Project Doom

Part IV

By: FortunaMinor

"Are you coming Wednesday night?" Hermione asked Draco as he was hunched over a sheaf of notes.

"What?" He was distracted, not by the notes, but by his thoughts. It had been three weeks since they'd kissed in her room and he'd been dwelling on it incessantly ever since; it hadn't been repeated, though he was aching to have it happen again.

Surprisingly, there had been little awkwardness between them—they'd gone about their project, sat together in class, and even had the occasional dinner together. The only noticeable difference was a sexual tension between them that most definitely hadn't been there before.

She did her best not to sigh impatiently—he had been distracted a lot lately, though the quality of his research and work remained up to scratch, so she couldn't say a word. Hermione had a feeling she knew what was troubling him…the same thing that had been troubling her since that afternoon three weeks ago. Never before, even in her wildest dreams, would she have believed being within arm's length of Draco Malfoy would send her blood thrumming through her veins; but it was truth—she couldn't deny her reaction to him.

"I asked if you were coming by Wednesday night? We're nearly set to begin drafting the report, and we've only got a week before we have to present it."

"I can't, I've got plans—it's Blaise's birthday." He didn't know why he'd felt compelled to tell her exactly where he'd be, and he felt more than a little silly for volunteering the information.

Hermione nodded; she didn't really need him there to begin work on their paper, she could start it just as easily without him. She gathered up her things and murmured her goodbye to the blonde wizard; he was already lost in thought and didn't hear her.

By Sunday evening, Hermione had finished the first draft of the article they would turn in. Normally, she would be a bit miffed at being the one responsible for the entire paper, but she found she couldn't blame Malfoy—he needed his space, and she needed to lose herself in her work.

Losing himself was something Draco Malfoy could relate to—he'd felt lost for three weeks and even as he was present for a Hogwarts reunion of sorts, he couldn't shake the haze that had settled about him.

When Daphne Greengrass sauntered up to him and twined her arm about his waist, Draco was hardly aware of her. "Pansy's told me you've been forced to partner Granger in Transfiguration, Draco. You poor thing," she cooed, "I know you must feel horrible having to spend so much time with her."

Draco gave Pansy a dark look, knowing perfectly well that she was trying to stir up trouble. Daphne Greengrass had fancied him for the better part of sixth and seventh year at Hogwarts—it appeared that little had changed on that front.

Choosing his words carefully, Draco spoke, slightly angry that most of the partygoers seemed overly interested in his response. "The term is nearly over and then I won't have Granger as my Transfigurations partner anymore."

Several people chortled, assuming that Draco would be glad to be rid of her. Pansy looked at him shrewdly even as Daphne pulled him off toward a more secluded area.

The dimly lit lounge she led him to gave Draco a remarkable amount of insight regarding her intentions; when she released his hand, Daphne pressed herself against him almost begging him to kiss her.

Draco, normal male that he is, was capable of spotting attractive witches—and, no mistake about it, Daphne was definitely attractive, but her overly forward manner was most unbecoming to Draco, who generally preferred a more subtle approach. When she leaned in to kiss him, he stepped back, nearly sending her sprawling forward. He left without another word; he didn't bother saying his goodbyes—once Daphne reappeared, furious and rejected, people would piece things together and realise he'd already gone.

Returning to his dormitory, Draco busied himself by pacing back and forth, silently ranting at himself for everything from his rude exit, to his unnecessarily cruel dismissal of Daphne, and then his avoidance of Hermione for the last week. He'd sat next to her in class, as was required, but other than the odd bit of notes, he hadn't done anything at all in working toward their project and the presentation of their findings.

He angrily tore off his robes and tossed them carelessly over his chair even as he continued to pace—he truly hadn't been this conflicted since…well, he couldn't rightly remember, but he knew he didn't like it at all. A glance at his wall clock revealed it to be nearly midnight—surely Hermione was already asleep.

Hermione had finished revising the very last section of their forty-four-page paper; though she wasn't one particularly inclined to boasting, she knew it was a damn fine piece of work. Storing their project in the bottom drawer of her desk—which she kept locked—Hermione gave a stretch and prepared for bed, washing her face, brushing her teeth and changing into a warm pair of flannel pyjamas. She couldn't believe that tomorrow would be the last day of term—she'd worked tirelessly all semester and it seemed odd that it would all end so abruptly. It would, though. In the morning, she would take her final examinations, and in the afternoon, she, along with Draco Malfoy, would present the result of their research and experimentation to their peers and professors. Yawning broadly and wondering if she would ever see Draco Malfoy again after tomorrow, Hermione slid into her bed.

She had extinguished the lamp mere seconds before her door flung open and Draco hurried in; her wand, which she had pointed directly at him, was dropped as she leapt from bed and stared at him incredulously.

"Malfoy, are you alright?" He fixed her with a pained gaze and she had her answer. It was obvious he wasn't. "What's wrong?"

He kissed her.

It wasn't the timid peck he'd given her three weeks ago; it was a kiss full of passion—of desperation and longing and Hermione gave in to it immediately. He cupped her face in his hands, quickly moving them to her shoulders and then her back and around her waist. She was pulled tightly against him and hardly aware when her legs bumped against the bed. In a move that was far bolder than she felt, Hermione scrambled up onto the bed, pulling him with her. She was fully reclined, with the blonde stretched out beside her; she was returning his kiss with equal fervour and Hermione forced herself not to jump when his hand found its way to the hem of her pyjama top.

When he'd slid his hand under it and began tracing lazy circles on the smooth skin of her abdomen she felt—well she wasn't exactly sure what it was—but she knew it wasn't enough. Her hands flew to the buttons of her top and she had unfastened the bottom three with relatively little trouble. Only the top two, the most important two, remained. It was then that she hesitated and Draco stilled, giving her a questioning glance. She nodded absently and watched as he removed his dress shirt with remarkable speed—Hermione ran her hands down his chest as he moved on top of her. Draco breaths were heavy, and turned erratic as her hand begun fumbling with his belt.

He batted her hand away, deftly unfastening the belt and the fly to his trousers as he moved in to kiss her roughly. He moved his lips to the side of her neck and, eventually, to the bit of her collarbone he could access while she was still in her pyjamas. Draco hoped she didn't notice the slight tremor in his hands as he moved to quickly rid her of the top; he'd taken care of the two remaining buttons and pushed the fabric aside so he would have an unimpeded view of her.

When Draco moved his hands to her breasts, she gasped at the new sensation. When he moved his mouth to caress them, she arched wantonly against him. He began running his finger across her hips, toying with the waistband of the sleep pants she was still wearing—she was rather impatient, for she raised her hips and wriggled out of them, tossing them carelessly to the floor.

Draco had never experienced arousal so fierce—he had nearly lost it when she'd removed her pants, leaving her naked beneath him. Hermione was moving against him and whimpering even as she tried to push his trousers past his hips; he aided her in this and was soon naked before her.

When he covered her body with his own and moved to kiss her, Hermione moaned as his erection brushed the apex of her thighs; Draco grew harder still when he heard her reaction. Sliding a hand between them, he began probing her wetness, growling lustily when he realised how tight she was around his fingers.

Hermione was having difficulty maintaining coherent thoughts, but the way his hand was moving against her told the young witch that coherent thought was probably overrated. She moved to sit up slightly, pausing to brush Draco's hand away from her centre before she kissed him and pulled him back with her.

Needing no further encouragement, Draco positioned himself at her entrance and began to enter her slowly, giving her body time to accommodate him. Draco barely noticed the bit of resistance he encountered as he pushed into her fully; he was so absorbed in the feeling of her pulsing around him, but Hermione's sharp gasp and the pressure of her nails on his shoulders confirmed what he had belatedly realised.

Doubt began to assail him at once—he would never have guessed that she was a virgin; in fact, he didn't know one Slytherin that had made it past sixth year without having had sex. He had just assumed the other houses operated in much the same manner. For seven years, she had been in constant contact with her two male best friends, and yet she had managed to remain pure.

Draco was immensely conflicted as she began to move experimentally beneath him. Most girls he knew hadn't been all that idealistic when it came to their first time, but the virgins he'd been with had at least alerted him to the fact. Now that he knew Hermione a bit better, and learning that she had been a virgin led him to believe she was the type of girl to want to wait until she was madly in love to do something important like…Draco refused to contemplate the implications of such a thing and even considered calling a halt to their situation, precarious as it was. Hermione pleaded with him to move and he complied; he was lost.

As Draco rolled off of a panting Hermione Granger, he'd never hated himself so much in his life. She immediately moved to nestle in beside him; he could see the emotions shining from her eyes, though he didn't know what they were…he wasn't sure he wanted to. He was, once again, glad he didn't have such expressive eyes.

He could tell she was falling asleep; her breathing had gone from ragged pants to slow, steady puffs of air on his chest. Draco wished she would fall asleep so he could slip out—he felt wretched, like the most despicable man alive. He was nearly desperate to escape and the thought disgusted him…Granger deserved better than that, but he couldn't give it to her. Eventually, he was confident that she was asleep; he carefully slid from the bed and collected his clothing, slipping into his trousers and leaving the shirt unbuttoned. Carrying his shoes and making sure he'd gathered all of his clothing, he moved to the door.

"Stay, Draco."

He turned slowly, reluctant to face her. Her voice was thick, though she was sitting up; the sheet covering her had slipped to her waist and the moonlight made her pale skin glow.

"I can't," he told her, his throat tighter than he would have liked.

She gave him a lopsided smile, "Of course you can, I don't mind." Draco was torn between desires—the desire to go to her and the desire to run like hell. Her soft voice startled him, "Draco?"

He swallowed thickly, "I can't, Granger."

She looked as if he'd slapped her, and he hated himself for putting that look on her face.

The silence between them was heavy and oppressive; her eyes had closed and a look of bitter comprehension was taking over her features. After a moment, she stood, pulling the sheet around her, and went to the locked drawer of her desk, mumbling the password and retrieving Draco's copy of their paper.

"The final revisions are complete. The list of questions Professor Trumbull wanted answered is on a separate sheet at the back."

Hermione's voice was composed, though Draco caught the tremor at the end. She handed the rather large stack of parchment to him and he took it, feeling foolish and despicable.

"Granger—"

"You can't even call me by my name," she said in an accusatory tone, though it was but a whisper.

"Hermione…" She snorted and turned her face from him; he could see the first tears sliding from beneath her lashes. She looked so vulnerable, the sheet clutched about her body, the moonlight causing her skin to glow and her tears to shimmer—tears that should never have been there. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she asked stonily, not turning to look at him.

"For taking something that shouldn't have been mine."

"I gave it."

The broken tone of her whispered statement cut through him as if she were wielding a knife. Her gaze had dropped to the floor and he could tell that she was commanding herself not to shed another tear.

"Why?"

The question reverberated in the air between them, "Because it felt right. Because I was naïve enough to think…" she swallowed forcefully. "It doesn't matter why."

"You were better off hating me," Draco told her sadly. "If you don't hate me now, you will."

"Hate you?" She looked up, tearful brown eyes meeting pained grey ones, "Draco, I don't hate you, I—"

"Don't," he said more sharply than he intended. "Don't, Hermione. I can't."

"You can't what?" she demanded as she stepped in front of him.

"I just can't!" She kissed him, much like the first time she had—it was so intense that it made his chest sting and ache with awareness. When he regained his faculties, Draco pushed her back. "I can't," he pleaded. "Please understand."

Her eyes were squeezed tightly, "Get out, Malfoy."

"Hermione—"

"I'm Granger to you, I always have been and I always will be. Get out."

Her voice was ice cold and he did not hesitate to do exactly as she'd said.