. She liked his features like this, she decided, as she reached a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of his eyes. He looked so contented, so pleasant without a frown creasing his brow.
He did not fall asleep, however, for moments later he had lifted his head off of her and was in the process of alleviating her of his weight as well.
"Granger, this was a bad idea," he groaned as he sat back on the carpet..
"What? Why?" Hermione blurted out immediately, feeling confused. Had he not enjoyed himself as she had? Had she done something wrong? Everything had felt so… good.
"Fuck… I mean… now that I've had you… I don't think that I can ever stop." His eyes met hers as he wrapped his hands around her wrists then pulled her towards him so that when his back met the floor, she fell atop him. Her breath caught in her throat and the worry in her stomach was replaced with a strange thrumming of excitement. He pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed her fingertips tenderly and her heart skipped a beat.
"M-Malfoy?" she stuttered uncertainly. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?
"I think I prefer my other name on your lips. The way you said it moments ago," he mused nonchalantly and she blushed violently. Then, reaching up to brush back the curtain of her wild hair, he said with an amused grin, "I realize this is terribly backwards, but would you care to have a drink with me sometime?"
A smile tugged at the corner of her own lips and she couldn't suppress a laugh. "I don't know," she said, leaning in so that her cheek rested on his shoulder and her lips brushed against his neck. "That's rather forward of you. We hardly know each other."
"Mmm," he agreed. "Perhaps your right. Maybe I can work my way up to that then. Perhaps a few more shag sessions first?"
"Yes," she hummed. "I think that will do quite nicely." She lifted her head then to glace over at the broken lifts. "It may be sooner than anticipated though. Those doors won't be fixed anytime tonight…"
A gleam flashed in his eye and he managed gruffly, "Are you perhaps suggesting what I think you're suggesting? Because if you are, this may be turning out to be the best fucking night of my entire life."
"Quite literally, in fact." She couldn't have helped herself; he had made it far too easy.
Draco looked at her with an expression that seemed to be a conflict of arousal and the desire to look unamused. "Perhaps even quicker then," he chuckled darkly, "if you're going to be all smarmy." Then, hooking a leg under hers, he flipped them so that her back pressed against the carpet and he hovered above her, his arms braced on either side of her head. "Maybe when I'm done with you, you'll have rethought your decision. Or maybe, by then, I'll have earned my drink." He cocked his head contemplatively. "Who knows."
He leaned down to capture her lips with his. He can have all the drinks with me he wants, Hermione thought, if he keeps kissing me like this. She reached a hand up, settling it against the gentle curve of his nape. Yes, she could get used to this. To his pale, thin, gloriously talented lips pressed to hers. To the smell of him, pretentious and deliciously seductive. To the golden fingers that were running across the curves of her torso, navigating their way southwards.
His lips moved, however, and travelled the same route downwards that his fingers had just marked. He was poised above her, causing a familiar anticipation to collect in her gut again. Yes, she decided, meeting his darkened gaze. All the drinks he wants.
"Now, Granger," he licked his lips, and she shuddered, "let's see how many times I can make you come."
Or anything he wanted, really.
A/N: Let this be a lesson to all: CONSENSUAL SEX IS STILL HOT AS FUCK, IF NOT HOTTER
Also, always use the necessary protection and if any of you know how to successfully cast a contraceptive charm, PLEASE DM ME.
Ending is probably weaker than I want to give it credit, but hopefully the important stuff is good enough. Ah, what's that? Resolution, you say? Hermione and Draco spend the rest of their lives having boatloads of steamy hot sex. *FIN* Also, Hermione manages to brew her potion successfully, and visits Draco in his office to *celebrate* which may or may not end in her learning how to pleasure the fuck out of him, if you get what I mean. *eyebrow wiggles*
Also, to anyone who may have questions about why there's an experimental potioneers sector in the Ministry of Magic, I don't have a single clue. Division of Department of Mysteries? I said there was a little plot, not a good plot so, respectfully, shut up and enjoy your smut.