Chapter 4
Hermione paced around her room, her stomach tied in knots.
The War in her mind had returned, and it was louder than ever.
She had been distracted all day, floating around the school like a zombie. No matter what she tried, she was broken and distracted. She was unfocused during her classes—to the point that her teachers were worried. Her multiple attempts in the library were pointless—her parchment remained untouched. She even tried to distract herself from her thoughts by watching Harry during Quidditch practice, yet her distractedness resulted in one close call from a bludger whizzing loudly past her head. This had forced her to retreat to the safety behind Hogwart's walls.
At supper, her food was bland and tasteless. Robotically, she spooned it into her mouth. She was on edge and, although her friends were laughing around her, she did not join in. If they turned their attention to her, she was curt with her answers and often snapped at them unnecessarily.
So, they left her alone.
She stared blankly at her plate, terrified that she would look up and see Draco staring at her.
Or not staring at her.
She excused herself from the dinner table earlier than everyone else and immediately retreated to her room. Before she could stop, the tears of exhaustion, frustration, and confusion came. They wracked her body and soaked her face.
Her roommate, Ginny Weasley, walked in from supper and immediately stopped in the doorway. Hermione quickly turned her face from her and attempted to stop her sobbing, but her shoulders still shook under the stress.
"Hermione?" Ginny's voice was soft—full of concern. "Are you alright?"
Unable to answer, Hermione merely nodded.
"Are you sure? You can talk to me about it."
"No . . . I can't." Hermione sniffled as she struggled with the words. And it was true . . . she couldn't tell anyone. A fresh batch of tears welled up in her eyes at that realization.
"Honey, you can tell me anything."
Hermione shook her head violently from side to side. "Please—just leave me alone." The request was a jagged whisper, and it stabbed Hermione through the heart to say it to her best friend.
Ginny froze at the words and,—without even having to look at her—Hermione knew that she had been hurt with them as well.
Ginny took a step backward, confused, and grasped the edge of the door. "Well, if you need anything, you just let me know." Without waiting for a response, she stepped through the frame and pulled the door shut behind her noiselessly.
Hours had then passed, with Hermione locked in her own personal Hell. She had weighed all of her options a thousand times, but could never reach a definitive answer. At one point, she was going . . . then she wasn't. The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. She cried. She felt sick to her stomach. And finally, she felt numb.
At one point, she made her first decision and changed her clothes. She wasn't going to—she felt comfortable in her school uniform—but she suddenly remembered her dream and how out of place she felt. She decided, then, that she would change—just in case she decided to go—and slipped into a pair of jeans and a simple light pink sweater.
She had then looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection shone back—plain clothes on a plain girl. Her eyes were bloodshot and red and her light skin was splotchy with her recent emotion. That image had brought on a new bout of tears. Forcefully, she had flopped facedown on her bed to allow them passage from her system.
Now, she was up again—pacing the floor mindlessly—her hands clenched together tensely. Any decision that was reached in her mind was immediately countered by the War that raged in her head.
She was going . . . .
She wasn't going . . . .
She jumped violently as the silence was suddenly shattered by the clock striking half past the hour. Her eyes wide, she looked down at her watch.
9:30.
Her stomach twisted and nausea flooded back in waves. Shaking, Hermione sat down on the side of her bed. She swallowed heavily and wrung her hands tightly together in her lap.
She still didn't know what to do . . . and she was running out of time.
Taking a deep breath, she quickly began filing through the pros and cons again.
He was Draco Malfoy.
She didn't want to go . . . .
But, his tongue . . . his touch . . . .
She wanted to go . . . .
She felt tears wet her eyes once more and she bit her lip. Logically speaking, she should be able to address each option and make a clear decision, but the more she thought about it, the more confusing everything became.
The War raged on.
The clock abruptly struck 10:00 and Hermione felt her heart drop in disbelief. Draco's face swam into her vision and she was surprised to feel that her face was once again wet with tears. She could see him standing by the statue on the 4th floor.
Waiting . . . .
Waiting for her . . . .
In her mind, she watched him waiting by the statue. The clock ticked by, and with each passing minute, she saw his eyes change. Suddenly, she was looking into those sad eyes again. Those eyes muted and lifeless with hurt.
Her heart broke with the idea of the hurt that she could cause him and suddenly, serenity washed over her.
She didn't think anymore.
Taking a deep breath, she held it momentarily before expelling it with a heavy whoosh. Definitively, she drummed her hands on her knees and pushed herself vertical.
Hurrying toward the door, she paused slightly to examine her reflection in the mirror. She wiped at her face and nose, erasing any signs of her tears. Hastily running her hands through her wild hair, she attempted to smooth it around her face. She looked mousy . . . plain. She was nothing more than a pauper, shadowed in Draco's brilliance. She shook her head at her image.
"What the hell are you doing?" She whispered aloud to the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her with a bewildered expression.
Before she lost her nerve again, she turned quickly from her likeness, pushed her way through the door, and started down the stairs toward the common room.
"Where are you going so late?"
Hermione jumped as Ron stepped in front of her. Harry and Ginny looked up at her from the couch where they sat, side-by-side, sharing a book between them. No doubt Ginny had already informed them of her antics up in the dorm room.
Her heart pounded loudly in her chest. She licked her lips uneasily before lying directly to his face. "Um . . . to the library." The lie sounded forced and pathetic in her head.
He knows it's a lie.
"This late?" Ron cocked an eyebrow at her. "You know, 'Mione, maybe you should think about taking a night off. You look exhausted."
He was right—and she knew it—but she didn't let it show on her face.
She forced her voice to be cheerful. "Albeit I do enjoy the concern, Ron, do you really think it wise of me to take academic advice from you?" She allowed a small smile to form at the corners of her mouth as Ron stared back at her. She continued before he could respond. "Now, may I please go before it gets too late?"
Draco swam back into her mind and she had to focus on keeping her words even.
Ron looked into her face questioningly but moved a few inches to the left to allow her passage. As she passed him, she refused to make eye contact with either Harry or Ginny. Instead, she attempted to give Ron a reassuring smile as she passed him, but she was sure he saw through that too.
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The hallways were completely silent except for Hermione's hurried footsteps. A few minutes back, the clock had sounded for 10:30, and its chime still reverberated eerily off of the walls.
He's going to leave.
It was a threat that pushed her forward until she was running down the steep staircase—her feet skipping steps.
She skidded to a halt at the bottom of the stairs as she reached the fourth floor, breathing heavily. She visualized the statue and felt terror at the thought that Draco might not be standing there—yet simultaneously she felt her body tingle in excitement at the thought that he might be there. Her nerves knotted tightly together as butterflies quivered in her stomach, but she forced herself forward.
The fourth floor corridor was completely vacant of students and dimly lit with torches. They flickered and danced, splaying thick, dark shadows across the bricks.
The statue was located toward the end of the hallway—around a bend—and it would be a few more feet before she saw if he had decided to wait for her. Her mind screamed at her to walk faster—to run even—but she forced her feet to move slowly.
She was late already . . . a few more minutes wouldn't change the outcome. So, she focused on moving one foot in front of the other as she took deep, calming breaths. She focused on the upcoming corner—the corner that hid the statue from view. With each small step, it drew closer and Hermione felt her hands begin to shake.
He's not there.
She was shocked when she felt her stomach drop at the thought. In unexpected realization, she would be disappointed if he wasn't there.
She paused when she reached the corner. Leaning her hand on the wall for support, she quickly composed herself. Mentally, she prepared herself for the worst. Taking a deep breath, she looked around the corner and felt her stomach drop to her feet.
He was there.
He was sitting on the ground in his expensive street clothes beside the statue of Bartholomew—his knees pulled up to his chest. His arms were outstretched in front of him, his wrists resting lightly on top of his kneecaps. Idly, he curled and uncurled his dangling fingers. He had his head tipped back, pressing it against the wall—his eyes closed.
He looked as if he were sleeping—or deeply meditating—but Hermione could see the small line between his eyes crease and smooth as he sat absorbed in thought.
Moving around the corner, her feet shuffled one step closer. They scraped against the floor and broke the silence.
Draco's eyes popped open and he slowly turned his head toward the noise. As he registered her standing there, a smile illuminated his face. Instantly, he was on his feet. He took a hesitant step toward her.
"You came . . . ." It was a statement filled with incredulity. He took two more steps forward, his eyes shining a light pewter.
Doubts flooded back into Hermione's mind. Timidly, she cowered in the shadows unsure of what to do. She swallowed thickly, her heart suddenly in her throat. "I'm sorr—" Her dismal excuse sounded so stupid in her head that it caught and died in her throat.
Draco closed the remaining feet between them and gently laid a finger across her lips. Looking down at her, he searched her face with gentle eyes—eyes void of any hurt or sadness. Shrugging his shoulders slightly, he shook his head as he looked deeply into her eyes. "I don't care," he softly replied.
Before she could respond, he leaned forward and replaced his finger with his lips—but this kiss was different than the rest. It was slow, soft, and sensual—not filled with desire and lust. Hermione's mind went blank, including all traces of her recent doubt.
Carefully, she wrapped her arms around his torso. His black cashmere sweater radiated his scent and felt like heaven under her fingers. Slowly, she traced her fingertips up and down his spine, feeling his muscles flex as he tenderly placed his hands on either side of her face. His tongue delicately traced her bottom lip and Hermione sighed against his mouth. Tightening her arms, she pulled him closer, longing and hungry for more.
Draco felt her insistency and gently pulled back from her grip. With a smile he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Patience, firecracker . . . I want to show you something first."
She shivered as he grabbed her hand. Slowly, he interlaced his fingers through hers and led her down the hall.
Abruptly, he stopped in front of a closed door. Taking out his wand, he quickly checked both ways down the hallway before he muttered at the door—Alohamora! The door slowly swung open. Putting his arm around Hermione's waist, he gently led her through the door.
Hermione leaned into his body. At first, she was so captivated by the feeling of his arm around her that she didn't register the room around her. But, as he took his arm from her to shut and relock the door, the room swarmed into focus and her breath caught in her throat.
The room was an unused classroom that had been magically transformed. Multiple blankets formed a luxurious looking bed in the middle of the floor. Plush pillows were piled atop a wine-colored velvet comforter. Various candles were lit around the makeshift bed, giving the room a relaxed and secure feeling in the dim light.
It wasn't as extravagant as her dream, but it was equally as beautiful.
From behind, Draco snaked his arms around Hermione's waist and then leaned his head into her neck. "Do you like it?" he breathed into her hair.
Hermione turned to face him, her eyes glistening. "It's perfect."
With a smile, Draco leaned forward and captured her lips once more. The kiss was much like the same—gentle and soft—but this time, his arms pulled her intently against his body.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she rose up on her toes and allowed him to pull her closer. His lips worked against hers, his tongue gently probing her mouth. Pulling back, he kissed down her jaw line. Hermione sighed against his neck as his mouth found her earlobe. He bit down gently, and she shuddered against his chest.
"Can I ask you something?" she breathed brokenly.
"Whatever you want . . . ." His face was buried in her hair as his gently tongued the depression behind her ear.
"Why me?" She shuddered again, suddenly very hot. "Why now?"
Draco straightened and faced her. He pondered her question for a brief moment, his eyes thoughtful. Finally, he looked at her directly and replied with a shrug. "I don't know."
It was a sincere answer and, at the moment, the only one Hermione needed to hear. Reaching out, she gripped his hand and pulled him toward the blankets in the middle of the room. He followed willingly and allowed her to pull him to a kneeling position beside her. She dropped his hand and took his face and placed her hands on either side of his face. Using her fingertips, she caressed his smooth skin. He stared back at her, his eyes the color of an approaching storm.
"I want this to be for you tonight . . ." his voice was husky. "I want it to be slow—but . . ."
Hermione cut off his words with her finger. "Shhh . . ." she smiled up at him. "Why don't we just let it happen?"
She devoured his lips again before he could answer. This time, some of the urgency came out as his lips moved against hers. His tongue thrust deeply into her mouth and she moaned as it tangled with hers.
Gripping his neck tightly, Hermione drew him closer. Leaning backward, she pulled him on top of her. His body weight heavily blanketed her causing extra heat to radiate through her thin sweater. Bringing her leg up, she wrapped it tightly around his waist. He moaned as her leg pulled his groin into her lap.
Breaking the kiss, he bit at her neck, sucking at the sensitive skin. Hermione twisted her hands into his hair, her breathing becoming irregular. Trailing one hand from her shoulders, he teasingly traced his fingertips down her sternum, and began palming her breast through her sweater.
Her fingernails dug into his back. She traced her hands down his back—the feeling of the cashmere exquisite beneath her fingertips—to the hem of his shirt. Slowly, she slid her palms up the bare skin of his back.
Sitting up on his knees between her legs, he looked down at her before taking the hem of her shirt between his fingertips. Hermione's hands traveled from his back to his flat stomach. Her fingers traced the contours of his muscles—her eyes a dark chocolate.
Draco pulled the material up from the waistband of her jeans, exposing her light colored flesh. Bending at the waist, he placed a gentle kiss just above her navel. His lips followed as the material ascended. They only stopped moving as they reached her breasts. Her nipples were firm and stuck through the material of her bra. Gently, he took one between his teeth.
Grabbing her shirt, Hermione pulled it over her head and threw it across the room. Her head fell back in pleasure as his mouth worked her hard buds.
His teeth gripped the material of her bra and pulled it down—exposing her darkened nipple. He ravaged it with his mouth and Hermione cried out. Instantly, she covered her mouth, her eyes wide.
"We're going . . . to get . . . caught . . . ." Her panting caused her sentence to break.
"I've already thought about that."
Draco once more grabbed his wand and waved it briefly around the room—Muffulo!
"Now we can be as loud as we want to."
Oh.
Hermione felt heat between her legs as he bent and sucked her nipple into his hot mouth again. Arching her back, she fumbled at the clasp of her bra. Finally, her fingers were able to unhook it and she slid the fabric from her body. Draco groaned against her skin before moving over to the other breast.
She could feel the cashmere of his sweater sweep across her naked torso. That was much better than under her hands. Yet, she longed to feel his skin against hers even more. Urgently, she tugged at his shirt, exposing the deep grooves of his stomach muscles. His mouth left her right breast for only enough time to allow for the shirt to pass over his face.
Twisting her hands into his perfect hair, she relished in the feeling of his skin on hers. It was ten times better than she had dreamt.
Writing under him, she once again wrapped her leg around him. His semi-hard erection pressed through his black pants and into her inner thigh. Wanting to feel every inch of him, she reached between her legs and gripped him.
In surprise, he bit down on her nipple—a little harder than intended.
Hermione gasped and her hand tightened involuntarily. Instantly, he hardened in her hand. Licking her lips she gently began to stroke him through the material. His head fell back, breaking the contact with her nipple. His breathing began to labor as his eyes fluttered shut. She continued to grip him, rubbing her hands up and down his length.
Suddenly, his hand reached down and gripped hers, halting her motions. When she looked up, he was looking down at her—his eyes an intense charcoal. "I already said that I want this to be about you tonight."
The muscles of her pussy spasmed with his words. Once again, she remembered her dream . . . and his skilled tongue. Tracing his fingers down her ribs, he unbuttoned her jeans. The zipper slid down easily. Then, in one smooth motion, he lifted her hips and pulled her jeans down her legs. Throwing them to the side, he looked down at her firm body, clad only in her underwear. She knew that she should feel self-conscious, but she could sense the pleasure that was to come. Wiggling her hips, she bit her lip—her eyes heavy lidded.
Draco smiled at her playfulness. Reaching down, he gripped her ankle and lifted it to his lips. His hands and lips ran up her smooth leg. Pausing at her knee, he used his tongue to lick at the sensitive skin behind the bend. He then used his nose to lead up her upper thigh.
Hermione felt her breath hitch in her throat as he neared the one spot she longed for him to touch. Lifting her hips, she urged him on.
Without warning, he bent and took her through her panties—mouthing her through the material. She moaned loudly, her head falling to the side. Rising up on her toes, she arched her back and rolled her toes—pressing herself deeper into his mouth.
Using his index finger, he pulled the material between her legs aside. Her mound was wet—dripping with anticipation—and he bent to taste her. His tongue parted her as he licked up her slit. At the top, he easily found her extended clitoris and flicked it lightly.
Her cry was animalistic and she spread her legs wider—allowing him easier access.
Holding her legs open with his shoulders, he sucked at her clit until she cried out again. He then surprised her by thrusting two fingers deep inside of her. Her walls clenched around his digits, and gloved them tightly. He growled and the vibrations tickled her enlarged bud. He quickened the pace of his fingers, and Hermione felt her release building. Bucking against his hand, she gasped as his long fingers hit the right spots deep within her.
Unexpectedly, he added a third finger. Arching her back, Hermione moaned his name as she was stretched. He skillfully bit gently on her clit—exactly what she needed. Her orgasm exploded through her body. Her eyes rolled back in her head as her muscles contracted tightly around his fingers. Gasping, she tried to catch her breath.
She was vaguely aware of Draco crawling from between her legs and up her body. His weight covered her once more and she felt his lips on hers. His tongue probed her mouth and she could taste herself on it.
She could also feel his now rock-hard erection straining through his pants. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she rocked her hips up into it and he hissed against her mouth. Reaching down, she groped at him once more. He bucked against her hand, pressing himself into her palm—hard. She blindly fumbled at his fly and zipper. Once she got his pants down to his thighs, he was able to kick them off.
"I need you . . . inside of me . . ." Hermione panted as she rocked her hips up into his again.
Hastily, Draco discarded his silk boxers—freeing his hardened length of flesh.
Hermione heard the cellophane of the condom wrapper, raised her head just as he sheathed himself, and gasped. He was much bigger than in her dream. Suddenly, she was terrified that it would hurt.
He reached down and ripped her thin, soaked panties from her hips.
Looking up at her, he took sight of her face and immediately froze. "Are you sure about this?"
Hermione realized that her inhibitions were plastered across her features and cursed herself silently. Swallowing, she forced a smile on her face. "Absolutely."
"I'll go slow," he promised. Leaning down his lips caressed her ear. "I'm not going to hurt you." It was a whisper that caused her to shudder.
"I know."
Using his hand, he lightly ran the blossoming head of his cock up and down her soaked slit. She could feel arousal burning through her veins once again as she felt the tip of his hardened rod press at her center. With gentle pressure, he pushed into her.
Allowing time for her to adjust to his thickness, Draco pulled out slightly before pushing himself deeper. She was dripping, but still sheathed his member tightly. She felt exquisite around him.
Pushing further, she cried out. He paused until she rocked her hips up into him, urging him deeper. Gritting his teeth, he plunged himself to the hilt. Hermione gasped and moaned as he pulled out. Then, starting a slow rhythm, he drove into her again.
Hermione lifted her hips to meet him, thrust for thrust. She moaned as his organ stroked her deep within her walls. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pulled him closer—holding him deeper.
His pace increased and she could feel the softness of the velvet under her back as he thrust into her. Lifting her hands over her head, she fisted the wine colored fabric. Her tits bounced on her chest with Draco's driving force.
Holding himself up on his arms, he watched as Hermione tossed her head on top of a pillow. Her hair splayed in a messy halo around her flushed face. Biting her lip—her eyes closed—she suddenly untwisted her fingers from the comforter and began palming at her breasts. Panting, she pulled at her nipples, twisting them between her fingers.
Draco felt a low growl form in his chest as he watched her pleasure herself. Grabbing her legs, he lifted them to his shoulders and plunged deeper, hitting new spots inside of her. She moaned loudly, and her hands fell from her breasts and twisted back into the material.
"Oh God . . . yes," she breathed. She began chanting his name, urging him on with each thrust.
Draco could feel that he was close to the edge, but he clenched his jaw and changed his speed.
"Draco . . . Draco . . . oh God . . . Draco . . . I'm gonna—" Her words were cut off by her panting. Draco watched as her face flushed a darker scarlet, her impending orgasm nearing. Grinding his teeth, he increased his velocity, plunging his entire length into her. Their skin smacked together, his balls bouncing heavily off of her ass.
With each thrust, her panting grew louder, and he felt the walls of her pussy constrict. Instantaneously, her body tightened and shuddered as she was rocked with another orgasm. He felt her muscles clench—milking him—and her eyes rolled in her head. Draco's jaw was tight as he continued to plunge deeply into her. Breathing heavily, he cried out gutturally as he finally let go and felt his own orgasm explode.
Panting, he fell on top of her. Her eyes closed, she trembled under his body. Gently, he wiped a drop of sweat from her forehead before gently running his fingertips along her face and neck. He could feel her breathing begin to stabilize.
Minutes passed and he felt her chest under his chest begin to rhythmically rise and fall as she was overtaken by sleep. Leaning down, he placed one last kiss on her jaw before he whispered in her ear:
"I thought you wouldn't show tonight . . . but I'm glad that you did."