Disclaimer: HP is a brand. A brand I fan-worship.
Note: A little kinky. A little funny. What isn't there to like? Try to drop me a line!
Rated: M
3.
Draco cursed, as he leapt up the stairs three at a time, still cupping his privates. He threw open the first door he came across, and slammed it after him before sagging against it.
One hand quickly disappeared under his waistband, and grasped his erection.
It felt like heaven. His hand was cool, against his scorching flesh and presented a myriad of sensations. He knew exactly knew which spots to press, to get a reaction and moaned heavily.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he shouldn't be making such a noise.
But what the hell!
The fabric of his trousers were distracting him, so he pulled his occupied hand out, and kept pumping. He had done this, thousands, nay millions of times before. His hand was a blur as it slid up and down, and he felt a pressure build up in his aching sacs.
It felt too good.
Too.
Fucking.
Great.
Not really focusing on anything, mind an incoherent mess, he brought his hand up to his shaft one last time, and gave a vigorous squeeze that was the final push. Not aiming it as such, but aiming nonetheless, a jet of white release flew in an arc and splattered against a picture frame sitting a few yards away.
Utterly spent, Draco tucked himself back in.
"Probably should've used a tissue to catch the mess," he realised in hindsight.
The warm afterglow that usually hung in his belly after a wank, dissipated when he saw whose picture his cum had the misfortune of landing on. He darted over, just to be sure, and nearly had a coronary.
"Balls on a stick," he grabbed it up to his nose. "Please tell me no."
Hermione Granger, who had been enjoying an ice-cream in happier times, had dropped her spoon and was screaming in agony. Her eyes were welded shut, as if she had witnessed something terrible, and she was hopping about on one foot.
"Look at me," he tapped the glass with one finger. "It's all right. You didn't see what you think you did."
The mudblood cracked open an eyelid, and screamed even harder, when she saw Draco's nose millimetres away from her cosy, timeless world.
"Sssh," he said, for once, grateful it wasn't a painting he was holding now. At least pictures were mute.
There was no tissues in the near vicinity, so Draco desperately tugged the nearest thing he could find. Which happened to be the corner of an ultra soft, ultra feminine duvet. Crap, this wasn't his room, was it? Just his luck, that the first room he tore into had to belong to the Gryffindor Princess.
"It's OK," he was still hushing her, as he wiped away the evidence. "Nothing happened here. Move along."
When the picture frame was sparkling once more, he shook it until Hermione fell over. "Shut up!" he barked cruelly. "No-one can hear you! At least plaster a smile on your face and keep it a secret!" He threw the picture away, disgusted, and tried to remember why he was trying to strike a bargain with a moving mirage.
"Fuck this," he growled. "I'm outta here."
He walked over to the bolted windows, and put a hand on each latch.
"Here goes," he grimaced, sinews bulging in his muscles, as he attempted to lift it clear.
Finally minutes, or maybe it was an hour later, Draco slumped against the floor exhausted. He gave a shout of utter rage and crawled over to where he had discarded Hermione's picture.
"This is all your fault," he ranted. "And stupid Potter!"
He picked up the frame, and rapped his knuckles against the centre. Hermione was putting on a no-show, the table she was sitting at and the half-eaten glass of ice-cream abandoned. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw a disgruntled head poke in with distinct brunette hair.
Draco didn't think twice.
He wrenched open his waistband, and shoved the irritating picture down his front. Then imagining her surprised face, plastered up against his naked balls, Draco doubled over and started laughing.
It was the most fun he had in weeks.
Hermione was a trained professional. She knew exactly which memory she wanted to extract, when she aimed the wand at her temple later that morning. Alone in the kitchen, Hermione let the emotions of three years ago fill her brain. Unlike before, she embraced it, for the first time not feeling ashamed to relive the encounter.
She was back in Draco's room.
He was on top of her.
Her eyes darted side to side, as she felt the ghost of his impatient slap across her clit. She jumped in her chair, clenching her thighs.
See. This is exactly what she didn't need. It had haunted her endlessly, too perplexing to remove, but now she knew the reason behind that exchange, and Draco himself, didn't remember it...
Time for it to go.
Hermione calmly said the spell to clear her worries. "Obliviate."
She felt an impact definitely, a tingling sensation that washed through her skull, before it died way into nothingness. Hermione blinked, suddenly unsure to why she was sitting here, pointing a wand at her brain. Foolishly, she put it down and patted her hair.
In the distance, she was aware of violent hiccuping.
"Harry?" she called out, hesitantly. "Is that you?"
The hiccuping was punctuated with deep, masculine snorts.
Feeling more and more like a victim in her own house, Hermione pushed back her chair silently. The fact that it didn't creak was something short of a miracle. Her weight balanced evenly on rounded tip-toes, Hermione crept after the noise as it wound down the hallway, up the staircase, and to the first room on that landing.
Her room.
Hermione instinctively bared her teeth, ready to face battle.
"GOTCHA!"
She threw open the door, and brandished her wand exactly the same time she remembered it was still on the kitchen table. Instead, her horrified eyes travelled down her arm and onto a floored Draco Malfoy. Who, quick as a flash, reached into his underwear and threw something rectangular across her bed.
"What are you-?" she gaped.
"Mudblood!" he struggled to his feet. "What happened to sorting it out in private?"
"You shouldn't be here..."
"I know," Draco rolled his eyes. "But it was an emergency, and I couldn't find my room.." Not that he had even tried. "And then I was doing it, and it felt too good to stop..." Ask the picture, she'd back him up.
"MALFOY!" she suddenly shrieked, startling him. "You weren't meant to come till later! I needed to pack! What are you doing here so god-damned early?!"
"Um..." Draco held up his hands.
"What were you doing?" Her eyes darted to her bed. "Oh, god. You've come to finish what you started!"
"I'm what?" Draco was genuinely bemused.
"You pervert!" she accused, staggering him to the core. "I saw you pull out my picture, you dirty bastard! What was Harry thinking, letting you into my room? Letting you into the house, even! He knows what you did to me! He knows how much I didn't want to be in your presence!"
Draco took a step forward, if anything, to voice his confusion.
"Wait there!" she said with determination, backing out of the room.
Like hell he was going to wait. Draco chased Hermione all the way to the kitchen, just in time to see her grab her wand. Oh no. Mad and deranged Hermione was bad enough, but with a wand...
"Accio Kettle!"
The kettle swung into the air, wavering, and Draco eyed it with growing trepidation. He had good reason too. It rushed towards him, and emptied it's contents on top of the spot Draco had stood, just seconds before. "Merlin, woman. Are you crazy?!"
"Stupefy!"
Draco ducked as a red jet, flew over his head and hit two cupboards. There was an explosion of plates. A shard flew into Draco's head, and he crumbled, a red patch blossoming over his hair. Seriously. If this was how she reacted to him wanking near photographs of her, remind him never to touch his dick again.
"Hermione?"
The quiet, surprised voice of Potter was a welcome relief, as he slumped against the floor.
"H-Harry..."
The bitch was acting. The vulnerable voice she now pitched, was in total odds to her earlier performance.
"What have you done?" Thankfully, Potter had a good dose of common sense. He ran over to Draco, and pulled him up on his lap. Highly disturbing to say the least. But Draco went with it. He gave a theatrical moan, and raised one blood soaked hand to point to the evil fiend staring at them.
"She...She..."
"Hermione, what happened?" Harry asked again, sharply.
"I don't know," she dropped her wand, eyes brimming.
"Why are you attacking Malfoy?"
She held both ends of her robe together, like she was trying to gather herself. "The l-last thing I remember, was an owl with a letter... it said you were Draco Malfoy's guardian...and then you left..."
"That's all you can remember?" Harry pressed.
She gave a small, diminutive nod.
"Hermione, that was over 24 hours ago. A lot has happened since then."
"Has it?"
"YES. I told you about Malfoy's condition. How Fenir, that piece of shit, took a bite out of Malfoy and Narcissa locked him up, to stop the whole wizarding world finding out. When you met him, in those early weeks, the wolf was still in control. There was no Malfoy there. After hearing that, you accepted it, and agreed to stay and help me."
"I did?" Hermione's puzzlement was a clear indicator that something had gone wrong.
"Do you know what date it is?"
"Yes. November 21st."
Draco was staring at her wide-eyed. "Even I know it's the 22nd, and I've been locked up 3 years."
"Shut up," Harry and Hermione snapped simultaneously, not taking their eyes of each other.
"Ignore me," Draco laid back down on Harry's lap, closing his eyes. "I'm just bleeding to death over here."
Pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together for Hermione. She remembered the disorientation she felt, when she found herself pointing a wand at her head. Maybe she had tried to obliviate something, and accidentally wiped out the last 24 hours of her life?
It was disconcerting to find her magic had failed in that regard.
No more memory spells, until she learnt her lesson.
That night, Draco was brooding in his room, when a slight knock interrupted his thoughts. He was on the cusp of telling whoever it was to piss off, but remembered who was holding the cards. Sighing, he removed his ailing bones from bed, and limped to the bedroom door, cracking it open an inch.
It was Hermione.
Worrying her lip.
"Here," she thrust forward a bundle with a ferocious scowl, that reeked of herbal lavender. "I don't want this anymore." She nodded. "You can have it."
Draco shut the door in her face.
He threw it down on the floor, and turned back to face his bed.
But a burning trail up his spine, whispered for him to have a second look. Cursing, he crouched over the bundle and deftly undid the knot Hermione had expertly tied. It looked and felt extremely familiar.
"Why has that bitch given me her duvet?" he grumbled.
There was more. As the layers fell away, in the epicentre was a lone photo frame that made the skin on his chest flush particularly hot. He raised it up to eye-level, and saw Ice-Cream Hermione scream and dive for cover.
"Bitch."
He hurled the photo-frame as hard as he could, to the opposite side of his room. It smacked into the wall, and fell to the floor with a delightful tinkling sound. The very gall. Draco's hands curled into fists on either side. To think, he would be interested in keeping a photo of her, licking an ice-cream spoon suggestively.
Retribution swam fierce in his eyes.
He stalked over to where the photo frame had cracked in three different places and shook it, to get rid of the glass.
He picked up the vacated photo, and smirked openly.
"Next time I masturbate, you've got a ringside view," he crooned, crunching up the polaroid and stuffing it into his pocket, feeling a hundred times better as he strolled back to bed.
AN: Review if you want chapter four!
Thanks to all my reviewers so far x