His hand fisted in her hair, firmly pulling her hair back to expose the pale column of her throat. His movements were sure but not harsh and she gasped for breath as his lips trailed down her neck and he bit down at the cusp of her shoulder. She whimpered in pain but also pleasure when he then soothed his mark with his tongue, his free hand curving around her waist to pull her chest flush to his own.
She felt his lips pull into a grin against her skin, her reactions stroking his ego and her hands trailing down his chest to pull impatiently at his pajama pants. His smile vanished as he stuttered out a breath, her hand slipping into his clothes to grab him firmly and she looked up at him, confident at last.
Hermione groaned when the sun hit her eyes, throwing a hand over her face to shade herself. She was stretched haphazardly across her bed, with sheets still tucked in beneath her and her work robes still on. She sat up groggily, pushed her mane out of her face to wonder why she had slept so soundly when she had planned to work late into the evening.
She realized belatedly that it was an hour and a half later than she usually woke up and she shot out of bed, panicked. She stripped off her wrinkled clothes and threw on a new outfit, running out of her room and grabbing her shoes from beside the portrait hole and ran to her classroom, wand held in her teeth and books in her arms. She hated tardiness.
Her class was surely in disarray, Malfoy had spent the whole first week silent and she had never seen him focus in an academic setting, let alone think him capable of leading his own class. She agonized over what Minerva would think of her, sleeping in late and leaving a class full of impressionable students vulnerable to the irresponsibility and coldness of Draco Malfoy.
She burst in through the archway at the top of the stairs, looking over the balcony to see a surprising sight.
There, sat perfectly soundlessly and in order, was her class. They were all bent over their parchment, studiously writing while Draco sat at the desk in front, speaking softly to a Fourth Year female Hufflepuff.
"Good morning, Professor Granger." The girl greeted her happily before trotting back over to her desk and sitting down. Hermione smiled and took her seat beside Draco at the enlarged desk, turning her head and looking at him quizzically.
"I gave them time to write their first essay in class today. I know all of the other Professors are assigning essays this week as well, and few students do the summer reading, so I thought I'd give them a head start." He did not look up from his paperwork, but he was polite and to the point.
"Alright, that sounds very… considerate of you. The class seems to be going well though. I'm glad." Hermione felt off-kilter when she saw how smoothly the class was going, having expected him to be less capable than her when it came to teaching. She was simultaneously relieved that everything was fine, impressed with Draco, and sad that she was proven unnecessary.
"Well, not everyone wants to spend all of their nights working. Speaking of, how did your night go? I didn't hear you stumble in late last night, so I'm assuming you slept in your office?" He flipped to a new stack of papers, but his tone suggested he was actually interested in what she had to say.
"I actually fell asleep quite early. I don't really remember what happened, to be honest. I had planned to go over December's examination guides, iron them out, but I suppose I was more tired than I thought." Her brow furrowed as she tried and failed to remember the course of last night.
He smiled slightly at his desk, before fixing a neutral expression once more.
"Huh. Well, try not to fall asleep in the corridors."
Last night
Draco internally groaned when he overheard Hermione telling Luna how excited she was to be working with students in such an ambiguous subject matter. She explained enthusiastically that the opportunities for curriculum development were boundless and that she was going to be up late revising her exam plans for the winter. Draco rolled his eyes before turning back to his meal.
Not interested in hearing her fumble through their apartment half asleep late at night, he slipped his hand into his pocket. He settled on a sleep potion and waited until she was having her last cup of pumpkin juice before dinner ended. He poured it into her cup and saw that she drank the whole goblet.
He smiled secretly at her back as he followed her back to the portrait, thinking her swaying and sleepy giggles were quite endearing. Her pink toenails stood out against the pale grey stones of the hallway and he carried her shoes in his right hand.
He dropped them by the portrait where she always left them and made sure she got into her bed safely before retreating to his room with a book, content with the knowledge that he would be undisturbed for the rest of the evening.