Hansy lemon coming up

Sweat ran in a trickle down Harry's back. He was fucking Pansy at a punishing pace – and she was still begging for more. She'd suck out his soul out if he wasn't careful.

At her request, or rather, demand, he lashed her wrists to one of her bedposts, above her head, with his tie. As she gripped the post, he stood behind her, grabbed her hips, and sunk his cock inside her. He fucked her hard, revelling in her breathless moans, the trickle of moisture that crept down her thighs.

Harry gripped her hair and pulled her head back. 'You like being tied up?' he grunted. 'You surprise me.'

Her eyes were closed, her mouth open as she gasped for air. 'I need more,' she begged.

'Selfish bitch,' he hissed. 'I can't give you any more.'

'Fuck my arse,' she moaned.

'You're serious,' he said, stopping.

'I've done it before, I need it! just do it!'

Harry sneered. 'No.' He pulled out from her and walked lazily around the bed. He sat on the bed in front of her murderous eyes, his legs spread, gripping his slick erection. 'Not unless you ask nicely.'

Enraged, she tried to loosen her bonds – but in vain. 'You're a fucking bastard, Harry Potter!' she spat.

He smirked. 'That's not going to get you untied any quicker.'

At her shriek of frustration, he added 'Nor will it get you a cock in your arse faster.'

She stopped, breathing hard, her hair in her face. She looked at him, and Harry could almost see her physically tamp down her rage. In a small voice, she said 'Please, Harry? I want your cock so badly.'

He considered her performance. 'What was that first word again? I didn't quite catch it.'

She closed her eyes, opened them, took a deep breath and said 'Please, Harry,' in a stronger voice that also contained an edge.

He reached towards her and gripped her chin hard. 'What was that word?' he hissed.

'Please!'

'What?'

'Please!' she shrieked.

He kissed her roughly, pulling away as she started to react. 'That's better.'

He sauntered back to her, accio-ing her lubricant. He squeezed some onto a finger, and sank it into her anus. Soon after, he added a second finger, probing her arse, preparing it for him.

'Is this what you want, Princess?' he bit out.

'Please, Harry, put your cock inside my pussy,' she begged softly.

He stroked himself hard again, and entered her in one strong surge. She wailed in desire.

'Like this?' he asked, stroking in and out of her pussy, while his fingers did the same with her arse.

'Yes!' She bucked up against him. Her own skin was also slick with sweat. Harry found it hard to grip her.

'Please, Harry, fuck my arse now…'

'Hmm…' he pretended to consider. 'I think you should come first. Bathe my cock in your come. Then I'll sink my wet cock into your arse, and fuck you until you scream.' He picked up his pace. 'Hmm? Fancy that, sweetheart?'

It was, of course, a bluff. Harry wasn't wet behind the ears when it came to sex. He knew what a girl's pussy felt like when she came, and Pansy's was lifeless by comparison. He let her fake it. He didn't love her. Didn't even like her now. After her constant refusals for their relationship to go public, the closest phrase he could use to describe their relationship was 'fuck buddies.' With more emphasis on the 'fuck' than the 'buddy.'

Of course, with her hands tied to the bedpost and the possibility of anal sex so near, Pansy didn't want to chance anything. Behind her, his lip curled as she put on her practiced pants and moans. He let her perform for about a minute before he told her not to bother, pulled his cock out, applied lube, and surged into her arse.

The change in Pansy was electric. Her spine bowed and she flung her head back and wailed in ecstasy, making Harry hope her silencing charm for the room was strong enough. The tight muscles of her arse gripped his cock hard, and he revelled in the sensation. He sped up, hardly caring what Pansy wanted. He, personally, wanted to come – and then go.

'Oh gods oh gods oh gods please please please,' moaned Pansy over and over, sometimes to herself; sometimes to Harry.

'So this is what you really like, is it, Parkinson?' Harry asked. 'Don't tell me you're going to come for real with me in your arse.'

'Fuck you!' she nearly sobbed, bracing her arms against the bedpost against Harry's furious thrusts.

'You already are!' he sneered.

He could feel his orgasm approaching. He leaned over her, and whispered in her ear, taunting: 'I'm going to come in your arse, Parksinson. Gonna fill your dirty, naughty arse all the way up. You gonna come too, honey?' He gripped her mons with his palm and stroked his fingers roughly over her clitoris.

'Omigod,' she begged, tears streaming down her face, 'just a little more, please, Harry!'

He was running out of time, but what the hey. He plunged three fingers into her pussy, pushing against her g-spot. He could feel his cock pistoning in and out of her arse through the membrane dividing the two channels. It felt so fucking good –

'Gods!' Harry roared as he came, spilling inside her.

By some miracle, Pansy orgasmed too, gushing over his fingers.

He felt empty as he pulled out of her. Empty inside. He untied her and conducted cleansing charms, even though he felt the desperate need to stand under a hot shower and scrub himself raw.

Pansy, however, was a very happy witch. She stretched luxuriously on her bed, shaking her arms to bring the circulation back into them. She turned onto her side and watched Harry as he dressed. 'Now that was very enjoyable,' she purred.

'Yeah.' He couldn't deny it. He did come, after all. But the good old missionary position is also enjoyable, too. And sometimes he didn't feel like pretending to be a sexual predator just to get her off.

Still, she was in a good mood, so he thought he'd ask her the questions that had been bothering him since Draco's assault. The questions he'd meant to ask when he entered her room, except she literally pounced on him and figuratively ripped his clothes off. 'What do you know about Zabini and Ron's assault on Malfoy?'

She raised both delicate eyebrows. 'Subtle change of subject,' she noted.

Harry waited.

Her eyes widened. 'Why would I be expected to know anything?' she asked, all innocence. 'It's nothing to do with me, I assure you.'

'Isn't Malfoy your friend?'

An eyelid flickered.

'Of course. It was such a shock to see him hurt.'

'So it wasn't you that wrote the letters to Ron and Zabini?'

Pansy itched to hex Harry's arrogant arse for his presumption, but he was too good a lover to piss off. So she packed away her rage and replied 'I don't know what you're talking about, Harry. Truly I don't.'

They stared at each other. Narrowed eyes against wide eyes.

'I have to go,' he said neutrally. He leaned over and pecked her softly on the lips. 'See you later.'

'Bye, Harry,' she replied with a smouldering smile and gritted teeth.

Hermione sat on the window seat in her bedroom, holding a letter. It was postmarked 'Durmstrang.'

She received it at breakfast this morning, albeit with a degree of trepidation. Nothing the owls brought seemed to be good these days.

It could have been from Draco.

She was irritated for feeling disappointed when it wasn't.

He'd kept away from her. She respected that. She supposed. He'd moved to another part of the classroom when they had shared lessons. But she could almost physically feel his presence. It didn't matter where he sat. In her weaker moments, when she would give in to herself and look for him, he would be watching her, hungrily. But when their eyes met, desolation would cloud his, and he would look away.

When Hermione recognised the letter's postmark at breakfast, she hid it in her books, lest Ron notice it and launch another temper tantrum. When he found out that Ginny had left Hogwarts to go to Durmstrang, not home in disgrace as he presumed, he very nearly hit the roof. Which, in a castle with lots of high ceilings, is a pretty impressive effort on Ron's part, when done without a broom.

Harry had to make up some bollocks (at least Hermione presumed it was bollocks) about how awful the conditions were at the school, which mollified him somewhat.

She looked at the envelope again. She knew the handwriting as well as she did her own.

Pesky tears formed in her eyes again. They were never far away, now.

She supposed she had every right to burn the letter unread. She was the wronged party. But Hermione was made from sterner stuff than that. Grudges achieved nothing. Not that she could convince Ron of that. If Ginny had taken the time to write, she should at least take the time to read.

She opened the envelope and pulled out the enclosed parchment. With shaking fingers, she opened it.

It was a bit of a mess, even by Ginny's standards, who approached her penmanship like she did a Quidditch game: boldly, quickly and violently. In amidst the ink spots and crossed-out words, Hermione recognised clear blotches that made the ink run together. Tears.

Hermione,

I am so sorry.

I thought I'd write it at the top of the letter, so if you throw it away without reading the rest, at least I got to apologise, even if it was the coward's way.

I hope you're still reading this, though, because I want to tell you what happened. At least, what happened that I know about. Not so that I can blame someone else or excuse myself, gods, no. But you always want to know the facts of everything before making a decision. That's one of the many, many reasons why I came to you.

Used to come to you.

You'll remember that I spoke to you about my frustrations with Blaise. You suggested that I speak to Parkinson. Well, the night of the Ball, I plucked up my courage and spoke to her.

She was lovely, and sympathetic about my situation. And she recommended a solution, which, with the clarity of hindsight I now see was the stupidest idea in the world. She said I should approach Blaise with experience as a lover, because he was very cautious about virgins.

And she recommended Draco as a tutor.

He approached me later that night, and said he would be happy to oblige.

I didn't trust him, of course. At the start. But as I got to know him – in the non-sexual sense – I began to like him. As a friend. As someone to talk to about Quidditch. That's all. We never loved each other.

This is hard for me to write, but I know it must be more difficult for you to read. He taught me things that involved one or both of us being naked. I learned things where we touched each other intimately. But he was always the tutor, and I was always the student.

We never had sex. But I confess that I wanted to, only so that I could be with Blaise. In fact, we were going to do it. But on the day, Draco told me that he couldn't continue our lessons anymore. He said he'd fallen in love with someone, and that he'd had enough of being a man-slag. He wanted to be true to her. He didn't tell me who she was. Just that she was someone he didn't deserve. But he hoped she would make him a good man.

I'm so sorry, Hermione. I didn't know he'd fallen in love with you.

But knowing you as I do, and knowing Draco, I could kick myself for not making the connection. You and he are perfect for each other.

Please, please, forgive him.

When I saw him in the Infirmary before I left, he looked awful. I think he needs you. Badly.

Those letters to Ron and Blaise? They had to be written by someone who knew everything. I'm positive Draco didn't write them. The only person that I'm aware of who knew what was happening was Pansy.

If it was her, please watch out, Hermione. She's evil, even by Slytherin standards.

I'll write to Blaise, one day. I'm rather scared to, right now. I must have humiliated him so badly.

And Ron can stick his broom up his arse.

When Pansy suggested that I go to Draco, I wish to Merlin that I'd asked your advice first. I'll never forgive myself for not doing it.

I have no right to ask. But if you can - please forgive me, Hermione. I miss you so much.

G

Hermione laid the letter carefully on the window seat. She took her wand and cast a silencing charm on her room with words that wobbled with unshed tears.

Then she put the wand down, curled into herself, and sobbed.

When she'd cried herself out and her eyes were so puffy she could barely see, she snuck off to the bathroom and splashed cold water over her face.

Back in her bedroom, she resumed her place on the window seat and set her brain into motion. There were a couple of things in Ginny's letter that made her blink.

The night, or rather, the morning she went to Draco in the dungeons, he stopped short of having sex with her. She recalled him saying that he wanted more time with her when they connected for the first time.

Was that really the reason?

Or did he stop so that he could end the lessons with Ginny before he committed to her?

They weren't together before that morning. Draco could be with who he wanted. Okay, he didn't tell her about his sex lessons with Ginny, the cowardly wanker. That's poor form, to put it mildly.

Also, he must have had feelings for her before then. He couldn't have fallen in love with her in a matter of seconds.

…

Another thing:

Ginny said Draco was in the Infirmary.

Professor McGonagall didn't want her working there, only just lifting the ban very recently.

Was she kept from the Infirmary so she couldn't see Draco?

Why?

Because he was injured. And they'd had a very public falling-out earlier that morning.

How did he injure himself?

No.

Who injured him?

She didn't need a Nobel Prize to figure that one out.

He seemed okay now. She'd watched him walk to and from class, to and from the Great Hall. Maybe too much. He wasn't limping. She couldn't see any scars or bruises. He just looks like how she felt.

So he's okay, physically.

Right?

…

The letters.

The letters that sent this happy, albeit precarious, house of cards crashing down.

Ginny was right. Draco wouldn't have written them. He wouldn't have brought all this grief upon himself, let alone everyone else. If there was one thing she could swear by, it was his sense of self-preservation.

Pansy seemed the ideal culprit. Unless there was another party involved that Ginny didn't know about.

Assuming it was Pansy. Why would she do that?

What would she gain?

It was there that Hermione's magnificent brain ground to a halt.

She should write back to Ginny.

She should talk to Draco.

She was absolutely knackered.

'You are out of your tiny, ever-loving mind!'

Draco sighed. 'What other choice do I have?'

Theo sputtered, and sped up his agitated pacing around Draco's bedroom. 'Choice? Bloody hell. Did Robards scan you for brain damage? You have lots of choices. Tell Snape, for one. Tell Dumbledore, for two.'

'Will you stop pacing, for Merlin's sake? You're giving me a headache.'

Theo sighed, then flung himself onto Draco's bed, next to his friend. 'Why won't you tell the professors?'

Draco stared up at his canopy. 'Because it won't end. Zabini and the Weasel will end up becoming more resentful for getting punished for something they hadn't done yet, something that might get their rage out of their system. They could come up with something more deceitful, more deadly, later on.'

'Makes sense,' Theo admitted. 'If that's the real reason.'

Draco looked at him, irritated. 'What do you mean?'

Theo leaned on his side, and looked at Draco seriously. Softly, he said 'I think you're doing this because Granger's left you and you don't give a shit about anything anymore.'

Draco was silent.

'Draco.'

Nothing.

Theo sighed. He changed tack. 'What if they use Unforgiveable curses?'

More bloody silence.

'What if they try to kill you?'

Draco moved his head in Theo's direction. 'Do you really think they're that stupid? Oh, wait. The Weasel's involved.'

'Yes, and he has a psychotic temper! Yet you want to duel him.'

'Well, I'd rather not, but I have no choice! And I have no desire to have another circular conversation about this, Theo.'

'Fine.'

They lapsed into silence.

'Theo?' Draco's voice was unsure.

'Yeah?'

'Will you be my second?'

Theo's hand sought Draco's and held it. 'Of course I will.'

'Are you going to tell Brown?'

Theo grimaced. 'She's not a fan of yours,' he hedged.

Draco smirked.

'This is the last time I'm lying for you,' Theo warned.

Draco squeezed Theo's hand. 'Cheers, mate.'

Draco was slouching at the back of Transfiguration class, his mind on anything but what the venerable Gryffindor Head was espousing. So the paper bird that landed on his desk came as a bit of a surprise.

He glanced over the heads of the other students at Hermione. She was sitting up straight, diligently noting down every Professor McGonagall said.

With trembling fingers, he unfolded the note.

D -

I would like to talk. I hope that you do, too.

Please meet me in the Astronomy tower at 5pm this afternoon.

H.

As he carefully refolded the note into its original setting, he felt a slow warmth curl around his heart.

It was hope.

He thought it had gone for good.

He was there first, of course. Stupidly thinking it would help speed up time, somehow. But it just crawled. The cold didn't help, either. He adjusted his scarf and flexed his gloved hands.

But she came. He smelled her before he heard her. Her shampoo. Her favourite perfume. Her skin. It combined to create a scent unlike anything else.

He turned away from the platform railings. 'Hi.'

She nodded. 'Hi.' She looked over his shoulder at the desolate autumn countryside. 'I should have picked a warmer place to talk,' she admitted. 'Sorry.'

He quirked his lips. 'We won't have any eavesdroppers, at least.'

'True.'

They searched around the floor for an area where the cold and wind didn't cut like a knife through the open-air turret. They ended up sitting side by side against a sheltered wall.

There was an awkward silence to start with. Draco would have loved to have filled it, but he wasn't sure how she would respond to 'I love you, please take me back, I can't live without you and I'm going to do one of the stupidest things in my life tomorrow unless you help me find a way out of it.'

Anyway, Hermione cleared her throat. 'As I invited you, I should start.'

She couldn't quite look at him yet, so she concentrated on a crack in the floor. 'I should have given you the opportunity to explain. But I was too… anyway. I'm ready to listen to you. Am I too late?'

He ached to hold her. He had to grip his hands together to stop himself.

'No, no, of course not.' He paused, and thought.

'Being with Ginny was so typical of what I used to do before I was with you. I was selfish, self-serving, in pursuit of a cheap thrill at someone else's expense. I don't know what you consider 'cheating' to be in this sense, but I promise I didn't have sex her with her. When you and I spent our first night together in the dungeons, I had to end the lessons with Ginny before I could be with you completely. I couldn't play around with her and make love to you.'

He faltered, and stopped.

'I don't think you cheated,' Hermione said softly. 'I remember well what you were like before. If you didn't care about me, you would have slept with both of us.'

This sounded perversely hopeful, thought Draco. But she didn't sound overjoyed.

'You know, I'm a bit envious of Ginny,' she said vaguely.

Draco blinked. 'How could you possibly be?'

Her cheeks turned pink. 'I was a novice at sex. So was she. You taught her lots of things. How to be good in bed. I wondered' – she swallowed – 'if my inexperience was a nuisance for you. I mean, all the girls you've been with before' –

'Stop,' Draco whispered desperately, and before he knew he was he was doing, he pulled her into his arms.

Before Hermione knew what she was doing, she let him.

He buried his face in her hair, closing his eyes in desperate happiness. Knowing how fleeting it could be. 'You were perfect, love. There was no other way I wanted you to be. If you wanted to try something new out, you only had to ask.'

He sighed. 'You only have to ask.'

Hermione let herself breathe in Draco's scent. She'd no idea how much she missed it until now.

But –

'You were intimate with my best friend,' she murmured. 'I accept that technically it was before we got together. But it was a hell of a secret to keep from me.'

'I know.' He shuddered, and looked out at the rapidly sinking sun. 'I think I was too scared of losing you. There was really no innocent explanation for what I'd been doing with her.'

They lapsed into silence.

'When did you fall in love with me?' she blurted.

Draco leaned his head back against the wall. 'When you had the migraine I knew that I cared more about you than I thought,' he said. 'The gods-honest truth is that I'd been trying to seduce you all year. Like you just were any other girl. But when I saw you in such agony, I realised I'd been fooling myself. I didn't just want your body. I wanted all of you.' He sighed; a shuddering breath. 'But I didn't deserve you.'

'Yet you did all of those things for me.'

He shrugged. 'I still loved you, all the same.'

I won't cry! Hermione told herself fiercely. I won't!

'I'm so sorry, Hermione,' he whispered, before his throat closed up.

Eventually, she pulled away from him. She looked at him closely for the first time. He looked ill. He'd lost weight. His nose and cheekbones contrasted sharply with his hollow cheeks.

'What happened?' she asked. 'Why were you in the Infirmary?'

With a start, he remembered that she'd left the Great Hall before Blaise and the Weasel set on him. He opened his mouth.

'And don't lie to me.'

Bloody hell, how does she do that?

'Blaise and the Weas' – he coughed. 'Weasley were upset about Ginny.'

She narrowed her eyes. 'How upset?'

Well.

'Kind of upset.'

So in man language, they beat the living shit out of him. Both of them. And then I kissed one of them! Her lip curled at the thought.

Time for another subject change. 'Draco,' she asked carefully, 'is Parkinson mixed up in this somehow?'

Next to her, she felt every muscle in his body tense.

'I think she wrote the letters,' she volunteered.

He nodded shortly. 'Me too.'

'Why?'

If it brought Hermione back to him, Draco would sing from the rooftops. He was already just about on top of one, anyway. 'To get revenge against Zabini from dumping her. Believe it or not.'

'Gods, she's a piece of work.' Hermione sat up straight. 'What are we going to do about her?'

'What? No, wait!' Draco grabbed her arm, alarmed. 'I've got it in hand. Trust me. It will all be resolved shortly.'

Hermione peered at him suspiciously. 'Do you swear?'

He nodded. 'I swear.'

She noticed his faraway look. 'You're not going to tell me how, are you? she asked sadly.

'I won't let this treachery affect you any more,' he gritted. 'I just want it over. Sorted. And then maybe…' he trailed off, glancing at her.

'Draco…' her voice cracked. She tried again. 'I'm glad we had this talk.'

There was a 'but' coming; he could feel it.

'I accept what you've told me. But the biggest problem is…' A tear slid down her face. 'I don't know if I can trust you anymore.'

The pain hit him right in his chest.

'Understandable,' he managed to whisper. 'Are we… are we over, then?'

'N-no.'

His heart lurched.

'I don't know,' she amended.

It see-sawed back into place.

Still. It didn't plunge to the bottom of a mine shaft, as he expected.

'I need some more time to think,' she confessed. 'Sounds horribly clichéd, I know, but it fits.'

He climbed up, and held out his hand to help her up, too. When they stood together, he took both her hands in his.

'Take all the time you need,' he said. He grinned crookedly. 'Another cliché.'

She smiled wanly. 'I miss our talks.'

'Me too.'

Impulsively, she hugged him; a brief, but hard one. 'I'll let you know what I've decided.'

'Of course,' he whispered in her ear.

She stepped back from him; then turned and walked away.

He stayed where he was.

He was on his own.

A/N: It sounds bleak at the moment, but I repeat my promise that there will be a happy ending. For Dramione, at least. Not everyone can get off scot-free, right?