Disclaimer: These characters belong to J K Rowling, as does Hogwarts and all its hallways and rooms.
A/N: I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to review my story. I want to take this story into MA rated and if there is anyone out there who would like to be added to my mailing list for such chapters, please go to my profile and send me an email. I look forwarding to hearing from you all.
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Hermione Granger had hated Malfoy in school – had hated everything he represented and more, what he believed about her kind. Draco had been raised in an environment where he was taught that purebloods were the epitome of nobility and witches and wizards from non-magical families were worthless. Lucius had taught his only son to believe that the world needed to be rid of mudbloods.
She could not understand, for the life of her, why he had her backed against the Astronomy Tower wall, the cool stone sending trembles along her spine. Nor could she understand why she was as receptive to him as he was to her. His soft moans against her lips spoke not to hatred but a yearning to possess. Had Malfoy always felt this way? Even when she was a seventeen year old schoolboy?
Her hands slid beneath the folds of his robes, encountering rough black cotton that hung loosely over his body. Her fingertips felt the hard muscle beneath his clothes and she opened her eyes, finding herself staring into irises that were almost grey in the dim light. She saw a mixture of so many fierce emotions and a reflection of her own desire.
Draco.
Cruel, unkind Draco Malfoy, his hands roughly cupping her breast as though he owned her. If only he knew how many noble and kind men had tried to win her heart. Perhaps he did know. Perhaps his abilities to read minds were as finely turned as his abilities to wound one's self-esteem. She saw a wicked sense of confidence in his eyes and she trembled as his fingers slid into her dress, her nipple pressed against his palm. He broke their kiss, leaning back to assess how his touch had affected her. Hermione felt his thumb stroke her nipple and the fact that their gazes never parted aroused her more; what did Draco feel when she seen her like this?
"Is this a game to you?" she sighed, her fingers encircling his wrist. She felt the tendons of his hand flex. "Does it amuse you to see me like this? At your mercy?" Draco pulled his hand away, straightening his spine. He looked furious, his jaw tight.
"Do I look amused to you, Granger?" he retorted sharply, brushing past her, his long legs ascending the stairs to the top of the tower. She turned, watching his retreating back, her cheeks flaming crimson at the knowledge of what had just transpired between them.
"You know, Malfoy, it would be good manners to call me Hermione." He stilled, the sharp angles of his shoulder-blades protruding against the heavy material of his cloak. She shifted against the stone, her body aching to for his touch; she was a traitor to herself. "Do you call me Granger because you are afraid of the implications of treating me as an equal?" Draco turned with slow deliberation. In the moonlight, he had eyes as silver as the clasp that held his cloak. Now that she had his attention, Hermione asked him the question that had kept her awake for so many long nights. "Why did you save me, Draco?" Something changed in his expression, as though a smidgen of his resolve disappeared. The tight pride in his posture slipped and he descended towards her slowly.
"I heard your screams…" he whispered, turning to the window. The moonlight reflected the blond of his too-long hair, bathing his skin in a white glow. He looked ghostly, almost, but no less oppressive. "The rattling chains and I knew they were torturing you. My father… he said it was for the necessary evil. He said…" Draco shook his head a little, his knuckles tight as his fingers curled into a fist. "He said no one except Potter and Weasley would miss you anyway." Hermione swallowed hard, her fingers finding his sleeve. Draco winced, pulling away as though her touch burned him. "When they left, I watched you through the gap in the door… weak and helpless and I just… wanted to set you free."
"Why?" she asked in a whisper. He sneered.
"You'd like to think it was for some noble reason, wouldn't you, Granger? You'd like to think that I felt something for you… but you're wrong. I wanted you to owe me your life. I wanted you to treat me with respect…" His words burned but she refused to show it, holding tight to the sleeve of his robe.
"But you don't want me to owe you my life," she reminded him, her fingertips brushing his knuckles. Despite himself, Draco's fingers loosened. "Do you want me, Malfoy? Is that what this is about? Possession?" He focused on something outside the window and Hermione felt her heart flutter inside her chest. "You saved me because you didn't want me to die." His gaze shifted now, an indication that he was uncomfortable with the path of her analysis. "You kiss me…" like you have done so for years…
"Enough," he said firmly, pulling away from her. "You're a…" she stepped back, the insults forming on his lips as he fought a war against his thoughts. Hermione nodded slowly.
"A mudblood," she finished softly. "Indeed I am." Draco was shaking his head, his fingers curling around her biceps, so tight she suspected his fingerprints would mark her skin. At that moment, she wasn't especially worried about his roughness. Her eyes widened.
"You might be a mudblood," he growled, "but you're a menace, Granger! A menace! You're in my mind, all the time. When I wake up, when I sleep, when I can't sleep! Are you tormenting me… putting a spell on me…?" He shook her, drawing sharp breaths from her lungs. "Why do I want you?" he demanded, releasing her so abruptly that she almost stumbled back. Hermione felt her heart pound erratically inside her chest, her breath burning her lungs. Why did he want her? Why did she want him?
Looking into the silvery bewitchment of his eyes, she felt guilty. "I should go," she supposed aloud, stepping backwards towards the arched entrance to the tower. Malfoy's head fell forward, his gaze falling upon the tops of his black shoes. Inside his robe, his body was tight and she asked herself why she wasn't running for the Great Hall where everything she was familiar with was waiting?
A small, mirthless smile tugged at her lips.
Desiring Draco was not unfamiliar, either and that desire was one thing that she was unable to share with her best friends. How could they ever understand? The boy who had tormented them as school-children was no less dark now, and instead of despising the rugged blackness of his character, Hermione was almost addicted to it.
"Why aren't you leaving then," Draco asked, lifting his eyes but not his head, the effect of which was a distinctly menacing glare. She felt heat flood her cheeks.
"You know I hate you?" she whispered, her fingers curling around the light chiffon skirt of her dress. Draco smiled widely, as though pleased by this. A cry of frustration rose in her chest, tight and desperate for release. Her knuckles hurt. "You are impossible!" she growled, stamping her foot like a petulant child. Malfoy traced his tongue over his lips, as though savouring the taste of their kiss – or perhaps, Hermione thought, that was what she liked to believe.
"I am going to know what it is like to have you, Granger. Maybe not tonight," he reflected sadly, "but it is a foregone conclusion that eventually, one way or another, you will end up in my bed." The words made her tremble; sent a crazy wave of tumultuous desire rippling through her body.
Her breathing shallow, Hermione released the material of her dress, smoothing the creases with a deep sigh. She was a logical woman, and she had been from her earliest teen years. "Perhaps you are right," she admitted reluctantly. "Since I owe you… well… everything that has transpired in the past ten years of my life." Draco's eyes narrowed again, mark of his signature expression.
"This really has nothing to do with payback, Granger, and you know it. That is just a guise that we mutually invented…" she felt hot inside, resenting the stark honesty of his words. "Did you actually believe it?" She couldn't look into his eyes, shimmering like unicorn blood. Slowly, she shook her head. "Didn't think so…" he chuckled, turning back to the window, clearly confident that she was not going to walk away yet.
"You'd be so bad for me…" she sighed, massaging her temples. When she lifted her hand, she caught sight of her scar and remembered just how bad the Malfoy family had already been for her. Draco slid close to her, his cloak brushing her skin.
"You don't know that," he whispered slowly, his lips passing over her chin, teasing her with feathery touches. "I could be very, very good for you." Hermione's fingers slid into the folds of his cloak, her resolve melting with each passing stroke of his tight abdominals. Whatever Draco's profession was, it required strength. Every part of his body was hard.
"I'm leaving," she told him as his tongue reached out to taste her throat. He chuckled and the vibration rumbled through both their bodies.
"No you're not," he replied, his fingers coiling around her wrists. Her instinct was to struggle, but his moist kisses followed the path of her cleavage, his lips whisperingly soft against her skin. "I'll take you here," he promised, the heel of his hand stroking her breast. Her spine arched into him, her hips rotating against his. At that moment, she could almost have agreed to rampant sex, devoid of dignity, against the hard stone wall. "I am going to make you feel so good that you will never forget me, Granger. Never." Still hurtful, she thought, her fingers sliding beneath his black shirt, stroking his smooth skin. "Meet me on the seventh floor," he whispered into her ear, his tongue touching the swirling shell. Hermione groaned, shaking as he released her. "I can't take you back to Slytherin… they'd never accept a Gryffindor in their midst." Her lips tightened. "Oh," he mocked, running a fingertip over her jaw, his touch searing, "What do you expect? Do you want to take me to that little hole in the wall?"
She thought of Ron, Harry, Neville… them all, and she shook her head fiercely.
"Hmm," he sighed, his smile wicked, "didn't think so."
Draco raced off, his cloak billowing behind him. She waited until his footfalls were no longer audible before she composed herself, neatening her hair and smoothing her fingers over her dress. It was impossible not to revert back to the schoolgirl in his presence. A childish crush…
The seventh floor was long but she knew that the Gryffindor common room was too close to where she was expected to meet him. The portraits followed her, watching her and she suspected they would all whisper about her. She caught a glimpse of Draco, pacing before a magical door that Hermione knew well as the Room of Requirement.
He threw it open, and she slid under his arm, breathing a sigh of relief. "I noticed you didn't risk taking me anywhere near the basement… this is mocking my friends." Malfoy unclipped his robe, dropping the garment from his broad shoulders. Her protests died on her lips as she absorbed the extent of his body, tall and slender, dressed entirely in black. He looked wicked and forbidden and she, like the proverbial Eve, ached to sink her teeth into his juicy badness.
For the first time she noticed what the room had conjured up as part of Draco's 'requirement'. She was stunned to find that the room was smaller than she remembered and that the cracked stone halls harboured nothing but a bed; draped with red and gold silken curtains. Her mouth dried as the truth of his intentions became altogether, crystal clear.
"I love this room," Draco drawled, "I love its efficiency." At first words seemed to fail her and eventually she moistened her mouth again.
"What do you mean?" she asked and he levelled his smoky gaze on her.
"It has given me the only thing that I require for tonight…"
As he prowled towards her, more like a Gryffindor lion that a Slytherin serpent, she trembled from head to toe, willing her nerves to be calm.
"If only you knew, Granger…" he whispered, his hands dropping to her hips, "how many nights I have dreamt about you and I and this room…" She released a shaky breath that only enticed him. "I shan't waste it…" he said, and as his fingers gathered the purple chiffon, the material rising over her thighs, she did not doubt he wouldn't.
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My next chapter will be a saucy rated one. Anyone over 17 interested?
