A/N: Again, I don't own anything.
We're starting to get to the interesting stuff with this chapter! It's a lot more meaty, and look out for the sexy times ;). I paused my binge-watch of The Alienist (its SO GOOD) to edit and upload this, slightly earlier in the day than last week haha.
Same warnings apply (in the A/N on chapter 1).
Hope you enjoy!
Half an hour after her little interlude with Malfoy and Hermione was rushing through the castle, trying to get to Gryffindor tower and back as quickly as possible. She'd got back to the entrance hall – hand in hand! – with the tall, blond boy shortly before dinner started, but realised she couldn't attend without changing out of her ripped dress – hence the mad dash to her dormitory. Thankfully the corridors were totally empty as everyone was down in the great hall, taking their seats, chatting in groups, and speculating about the delicious offerings the house elves would serve up for the evening meal. Hermione was hurrying through the east wing of the 5th floor, trotting past the statue of Gregory the Smarmy when she heard it: small sobs echoing off the high stone walls. She creeped further along the corridor, past the swamp that Ron's brothers Fred and George had left as a parting 'gift' to Hogwarts on their departure, until she found the source of the crying.
Pansy Parkinson was sat in a window-seat alcove, her thin frame curled upon itself as she rested her head on her knees and sobbed. Hermione stopped short, not sure how to approach the distraught girl. They had never got on, with Pansy seemingly buying into her parents' pureblood ideals. Unlike her Slytherin compatriot, Pansy had not matured, and was content to tease and bully her endlessly.
Although part of her debated turning heel and leaving, the kinder, fairer side couldn't stand to leave anyone so obviously upset.
"Pansy? Whatever is the matter?" She asked, reluctantly approaching the dark-haired girl.
"Oh merlin, this is the last thing I need…" Pansy muttered, raising her head to stare blearily at the short witch in front of her. Hermione regarded the pureblood witch carefully as the girl messily wiped a hand across her weepy face, before resting her check back against her bony knees. Once Pansy made no move to storm off or curse her, Hermione risked it, pressing on: "Is there something I can do? Someone I can get for you?"
At this, Pansy broke into a fresh round of tears, her pug-like face screwing up in sorrow. Hermione moved forward, cautiously sitting down next to the girl on the narrow window seat.
"It's my father." Pansy said. "He-he wants me to come home for the Easter holidays. But I can't go back, I just can't-" she gasped out, breaking into heaving sobs.
"Why not?" Hermione blurted out, immediately mentally kicking herself for being so naïve.
"Do you know what its like living with a Death Easter?" Hissed Pansy, shooting Hermione a dark look. "He, oh merlin, he created this curse, c-called Pulsare. It means-"
"To strike." Hermione finished the other girl's sentence solemnly, her mind reeling at the Slytherin witch's revelation. She'd heard stories of the Death-Eaters' cruelty, whispered tales from the war, but the thought of it happening to a girl just like her was incomprehensible.
"Yes. A curse of his own invention, of course, that I hear is now very popular in the Death-Eater ranks." Pansy continued, sniffling, a hint of her familiar snarkiness bleeding through her words, even at this heart-wrenching moment. Hermione could only stare in horrified curiosity as the raven-haired witch began pulling up her dress. Pansy then rolled her stockings down, exposing skinny limbs marred with dark, splotchy bruises.
"He likes to make me l-lean over the bed. He says I'm insolent, unmarriable ... that I need to be b-broken in before any husband will have me." She whispered, her voice going very small.
"You don't mean-?" Hermione gasped, suddenly feeling more than a little nauseous.
"No, No! Thank merlin, he just hits me."
"That's still awful Pansy… I'm so sorry." Hermione whispered, reaching over and clutching the Slytherin witch's hand. She sat, stock still for a second, brain whirring, before before standing up rapidly and trying to pull the other girl up with her.
"We must go to McGonagall or Flitwick. Even Snape, anyone would help!" Hermione pleaded. Pansy blanched, her dark features highlighted prominently against the sickly pallor of her skin.
"No, no, no, you can't tell anyone, please Hermione... he'll kill me if he finds out others know." The pug-faced witch moaned, drawing back into the alcove.
"But Pansy, they can stop him-" Hermione begged, sure she could do something, help in some way.
"No." Replied the other girl, decisively. "There's morning anyone can do. Besides- where would I go? What would I do? No inheritance, no betrothal, no livelihood? End up like Tracy?" The girl let out a mirthless laugh, swiping at her splotchy face.
Hermione grimaced. It was well known gossip by this point: a few months earlier, Tracy Davis had rejected her parents' choice of betrothal, a strapping ex-Durmstrang student with a penchant for brewing banned poisons. This had left her penniless, disinherited and reliant on charity handouts from distant relatives. It was understandable that Pansy, raised in opulence as a prized daughter of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eights, would risk beatings not to end up the same way.
Hermione regarded the Slytherin witch sympathetically, squeezing the pale. Pansy froze momentarily, and for a second Hermione was sure she'd be on the receiving end of a hex, before the girl softened, flashing a small smile at her.
"Please don't tell anyone you found me like this." Pansy let out in a shaky exhale.
"I promise. I wish there was something I could do." Hermione replied, overly aware of how meek and helpless her words sounded.
"Dinner will be over soon." The Slytherin replied, dropping Hermione's hand with the swift subject change.
"Yes… shall we go down? Before all the food disappears." Hermione prompted cautiously.
"You go. I don't feel like eating as much these days." Pansy replied, turning away and beginning to walk off. She stopped at the turn in the corridor, looked back.
"Thank you. I've not always been so nice... but you have been very kind… Kinder than I deserve." She nodded, avoiding Hermione's gaze. Hermione watched as a cool, mask-like expression transformed Pansy's gaunt face, settling over her features and turning them disdainful and haughty once more. She turned back and turned the corridor without so much as another word, leaving Hermione utterly perplexed and rather shaken.
"Settle down, settle down!" rang out the shrill Scottish voice of Professor McGonagall. "I shan't pin these up until you're all quiet." Theo felt his stomach somersault in sickening anticipation. The assembled students promptly hushed, ceasing their pushing to get to the front where the large pin board hung.
"Now, before I proceed, I must impress on you: these are not your NEWT results, but the Christmas exams do give us a good idea of how you will score in your NEWTS come June, so it is imperative that you have done well." She regarded the students in front of her sternly, before swishing her wand, magically pinning the parchment list to the board. Draco and Theo were jostled forward as everyone surged towards the list, the small rows of names and grades near-invisible from further back. Theo found Nott, Theodore Cantenkerus quickly, his heart pounding as he scanned the spikily-written words. Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, he skimmed most of the classes impatiently, searching for one mark only. There it was, Potions, and next to it, a scrawled P. His stomach dropped and he pushed his way back through the small crowd, feeling vomit rise in his throat. He turned the corner and leant against the cool, stone wall, waiting for his nausea to subside. Draco's pale, pointed face suddenly appeared in his vision.
"Theo? Theo, are you alright?" The blond questioned, a rare note of worry tainting his aristocratic tone.
"I don't understand… I did all the potions correctly… how can he do this?" Theo asked, aghast, eyes staring blindly.
"He's being supremely unfair." Draco supplied sympathetically. Theo's brain churned and he couldn't find the words to even muster a reply, deciding instead to continue staring down at his feet numbly.
"Look, it's not the NEWTS, it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things-"
"Draco… if he's failing me on this he's going to fail me on the NEWTs as well…" Theo interrupted, snapping his neck up at the paltry platitude. Draco inclined his head in a wordless 'touché'.
"I'll talk to him, make him see sense-" Draco replied, his voice petering out as Theo shook his head glumly, looking almost on the verge of tears. Draco paused, grimacing.
"Why don't you try talking to McGonagall? She can be an interfering old bag but she'll do something, she's still Deputy Headmistress." He continued. Theo suddenly held a deep appreciation for his blond friend; there was no love lost between Slytherin's prince and their Transfiguration teacher, but Draco clearly respected her enough to trust her to help with Theo's plight.
"You think?" Theo replied, his brain sifting through the different possibilities now potentially afforded to him.
"It can't hurt, can it?" Draco said decisively. Theo nodded reluctantly.
"Anyway, let's head back to the common room – we can crack open the firewhiskey Blaise's stepdad sent." Draco continued, clapping a hand on Theo's shoulder in a rare show of physical support. Theo nodded in reply, feeling slightly perkier, and the two set off towards the dungeons, aiming to get utterly sloshed.
Hermione was running through the long grass, holding her dress up out of her way and ignoring the feel of the dry blades swishing against her stockinged legs with a muted thwack. She slowed to a stroll as the great oak tree appeared in the near distance, the familiar blond head shining beneath it's spreading boughs. Malfoy was sat under the large tree, writing slowly in his leather-bound notebook. She smiled at their differing note-taking strategies. She was prone to fits of inspired prose, scribbling rapidly on any parchment she could find, while Malfoy always wrote neatly and measuredly in nothing but the best dragon-hide journal.
She watched him pause, mumbling aloud to himself: "2nd of February. Gytrashes and their significant features… Lumos or Vermillious used in defence…"
"Draco!" He stopped suddenly at the tinkling call of his name, snapping his notebook shut.
"Her-Granger." His monotone inflection belied his excited body language; he jumped up and started towards her, his long legs making short work of the tall grass filling the clearing. He stopped in front of the much shorter witch, staring down at her with a smirk.
"Careful, better make sure no one spots us. I'd hate to be on the wrong side of Umbridge's latest Educational Degree. Apparently we have your friends Saint Potter and the Weaselette to thank for that." Malfoy smirked. Ginny and Harry had been discovered in a rather passionate embrace behind the tapestry of King Canute's Conquest in an alcove at the top of the dungeon stairs, by none other than Professor Umbridge herself, resulting in her latest 'Educational Decree' – boys and girls were forbidden from being within eight inches of each other at all times, at risk of expulsion. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"That maddening woman; I think she would prefer it if we all had no brains at all!" She fumed. "And don't call Harry and Ginny that." She continued, her tone softening somewhat.
"Yes, Pansy mentioned that your health lesson with the toad was rather un-educational." Draco pressed on, laughing, stopping short at Hermione's jarring expression.
"What is it?" He asked, staring down at her in marked concern.
"…Pansy…" She whispered, eyes wide and horrified.
"Did you know?" She suddenly snapped, looking up at him abruptly.
"Know what? I don't understand – what is this about Pansy?" Draco asked, stepping towards the much shorter witch cautiously.
"You don't know? About her father?" She prompted, staring at him deeply, as if in the vain hope she could instantaneously learn Legilimency and use it on him.
"Well, I know he's a… Death-Eater." Draco replied cautiously, lowering his voice on the final word.
"You really don't know?" Hermione prompted again, brows knitted together in confusion.
"Know what?!" Draco demanded, raising his voice slightly in exasperation. "Sorry Granger, I-" He immediately began, before being cut off by Hermione.
"No, no, sorry, I shouldn't have doubted…" Her voice faded away, and she twisted her hands in the skirt of her cotton dress. "Pansy, um… her Father uses this curse on her. Pulsare? I saw her the other day, crying about it. She's covered in bruises." Hermione whispered the last sentence, worrying her plump lower lip between her teeth. Draco paled.
"Pansy? God, that's awful… I-I didn't know… fuck…" He trailed off, uncharacteristically lost for words.
"It made me boiling mad to hear her. I couldn't believe it. Lately, I can't think about anything else." Hermione confessed quietly.
"She needs to tell someone, do something!" Draco raged, trying to hide his shock and abhorrence in anger.
"I told her to, but she said there's not much anyone can do… she's right, especially with Umbridge controlling the school." Hermione said. There was a pause for several beats, then she whispered: "You know... I've never been beaten. Not once. I can't even imagine it. It must be just awful."
"It is." Draco replied, soberly.
"After she told me about the Pulsare curse, I tried it on myself, to see how it felt." She murmured, looking away.
"It didn't work, did it?" Questioned Draco, staring down at her still.
"No, not even a little bit."
"It would bruise terribly if someone did it to you."
"Like if you did it to me?" She whispered, finally meeting silvery gaze.
"If I did it? What are you talking about?" He replied, aghast.
"If you used the curse on me. So that I could see what its like." She replied, as if proposing an academic exercise.
"What are you thinking?! I could never beat you." Draco replied, a horrified expression alighting his angular face.
"But if I let you?"
"Never." He stumbled back a few steps.
"But if I asked you to?" She pressed on, drawing towards him again.
"Have you lost your mind?" He gaped, staring at her with wide eyes.
"Maybe… But I've never been beaten, my entire life. I've never felt..."
"What?" He hastily prompted.
"Anything." She breathed out, staring up at him with wide doe-eyes. Draco stared back at her, frightened and curious, looking like a child and a grown man all at once.
"Please Draco..." She pleaded, drawing closer, pulling her wand from a slit in her dress and pressing it into his hand. She then turned, offering him her backside; all rationality thrown out of the window at her experiment gone wrong. He stared down at the small witch, her wide curves unconcealed even by the long Hogwarts-uniform dress. He rolled the vine wood wand in his hand briefly, feeling the magical warmth spreading through his fingers. Hesitating, he slowly pointed the wand at her, before muttering "Pulso" without much conviction.
"I don't feel it!" She said.
"Maybe not, with your dress on." Draco replied unthinkingly, a slight waver permeating his aristocratic voice.
"On my legs then." Hermione replied, hiking up her skirt to reveal the plump, creamy flesh of her upper thighs, her round arse covered only by the thin, silky drawers.
"Granger…" Draco groaned.
"Come on Draco, please. I want… need to feel something. I want to understand." She pleaded.
"I'll make you feel something." Draco replied with frustrated anxiety, grabbing her by the arm firmly and saying the curse more forcefully this time.
"Please… You're barely stroking me." She lied, her gasps belying her true feelings.
"I'll teach you to say 'Please'..." Draco growled. "Pulso!" The curse flashed again, striking Hermione's dimpled flesh.
"How's that then?" Draco asked, fingers digging into her soft upper arm.
"Pansy's father draws blood, Draco." She groaned. His darkened eyes narrowed, an animalistic growl ripping from his throat as he shot another round of the curse at her.
"How's that?" He urged again.
"Nothing, Draco. I need to bruise…" She bit back a whimper as the curse stuck her again.
"And that?" Draco prompted, voice rough.
"Nothing!"She cried, writhing in his gasp. Draco finally snapped.
"You fucking mudblood. I'll give you 'nothing'." He growled, pushing her down onto the ground. She sprawled in the grass before him, skirt still hiked around her waist, bruises blooming on her dimpled thighs. She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and cradled it to her chest, light finger-shaped marks appearing along her golden-skinned forearm where he had grasped her. They started at each other for one long beat, Hermione's large brown eyes filling with unshed tears.
"Oh God…" Draco stuttered out, horrified at his actions. In one swift movement, he had dropped Hermione's wand and stumbled back, ungracefully, before turning and running off deeper into the Forbidden Forest. Hermione thought she heard him choke back a sob, as tears trailed down her cheeks and her own weeping started. She lay down in the long grass, curling into the foetal position; desperately wishing the ground would swallow her up as tears tracked their way down her round face. Stupid, stupid girl.
How did you ever think that was a good idea?
She was sore all over, her head pounded from the crying, and worst of all she had ruined things with Draco. Watching him run off, distraught, had made her heart ache far more than her body ever could. Hermione allowed herself to sob openly for a minute or two more, waiting until her tears subsided to sniffles before gingerly raising herself up, knees first, then stumbling up onto wobbly legs. She pulled her long skirt back down over her now-bruised legs, smoothing the thin, burgundy cotton down and brushing some dirt off the long hem. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to get her breathing under control, before shaking her long mane of hair out and stepping forward.
You can do this Hermione. Just make it back to the castle and you can take a nice, long bath, and forget everything.
Hurrying past the oak tree, she spotted something lying in the soft moss- Draco's journal. She hesitated a moment before picking it up and taking it with her, clutching it tightly as she wandered back to the looming castle.
Theo was sitting in the common room when the Howler arrived. His Father must have sent his Great Horned Owl, Strix, specially, timed to cause maximum embarrassment but not oust him to those with anti-death eater sentiments. Theo just about managed to wrestle it out of the room and into the empty dormitory before it burst into a slow hiss that chilled him to the bone:
"Theodore Cantankerus Nott; you are a a disgrace to the name, to the family, and to me. I should have known my son would turn out an utter failure. You have turned us into a laughing stock; How am I expected to serve The Dark Lord when my own son is bested by my worst enemy? I can only be thankful your mother is not around to see you bring shame to the family name. I do not expect to hear from you or see you until this situation is remedied. No son of mine will dishonour me and get away with it."
The message ended in a puff of smoke, the Howler catching fire in front of his eyes. He had heard that voice, time and time again through his childhood; the monster his father turned into when angry still haunted his dreams. He was surprised to feel tears dripping down his face by the end of the message, the heat from the flaming letter drying them as they fell. Thankfully, Blaise and Draco were out and not privy to his utter mortification at his father's hands. Blaise was probably off with Neville in the greenhouses (Sprout valiantly aiming to keep them as an Umbridge-free haven for as long as possible), while Draco was most likely moping away somewhere, as he'd been doing increasingly over the past few days.
His blond friend's words echoed in his mind as he pondered his situation:
'Try talking to McGonagall? She can be an interfering old bag but she'll do something, she's still Deputy Headmistress.'
That faint feeling of hope flickered in Theo's chest again and before he could change his mind he got up and strode out the door, throwing the smoking remains of the howler into the fire as he passed. Ten minutes later, and he was standing in front of the Transfiguration professor's elaborately carved door, poised to knock.
This is stupid, why bother?
Just as he turned to shuffle away, disheartened, a sharp Scottish voice rang out from inside the office: "Enter, whoever you are. I cannot abide loiterers!"
McGonagall's shock was unmistakable as Theo's pointed face peeked round the door, but to her credit, she didn't let it deter her.
"Good evening Mr Nott, what can I do for you?" She said smoothly, motioning towards the hard, straight-backed chair in front of her desk.
"I, erm, I'm having a bit of a problem…" Theo muttered vaguely, hesitantly shutting the door and sitting down.
"Would you not be better taking this to your Head of House, Professor Snape?" McGonagall asked, eyeing the teenage boy beadily.
"No, um, he's the problem I'm having, professor." Replied Theo, avoiding her sharp gaze.
"Ah." She remarked, pointedly. "Well, all the teachers at Hogwarts are here for students, regardless of their house, so I will of course help if I can. What exactly is this problem?"
"W-well, my father and Snape do not get on, and, um, I think this is affecting my marks in Potions. I don't know what to do, and Draco suggested I come to you."
"Uncharacteristically sensible of Mr Malfoy." Remarked McGonagall with a slight smile. "And yes, I'd noticed that you'd failed the Christmas potions exam, but it's not the NE-"
"I know it's not the NEWT, but if Professor Snape is going to mark me unfairly in the Christmas exam, he's going to mark me unfairly in the NEWT!" Interrupted Theo, getting frustrated. "I did a perfect Angel's Trumpet Draught but he still failed me, he hates me!" He ended in a huff of anger. McGonagall looked, for a small moment like she was going to tell him off, but then merely nodded.
"I understand. You are a bright young man, Nott, and as far as I recall, the rest of your marks are all Exceeds Expectations or higher. You don't need a NEWT in Potions to succeed."
"But Professor, I need an Exceeds Expectations to go into healing… and..." He trailed off. The hawkish witch nodded for him to continue, brows-raised.
"M-my father, with this rivalry with Snape, I think he will disown me for this…" Theo finished. McGonagall was silent for a minute, and Theo noticed something like pity flickering in her sharp eyes. She sighed.
"I'm sympathetic to your plight, but there's little I can do to intercede I'm afraid. Especially with Professor Umbridge-" she muttered the name through gritted teeth
"-as our Headmistress, I'm not currently in a position to help, especially as you are not a member of my house. I think the Headmistress would, rightly or wrongly-" her tone of voice indicating 'wrongly' very clearly "-take Professor Snape's side in this. I'm sorry Theo. I will write to your Father and discourage him from being too harsh on you. My position as Deputy Headmistress affords me this ability, at least." She concluded, looking sympathetically at Theo from across the ancient wooden desk. He nodded, muttering a quiet 'thank you, professor', before rising out of his seat and leaving the office. He wandered back to the dormitory in something of a daze, feeling more bereft than before. McGonagall had felt like his last hope, and now that was dashed there seemed to be nothing left. Theo's thoughts spiralled as he pulled open his trunk and began searching through it.
'Disinherited… no healer apprenticeship… no job… no money… no father…' consumed his thoughts, on repeat like a broken wireless. His hands found what they were searching for, grasping the smooth wooden handle of the straight razor and pulling it from beneath a folded cloak. His father had given him it as a 14th birthday present, typical pureblood homily included ('Every distinguished wizard should perfect the art of shaving.'), and this thought just added to the jumbled swirl in his mind. He pocketed the blade, then rose up and walked out of the room numbly, leaving his case open by his perfectly made bed.
Draco sat on a raised dais at the end of the darkened Greenhouse, the full moon outside the only source of light in the stormy night sky. It made him think, briefly, of their ex Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Remus Lupin, and the agony he would be going through at this very moment in his transition into a Werewolf. Part of Draco thought he'd rather be a werewolf too than deal with the turmoil currently filling his mind. The door to the greenhouse suddenly banged shut, rousing him from his dark thoughts. He glanced up to see the short figure of Hermione Granger standing in front of the glass door, hair and clothes dripping wet from the rain outside, clutching a notebook in her hand.
"So, here you are." She said, staring up at him.
"Go away. Please." He muttered, trying not to look at her, the wet dress clinging to her soft curves.
"You can't just sit sulking in here. We need to talk… about what happened." She replied, almost defiantly.
"No. Leave me alone." He turned his head away, his voice sounding petulant even to his own ears.
"Your friend Theo is absent. No one's seen him since this afternoon, apparently." She prompted, trying a different tactic to engage the sullen wizard.
"He's upset about his potions grade." Draco replied absently, still not looking at Hermione. Several quiet beats passed.
"Look, I brought your journal."
"You've had it?" Draco asked, raising his head to look at her, having wondered where his misplaced notebook had been.
"Yes, you left it the other day. I read some of it-"
"Just leave it, please." Draco interrupted, looking away from her again. Hermione sighed. He fully expected her to turn and leave at that point, and was shocked when she hiked up her long skirts and climbed the ladder up onto the platform, pulling herself up next to him. She set down the notebook by him, then started speaking again.
"Draco, I'm sorry about what happened. I really am. I understand why you'd be angry with me. I don't know what I was thinking-"
"Don't, please don't." He cut her off, his voice deep and angry with the crushing guilt.
How could she be blaming herself?!
"But how can I not-"
"Don't, please! It was me, all me. I hurt you Hermione. And I called you a-" He cut off sharply, taking a steadying breath. "I promised myself I'd never say that word again. I'm so, so sorry. How can you ever forgive me?" He looked sideways at the small witch next to him, a stricken expression clouding his pointed face. Hermione's small hand suddenly darted out, grasping his tightly.
"I do forgive you Draco. And I'm sorry too, I goaded you into it. I wanted to experiment, to try and feel something, but I'm so sorry I made you do it too. I just feel so empty… I thought maybe I could provoke a reaction in myself." She breathed out, her large brown eyes staring up him in the gloomy light. Draco nodded.
"I know what its like… to want to feel something. Something that isn't guilt or remorse, or boredom or emptiness." He replied. It felt freeing to finally confess
"Won't you come out to the forest, Draco? It's dark in here, and stuffy. We can run through the rain, get soaked to the skin and not even care. It would feel so freeing." She whispered, leaning towards him.
"You're already soaked to the skin." Draco swallowed thickly, now unable to keep his eyes off the plump witch in front of him. He glanced down at her chest, forcing himself to look away from where her hard nipples were straining through the thin fabric of her dress.
"So I am." She whispered, looking back towards Draco, his pale blond head shining in the moonlight. They leaned achingly close together, close enough to feel each other's body heat.
"I can hear your heartbeat." Hermione whispered, her dark eyes unmoving from Draco's penetrating silvery gaze, their faces inches from each other now.
"And I yours." Draco whispered in reply, his warm breath ghosting over her mouth. They moved towards each other suddenly, as if possessed, launching in to a deep kiss. Draco was consumed by the feel of Hermione's soft lips pressed against his, and he kissed her hungrily, one hand snaking up to fist in her riotous curls, while the other held tightly onto her small waist. He could feel the heat from her skin radiating through the thin, damp cotton of her dress. One of her small hands slowly creeped from resting against his chest, up to his shoulder, to finally wrap itself around around his neck, her soft fingers against his nape sending shivers down his spine. He kissed her more forcefully, slipping his tongue into her soft mouth with a groan. She reciprocated, kissing back feverishly before they both had to pull away to catch their breaths, flushed and panting.
(x) (x) (x)
Hermione smiled at Draco, taking in his pinked face and messy blond hair. Kissing Ron had never been like that. His grin back made her heart hurt, it illuminated his face, taking away the weariness and sadness that had been present within him for so long. She leaned forward again, brushing the whitish-blond hair off his forehead gently before kissing him- slowly, sensually this time. They kissed like this for a while, running their hands over each other's backs and arms, until Draco's fingers' found themselves at the buttons at the top of Hermione's high-necked dress.
Their mouths broke apart for a moment, enough for Draco to mutter 'can I?' and for Hermione to breathe back 'yes', with a nervous smile. His long, elegant fingers made quick work of the row of buttons down the front of her dress, and Draco groaned aloud as her perky breasts were exposed, pale and freckled, nipples stiff from the damp dress and night air. She blushed, averting her gaze, no one had ever seen her like this. Draco clasped a hand around her neck, tilting her head up, gazing into her darkened eyes as he kissed her softly again. Draco slowly helped her lie back on his discarded cloak and knelt between her legs as she smiled nervously up at him. His smile back made her shiver deliciously; She could never have imagined being looked at in such an aching, smouldering way before. Her own hands mimicked his, eyes locked on him as she unbuttoned down his white cotton shirt, exposing his pale torso as he loomed over her. She bit her lip, looking up at him almost glowing in the moonlight, bright in the gloomy greenhouse. He was thin, with broad shoulders and a lightly defined torso, and her stomach fizzed with want at the look of him.
Is this what Lavender means when she mentions Ron? I could never have imagined this feeling…
(x) (x) (x)
Draco stared down at Hermione, lying back déshabillé on his cloak like something out of his erotic dreams; her round face flushed, doe-eyes bright, her chocolate curls frizzing around her head like a halo. He slid one long finger across her jaw, down her neck to her breasts, tracing around around one areola experimentally. His gaze was dark on her, watching as she shivered and gasped under his touch.
"So fucking soft…" He muttered, before leaning down and softly kissing along the path he just traced with his finger, pausing first to suckle her neck before continuing down and taking one hardened nipple into his warm mouth. He gently ran a hand up her rounded body, cupping her other breast as he flicked and pinched her rosy nipple. Hermione audibly whimpered at this, bringing her hands up to clutch at his soft hair as he alternated between licking, biting and pinching her swollen nipples.
"Ugh, Draco…" She groaned, pulling him up to kiss him deeply again, and he watched as she rubbed her plump thighs together unconsciously, aware of the burning ache between them. She scratched her fingers down Draco's chest, across his nipples, he felt her smiling into the kiss as he moaned in reaction. His large hands ran down her body in retaliation, gripping her waist as he pressed his hard body against her. She felt one hand creep up her thigh, past the top of her stocking to just edge underneath her loose drawers. Draco glanced at her for conformation and she nodded quickly, he then swiftly pushed the skirt of her dress up, exposing her grey, thigh-high stockings, held up with simple ribboned garters, and virginal white cotton drawers. He trailed his hands achingly slowly up her thighs and across her drawers, smirking down at her and enjoying her frustrated moan in reply. His graceful fingers reached the simple waistband and slipped underneath, pulling the undergarments ever-so-slowly down over her soft stomach and wide hips, exposing her quim to his searching gaze. He pulled her drawers fully from her legs, dropping them behind him has he turned back to focus on her. He left her soft woollen stockings on, finding the idea of her thighs, tied up in ribbons like a present just for him, utterly enticing. Hermione delighted in watching him watch her with his pale, burning gaze, as if she was some angelic apparition sent down to torment him. Her thoughts blurred as he ran his long fingers between her legs, her thighs involuntarily jerking, then parting as he dipped his fingers into her slick heat with a groan of "You are so lovely."
Draco's breeches had gotten very tight over his crotch, and the pressure was almost unbearable as he traced Hermione's slick folds and watched her squirm beneath him. Her eyes closed involuntarily and she fisted his hands in his cloak, lying beneath her still. His fingers ran over her most tender point, and she gasped out "oh, there- yes, ah-!" as he rubbed across her little button repeatedly. A finger slipped into her tight channel, probing and nudging softly, soon joined by another. She was groaning loudly now, her thighs parted wide for his pumping fingers. She was just feeling that aching, fizzing desire climbing within her, threatening to overtake, when Draco withdrew his hand. She gasped, eyes abruptly opening and staring up at him with sheer indignation, only to see him unbuttoning his tight breeches. She gulped, her nerves suddenly returning.
Was he…? Is this what people meant when they talked about marital relations?
She watched carefully as he pulled his breeches and drawers down in one swift motion, exposing his very erect member to Hermione's inquisitive gaze. It bobbed free of its confines, long and hard, pale like the rest of him, and Hermione wondered briefly how that was ever going to fit inside her.
Draco drew closer once more, kneeling between her widely parted thighs. They locked gazes once more, and he asked softly, in his deep, posh voice that she loved so much: "Can I..? You make me so desperate." He looked so vulnerable and soft, so almost un-Draco-like but simultaneously maddeningly, passionately him, that Hermione could have melted.
"Yes." She breathed out, running her hands up his smooth chest to grasp at his shoulders as he moved closer between her widely parted legs. He took his long cock in hand, running its sensitive head slowly along her wet seam, eliciting a soft moan from them both. He lined his member up with her dripping entrance and slowly pushed in. She was almost painfully tight, and so hot and wet, Draco felt he could have released that very minute. Hermione groaned in discomfort, feeling painfully full, a dull ache spreading in her abdomen as she felt his cock push into her. Draco leaned down and kissed her softly again, stilling within her to allow her to get used to his girth, while bringing a hand up to play with the small button between her slick thighs. He felt able to move again once she was writhing under him, close to capturing that elusive, dizzy feeling she had felt when penetrated by his fingers. Hermione lifted up her thighs, wrapping them around his waist, exponentially increasing the depth of his penetration. He thrusted in and out of her hot quim increasingly quickly, spurred on by her mewling cries, his fingers still rubbing between her legs sloppily as he came ever-closer to his release. Her whimpers increased in pitch and voracity, until suddenly she was clamping around him with a 'Yes, Draco, please- ah!' and she came with a high-pitched moan, eyelashes fluttering on her damp cheeks. Draco followed swiftly behind her, his hurried thrusts quickly falling out of rhythm until he too came with a loud groan of 'Her-Hermione…', collapsing down onto her soft body.
Draco slowly returned to his senses, pulling himself out of her gently and kneeling back on his haunches to quickly pull up his drawers and breeches. He gazed down at Hermione, who, still flushed and panting, absentmindedly began to button up her dress with trembling hands, eyes unfocused. He turned, torso still pale and naked in the glowing light, to find her hastily discarded drawers, and passed them back to her. Their hands touched and they locked eyes, both breaking into nervous smiles.
"Are you alright?" Draco asked deeply, watching Hermione pull the plain cotton undergarments up over her plump legs, before adjusting the grey stockings and smoothing her dress down.
"Yes. I think so." She replied, biting her lip nervously, before leaning upwards to plant a soft kiss on his pouting lips.
"That was amazing." Draco muttered, grinning now.
"Yes. I didn't know it would be like that." Hermione whispered reverently, unable to resist returning a wide smile. She lay back on his soft robes, hair fanning around her head like a halo.
"I'm so sleepy now." She yawned, still hazily looking up at him. Draco couldn't resist coming over her once more, pressing his hard body into her much softer one, her wide curves yielding under him and her thighs parting unconsciously. He kissed her deeply again, and she sighed into the kiss, relaxing. Before he could get carried away, he reluctantly rolled off her to lie next to her on the robes, taking her in his long arms. The brunette witch burrowed into him sleepily, entwining her much shorter legs with his and resting her bushy head upon his chest. He stroked down her back, and upon finding her dress still damp from the rain, reached for his wand and performed a simple drying spell. She sighed out a quiet 'thank you', even as her eyes were fluttering shut languidly, dozing off in the warmth of the drying spell and Draco's arms. Draco suddenly felt exhausted himself, watching Hermione sleep, her small body curled into his. Her rhythmic breathing calmed him, and he pulled her in tighter as he slowly drifted to sleep, lulled by her the feel of her soft body in his arms.
