This is my first try at Draco and Hermione. Tell me what you think, please. Thanks. Cassie.
He wasn't supposed to feel anything, but did that matter? He wasn't supposed to feel anything, ever, and damn Voldemort to hell if Draco didn't feel something now. The Mudblood walked in front of him. Her horrible hair swinging in the moonlight.
He follows her, just trying to give her a scare. "Granger." He sneers.
"Malfoy." She doesn't have the same contempt for him. Her voice merely dismisses him.
This makes him mad, he pushes her against the wall. "Scared yet?"
He can see it in her eyes, shes terrified, and for some reason this stops him. He freezes and walks toward the door. Casting one glance back, he sees her slide down the wall and begin to cry.
She wasn't supposed to wonder about him. The enemy. That would've been stupid anyway. She was smart, she had a boyfriend, she was loved, she had better things to do... but for some reason, he wouldn't leave her thoughts.
His motives were unknown. And thats why she pulled him into that dungeon when she was supposedly patrolling like her Head duties dictated. It was a bigger shock when he didn't protest, merely cast a sad glance around the room. "Would you care to e-?"
He looks at her, and something in his eyes makes her feel safer than ever. His features are defined in the moonlight, his hair hangs in his eyes. She was hooked from that moment. Could he feel it? She blushes a crimson. The feeling of the words in his mouth is foreign. "I'm sorry."
He wasn't supposed to apologize, especially for something that he'd meant. He had meant to scare her, but seeing her broken and vulnerable had made him swear to himself. He wouldn't lay a hand on her, ever again.
He finds Blaise. Thinking that another girl is what he needs. Pansy comes though. She crawls into his lap, forming a sweet pressure that Draco finds simple to resist. And when she kisses him, all he can see are her eyes. Staring at him large and frightened in the cover of moonlight.
She wasn't supposed to listen to him. All he'd wanted to do was vent about that 'horrible Pansy Parkinson,' but she listened.
She noticed things about him.
He talked with his hands, he talked animatedly when he wanted to. He wasn't bored with her, and his eyes spoke for him. He wasn't at all guarded in front of her, and she found herself hooked.
He wasn't supposed to spill his soul to her, but she had listened. Really listened.
Her eyes had burned an ocher in the firelight and the Head's dormitory had seemed warm and pleasant for a time. She had curled up with a pillow on her lap. And when she bent forward, he found himself imagining having that creamy, alabaster skin under his fingers. He imagined tasting her. And he knew he was hooked.
His favorite teacher wasn't supposed to put them together like that. Snape should have known that Draco couldn't stand her. He shouldn't have been lying to himself.
He liked the way she listened, the way she flushed a deep red when they'd been assigned the Potion for werewolves. He shouldn't have been caught staring at her bouncing breasts. Shouldn't have happened. And most of all... he should not have smiled at her.
She wasn't supposed like seeing him happy. It was rare for her to want to see him happy but something about how his eyes sparkled made her happy too. The study sessions became a weekly routine, long after their project was done. Who were they kidding?
Themselves.
She craved his contact with her. She craved the way he would smile shyly at her and then turn around and sneer, but then he would apologize. His insults weren't even infused with the same venom anymore. It was like they were seeing each other for the first time.
He wasn't supposed to find her breasts the most perfect thing in the world. The way they bounced. How had she managed to hide them all these years?
She wasn't supposed to leave her robes in the common room. She hadn't meant to. She just wanted a shower after the long and exhausting day, then she would work Snape's essay.
He wasn't supposed to bring the robes to her in the bathroom.
She wasn't supposed to lean her torso out of the shower and expose the smallest bit of skin.
He was not supposed to cross the floor with purpose, take her into his arms and kiss her silly. He wasn't supposed to enjoy her warm, wet, body pressed against his. He wasn't supposed to invade her soft, warm mouth with his cold, unforgiving tounge. But she wasn't supposed to respond.
He couldn't help it when his lungs begged for breath, he put his head on her naked, wet, flushed, shoulder, inhaling deeply. The smell was vanilla... and honey. It wasn't supposed to give him a raging hard on.
He wasn't supposed to run from the bath room blushing furiously.
She wasn't supposed to confront him again. She wasn't supposed to demand a response from the Slytherin Prince, but he wasn't supposed to give her one.
"I want to know what that was about." She demanded.
He didn't look up, just stared at his book. He didn't answer.
"I feel it too." Then she'd walked away... and she wasn't supposed to.
He wasn't supposed to dump Pansy on her ass in the Slytherin common room in front of Blaise. He wasn't supposed to not even look back at her before he ran, like a sissy, back to the Head's common room. He wasn't supposed to go into Hermione's room and spill his little, black heart to her.
And hell. He was not supposed to cry. He wasn't supposed to hold her when she told him everything.
She wasn't supposed to find Ron cheating on her. She was supposed to care, Harry wasn't supposed to hex Ron either... but who cared?
"Good bye Ronald." And then she'd run back to the Head's common room, looking for a head of blond hair that sat in front of the darkening window.
She wasn't supposed to run to him, touch his cheek, wait for him to lean up, and kiss him.
She wasn't supposed to enjoy the feeling of his lips mingling with hers in anything but polite conversation. She wasn't supposed to probe his mouth with her warm tounge. And she wasn't most definitely not supposed to enjoy it when his hands caressed her through her shirt.
She wasn't supposed to run away blushing.
He wasn't supposed to pull her into the dark Charm's classroom. He was not supposed to pull her onto a table and make her beg for his lips, and Harry Potter was not supposed to find out.
He wasn't supposed to make Harry swear not to tell, but it made her happy. Another strike. He wanted her happy. That wasn't supposed to have happened.
She wasn't supposed to let him cry into her lap for a few hours after his parents were taken to Azkaban. It wasn't supposed to happen. Hermione wasn't supposed to be turned on by his soft hair brushing her thigh.
She was kissing him. He was reacting just the way he always did. She didn't mean to make love with him.
He wasn't supposed to plunge his fingers deep into her pulsing heat and moan with the intensity of a thousand men. He was not supposed to.
He wasn't supposed to plunge into her heat and cum almost instantly. He wasn't supposed to want her so bad it made him hurt. It wasn't supposed to be midnight.
She wasn't supposed to want Draco Malfoy, it wasn't supposed to happen that way. They were too different, too the same in their differences, and yet she did. It happened that way.
He was supposed to hide his infatuation, his love. He was supposed to be just like any other teenage guy. Hormonal and horny, but all he could ever see was her.
Her eyes, her nose, her breasts. The way she arched to him when they made love. How she would gently caress him with a feather touch. How they had taken to sleeping in one bed or the other. How she would see him coming and give him an almost nonexistent smile, then she would slip into her next class.
How he got a raging erection if she so much as brushed his pants. It was madness. And it wasn't supposed to happen.
She wasn't supposed to love him, but she supposed that was what it was. Love. He was her everything, she dreamt of him making love to her. Sometimes it turned out to be anything but a dream. She'd never even uttered the words, not to Draco, not meaning it so much.
But she wanted to. And that was supposed to happen.
He wasn't supposed to make love to her the night before graduation with promises of a future. Voldemort was gone, they were safe, he had told her. And she believed him.
When he reached the Headmistress, she had taken his hand and hugged him briefly, right before she'd whispered to him, "Take care of her." Then she'd shoved his from the podium and called up Ms. Hermione Granger.
No denying it, he imagined being inside of her in that gown. He could see her breasts through the fabric that was stuffy and cheap. He looked at her with an intensity... then she looked at her nipples. Sure enough, they were hard.
And he wanted to feel them so much.
Hermione wasn't supposed to get hard with just him looking at her. She wasn't looking at him. He was... beyond words, even in that stuffy gown. She was getting wet. McGonagall was watching her with an attention that made Hermione flush to be thinking such horrible thoughts. "Use your mind, Ms. Granger." Hermione nodded and blushed.
He wasn't supposed to go home with Hermione. He wasn't supposed to punch Weasley in the mouth for attempting to kiss his future wife, but he did. And he wouldn't have changed that for anything.
That night, at Hermione's house, they made love. Going at it loud and rough, then slow and sensuous.
He wasn't supposed to tell her he had to go home, she didn't smile, but she told him it was alright.
She wasn't supposed to storm out on him that night. It wasn't supposed to happen. Her smile had grown thin at the mention of Weasley making Draco's team. She hadn't said anything, but she'd grabbed her purse and stormed out of the house like a bat out of hell.
"But I love you!" Came the reply from inside, her head turned to face the absurdly beautiful blond boy.
"I... love you too." They made love.
He wasn't supposed to move out of the Manor and into a cozy, smaller house. But he found he loved the house very much. It was small, warm, homey even.
There were no empty, cold dungeons, and the bedroom was large with a huge window making the sun hit Hermione in the morning. The made love in the mornings.
Draco found he loved the house very much. He loved the women in the house more.
She wasn't supposed to say yes to the marriage proposal. Nope.
But she did.
He was in the dark, it was midnight. The time when they'd first made love. "Hermione?" His voice caressed her name.
"Draco?" She'd kissed him gently then put her arms around his neck.
He'd gotten down on one knee, level with her heat. "Will you marry me?" He smiled up at her, holding out a modest ring that sparkled against her knuckles when she put it on.
She pulled him to her, praying that whatever God was out there, was merciful. He was almost put in prison, but after a week, they found he wasn't guilty. He couldn't have done any of those things. He had pleaded with them, cried even.
He wasn't supposed to care what others thought, and thats why he invited all the old Slytherin snobs to his wedding. He wanted to show his wife to the world, his beautiful wife.
She wasn't very keen with this idea, but after careful persuasion, and lots of 'bed rest' she'd agreed.
He wasn't supposed to make love to her on the balcony, in the rain. He was supposed to take her inside, but after that first raindrop had dripped into her cleavage, he'd been totally entranced with the idea. Those pesky raindrops, how he longed to be one. To bury himself into her heat and feel her convulse wildly. He was a raindrop.
She wasn't supposed to be nine months pregnant, and more fat than ever.
He wasn't supposed to tell her she was amazing, he liked it when she walked around in her robe with her protruding stomach.
She wasn't supposed to give birth to a tiny baby girl with long brown curls and a set of silver eyes that shone with the moon. It wasn't supposed to happen.
"I love you." It was against all odds, but he did.
Hermione met her husband's eyes with a slippery smile. "And I love you."
And it wasn't supposed to happen.