Author's Note: Happy Birthday Draco! This is just some fluffy Quidditch smut with a bit of plot for our favourite blond's birthday. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Harry Potter franchise; no copyright infringement is intended.

"Are you ready?" His lips pulled into a smirk. "I don't know if you're ready."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, flashing with heat. "Of course I'm ready. You don't need to be dramatic about it."

In a flash, he tossed the Quaffle at her. Surprise flitted across her face in the instant before she raised her hands to protect her face, and the Quaffle bounced harmlessly off her arms and to the grass at her feet.

Draco released a facetious sigh. "I thought you said you were ready."

"That's not"―she scowled, spluttering―"you can't just―"

"Broom." Swinging one leg over his own broom, Draco launched from the ground before Hermione could fire the ball back at him. Unbidden, a grin tugged at his lips when she mounted her broom a little clumsily and pushed off from the ground, the Quaffle tucked under her arm.

In all fairness, she'd come a long way since their first lesson a month ago when she had been too afraid to even fly on her own above a certain speed. And if it meant they'd needed more lessons in flying basics prior to her actual Quidditch lessons, Draco didn't mind. Any excuse to spend more time with her was a win, in Draco's book, and her arse looked fantastic in Quidditch gear.

Never mind the way her need to excel at everything she tried always left him a little hot around the collar.

When she had approached him to request he teach her to play Quidditch, he had agreed almost instantly. His ego appreciated that she'd asked him rather than Potter―and even though the rocky relationship between them had drifted towards something more amiable over the years, they weren't quite friends.

Despite Draco's often intrusive thoughts that he might like them to be more.

At last, Hermione made a spiralling ascent to join him near the hoops. Squinting into the sun, he folded his arms. "Chase or keep first?"

She tossed the Quaffle at him, a little too high, and Draco reached up to snatch it one-handed from the sky before it could fall. By the way her eyes tightened, he could tell she was still annoyed with him.

It was absolutely a wonderful way to spend an afternoon.

"I'll keep first," she clipped.

Draco threw the Quaffle high over his head and caught it. "Okay, but remember not to favour your right side this time. Any chaser worth their salt will consistently target your left flank and it's game over. No seeker can save you from the opposing team's chasers when you're only protecting two hoops."

Hermione scoffed, and he half expected her to snap back with something derisive. Her eyes drifted to land on his, all molten chocolate in the warmth of the sunlight, and begrudgingly, she bit out, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he breathed with a smirk.

Causing her to roll her eyes was his specialty―and she didn't disappoint.

Merlin, he was in trouble.

Once Hermione had situated herself in front of the hoops―significantly lower at the community field than they were in any professional pitch―Draco assessed her stance. She still hovered a little far to one side of the centre hoop, and she didn't yet have the mid-air dexterity to make up for it, but he would go easy on her for now.

Fixing his goggles into place, he ducked low on the broom and began to fly.

Although he had played as seeker for the Slytherin team growing up, he had always loved chasing―the rush of the formation, the thrill of making the goal, the feel of the wind racing through his hair.

It would be simple enough to score―he could see the exact opening, despite her best efforts―but he saw the flicker of panic on her face as he approached, and slowed. Just enough to give her time to react, but not so much as to give up the opportunity.

She countered his attack well, all things considered, but he dodged, rolled, and tossed the Quaffle through the hoop.

After he'd retrieved the ball, he flew back to her side and lifted his goggles to rest on his windblown hair. "Nice try. You almost had it."

"I did not," she scoffed, but despite the animosity in her tone, he could see the wheels turning in her head. "I responded too slow."

"If you hadn't, then I would have countered and gone around the other side."

Expression fixed with concentration, she nodded; then she flew back to the hoops. "Fine, then. Go again."

A slow grin dragged across his face.

Although Draco had expected Hermione to get frustrated and give up an hour ago, she kept on. And every time he slipped by her to score a goal, her eyes tightened with consideration, as though she were assessing where she had gone wrong or how he had managed to score, before the next attempt.

It was so bloody hot.

Draco was secure enough in himself to admit that he might have had a thing brewing for Hermione Granger for a while now, but getting to know her better during their Quidditch lessons would definitely be the end of him.

And he couldn't even complain.

The first time she managed to correctly read his intent and block his shot, he thought he might have simply melted, confessed his love, or something similarly embarrassing.

There was something about a woman in command of a broomstick. He smirked at the thought.

Blast it all that she only saw him as an acquaintance. Possibly a friend.

At last, she flew towards him, eyes catching on his, and she reached for the Quaffle. Her gloved fingers grazed his―by accident he was certain, despite that his heart leapt all the same―and he offered her a grin.

"I think I'd like to try," she said, her voice soft but with a teasing note that caused heat to flare below his skin. "And don't go easy on me, please."

Draco swallowed. "I wouldn't dare."

Clutching the Quaffle to her chest, Hermione stared at him a moment longer, her broom hovering alongside his. He thought she might say something, his breaths falling shallow from her distracting proximity. Her knee nudged against his own as her broom shifted.

"Thanks," she said at last. "For teaching me all of this. I can only imagine you have better things to do with your time than to teach me to play Quidditch."

He didn't. Not even remotely. But he offered a flippant shrug and drawled, "I don't mind. You know I enjoy Quidditch." Curiosity tugged at him all the same, and he added, "Why do you want to learn so badly, anyway?"

An uneasy smile played about her lips, and she released a bit of a self-deprecating titter. "You'll laugh."

"Try me."

Her broom drifted a little closer again, heavily-lidded eyes landing on his. "I suppose I was tired of always being the one on the sidelines. And... well, it's silly, but there's this man. And I thought if I knew more about Quidditch, maybe I'd catch his eye."

All at once, Draco felt as though he'd been doused in a pail of cold water. His chest stung.

"Of course," he managed, smirking. "And you're right―that is funny. No man worthy of you wants you to change any part of yourself to gain his favour."

The skin between her brows knit, dark eyes blinking at him several times. She pursed her lips. "Draco, that's... surprisingly considerate of you. I appreciate that."

He found himself momentarily lost in her eyes, even as every part of him wanted to fly off and lick his wounds. He drew in a breath and blew it out. Of course it would surprise her to learn he wasn't a complete arse. Not all the time, at least.

"Anyway," she went on quietly, "I suppose in the end I've just come to enjoy it."

"For the best, then," Draco quipped, feeling as though his smirk was stuck on his face despite that he felt no amusement. "And I'm sure your bloke will be thrilled. At any rate―have at it."

Before she could say anything else, he flew off towards the hoops. Suddenly, he wasn't having quite as much fun.

He had committed to teaching her, and he didn't intend to back out, but somehow knowing he was helping her to snag someone else left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He should have suspected as much.

Anyone with eyes and an understanding of the situation between them knew he would never be deserving of her. He knew better than to allow his own personal feelings into the matter―than to hope―but there had been a small part of himself that thought there might have been an ember of something between them.

From a distance, Draco could see Hermione hovering with the Quaffle, assessing his protection of the hoops. Her biggest weakness both as a keeper and a chaser was her clunky mobility on a broom, but the only way for that to improve was through practice and growing more comfortable with flying.

She had already come along further than he'd anticipated.

Although at the moment, he didn't feel quite as charitable in offering up his time knowing she was doing it for someone else―but they were still close enough to friends at the end of the day that he would see it through.

When she began to fly, he affixed his focus on her form, unwilling to underestimate her abilities. His eyes darted, searching for a hint as to her trajectory, and when she swerved at the last second he caught the tell.

Draco cut her off, and he could see, just briefly, the flash of irritation in her stare.

She retreated, doubling back around and looking for an angle.

"Nice try, Granger!" he shouted. It was always fun to tease her, just a little. She was as competitive as him, if not more so, and it made for enjoyable banter.

She scowled at him from partway down the field, the set of her shoulders tensing. "You won't be so cocky when I get by you."

He eased back on his broom, rolling his neck side to side. "Alright. I'll wait." Although he couldn't hear her, he could imagine the unfriendly thoughts leaving her mouth. He waved a flippant hand at the hoops. "Whenever you're ready."

Hermione sank low on the broom, gaze fixed on him, and she began to fly.

It wouldn't do to allow her by him now, so with a smirk tugging at his lips, he ducked back into defense.

It took close to half an hour, the air between them growing steadily more stifled, before she finally managed to score against him. He darted after the Quaffle in the wake of her surprise, catching it before it fell to the ground, and flew back over to her.

He met her eyes, offered a smirk, and drawled, "Fluke. Do it again."

Hermione gaped at him, dragging her goggles up to her brow. "It was not a fluke! That goal was the result of time, persistent effort, no small amount of reading your movements―"

"Do it," he breathed, pushing the Quaffle into her chest, "again."

For a long moment, she only stared at him, eyes narrowed. Then she clapped her hands to either side of the ball, fingers grazing his, but he didn't immediately let go. Her foot nudged his own.

"You're never going to admit I'm getting better, are you?"

Draco allowed himself to indulge in the tension crackling in the air between them, the taunting note beneath her voice. The warmth of the adrenaline racing through him at her proximity. Then he smirked. "Of course you're doing better. I wouldn't push you if I didn't think you could handle it."

He could still feel her gloved fingers beneath his own, but she made no move to pull away, either. He longed to feel her bare skin.

Suddenly, her words from earlier swept back in, and the smile fell from his lips. "So who is he?" he found himself asking. Almost instantly, he cursed his own inquisitiveness, when he didn't want to know―didn't care to know―who it was that had caught her eye. It probably wasn't even anyone he knew.

But Granger blinked at him, startled. "Who is who?"

"Your Quidditch fellow," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "The one that you're just so desperate to impress―"

"I never said I was desperate," she retorted hotly, eyes flashing. "And you certainly don't need to be rude about it!"

Draco scoffed, feeling the ugly roil of jealousy build in his chest. "I'm only saying, Granger, that you shouldn't feel like you need to―"

"I don't need to do anything." She scowled at him, her cheeks flushed, but beneath her anger, he caught a hint of uncertainty. "I only thought it might be nice―honestly, forget it. I suppose it doesn't matter anyway, because it isn't going to make a difference."

He flinched at the sudden desolation in her tone. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she huffed, pursing her lips, "that he's never going to see me in that way."

"Then he's an idiot."

The words fell from his lips, unbidden, and Draco felt searing warmth claw up his throat and into his face. It was too much to hope that she hadn't heard him, when her eyes went wide, lips parting in surprise.

He thought she might tease him, ridicule him, maybe scoff in disgust and leave. But her fingers grazed his own again, and she tore the Quaffle free. For a strange, fleeting instant, she looked as though she might cry.

Then she whispered, "You, Draco, are an idiot."

Before he could make sense of the comment, or ever discern the emotion in her face, she threw the Quaffle at him and flew off.

Caught off guard by her words, he let the Quaffle hit him in the shoulder, and it tumbled to the ground far below in a scarlet blur. He watched her fly off, a furrow knitting the skin between his brows in confusion. But still, his heart leapt at the veiled sentiment.

Surely not.

Then he flew after her.

She made a steady descent towards the locker rooms, and Draco gained on her rapidly―but when she saw him following her, she picked up speed, racing to the ground as though to escape him.

He doubled his focus, intrigue mingling with the thrill of the chase, pushing his broom past its limits. He caught up to her near the ground, levelling off as he pulled up alongside.

"What," he managed, catching the brief flicker of her eye, "the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing!" she retorted. Her face was flushed, but whether from the topic or the wind, he couldn't tell.

Carefully, so as not to dislodge her, he nudged his shoulder against hers. Her eyes went wide with fear, and she pulled back some of her speed, one of her hands curling around his arm to steady herself.

Only a few feet from the ground, they collided. Draco instinctively wound an arm around her waist, pulling her close to protect her from the impact as they tumbled to the grass below.

He landed on top of her, breaths falling harsh from the rush, and sought her eyes. "Why am I an idiot?"

"You're a madman as well!" she exclaimed, gaping at him. "You could have got us both killed."

"We're fine."

"That's not the point!"

"If you genuinely thought I was going to let you crash, then―"

"You pushed me from my broom!"

Draco sighed, propping himself up on his arms as he stared down at her. "You're fine." He watched the ire sink from her face, viscerally aware of her body beneath his. His nerves flared with the racing of his heart at the compromising position. "Please, explain."

As she gazed up at him, chest lifting with each rapid breath, a range of emotions flit across her face. A small, strangled sound fell from her lips, exasperation and something else, and she briefly shook her head.

Then she wound a hand around the back of his neck and dragged his mouth to hers.

Shock lanced through him, something akin to panic seizing at his heart, but then the truth of the situation settled in.

Hermione Granger was kissing him.

Draco kissed her back, burying a hand in her hair, and the contact set his nerves alight, heat racing through him at the feel of her lips on his. Through his surprise, he vaguely registered the situation, and the way her words drifted through the back of his mind.

When her tongue skimmed the seam of his lips, he deepened the kiss with a groan, jolts of energy darting through him. She dragged him closer, her body flush against his own, and Draco wrenched back far enough to meet her gaze.

"It was me?" he asked, breaths falling heavy from his lips.

"Daft," she muttered, shaking her head with incredulity. "Yes, it was you. Honestly, for someone as smart as you are―"

He didn't hear the rest of the sentence as he crushed her lips with his again, adrenaline roaring as a dull pulse behind his ears. He gripped her hip with one hand, skimming along her ribs, palming her breast. One of her legs wound around his, and briefly, she ground against him.

It was enough to bring a huffed curse to his lips.

But he couldn't pull away―couldn't give up the way she made him feel, and her touch caused arousal to swell within his core.

Hermione rolled them, straddling his lap as she sought his mouth again, the kisses growing desperate and heady with the rush of his heart. He held the back of her head firmly in place as he ravaged her mouth, swallowing her moans and whimpers as she ground against his burgeoning erection.

The lesson had taken a drastic turn.

And with the thought came the reminder that, while they were the only ones present, they were in a public field in a magical neighbourhood. As if recognising the same, she pulled back, lips swollen and pupils dilated. Her curls were a mess from his hands, fallen loose of her bun, and Draco thought he had never seen her so beautiful.

For a fluttering instant, he rather thought he didn't care if anyone saw them. The feel of her had his entire body ready to go, and he had to force himself into several deep breaths. Hermione still sat on his lap, one of her hands toying absently with the hair at the back of his neck, and slowly, a smile tugged at her lips.

"We should go," she breathed, brushing another gentle kiss to his mouth.

Draco choked out a brusque, "Whatever you want to do." His head still spun, heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't resist a squeeze to her arse, and her eyelids fluttered briefly shut.

"What I want to do," she said, pressing her forehead to his, "is not appropriate for the public."

"Right," he managed, mind running away without him. "Let's go, then."

She rose to her feet, and Draco bit down hard on his lower lip at the loss of her proximity. But she offered a hand, tugging him to his feet, and she peered up at him for a moment. "Honestly, why did you think I asked you to teach me Quidditch rather than Harry?"

Draco swallowed thickly, wanting nothing more than to drag her back to him. With a grimace, he adjusted his trousers. "My superior skill and congenial nature and―" He fell silent, staring at her mouth. "Yeah, never mind."

Her fingers laced with his, the feel of it as natural as if he'd known her touch for years, and he waved his wand to summon their brooms as she led him towards the communal locker room. The room was empty, and she carried her bag to the bench next to him. He tried to ignore her presence as he tugged off his Quidditch jersey. But he could feel her eyes on him, and a jolt of self-consciousness chased through him at the silvery scar tissue that streaked his chest.

Turning his head, he caught her eye.

Her lips were parted, eyes locked on him, and beneath her warm chocolate gaze danced amusement. She reached for the hem of her shirt; peeled it slowly over her head.

Draco's mouth went dry. His eyes skimmed the curve of her hips, the smooth and enticing swell of cleavage in her sports bra. It felt like a challenge; another game.

And Merlin, he was up for it.

He offered her a smirk. Released the clasp of his Quidditch trousers and pulled them down his hips. Her gaze followed, shameless, lingering, before her eyes lifted to catch on his again; his cock throbbed within his shorts. Her lips curled with teasing heat.

She took a step towards him from the opposite bench, toying with the closure of her own trousers.

Draco couldn't look away.

This was not how he envisioned his day going, and he almost couldn't believe it.

Slipping her hands beneath her waistband, she eased the trousers down her legs, revealing her knickers. Black; lace. He nearly lost it. She took another step towards him, backing him up against the lockers, and Draco forced a swallow.

"What are you doing?" he breathed.

She huffed a laugh. Drifted her fingertips along his abdomen, up his sternum; it occurred to him that she was tracing his scar tissue. "What does it look like?" But then her expression faltered, and she added, "Unless you don't want this."

"Don't be absurd," Draco said with a snicker. He palmed her arse with a squeeze, dragging her against him. Ducked in, brushing a kiss to her jaw. "Look at you."

Her eyes flared with heat, and with a wave of her wand, she locked and warded the room.

He rolled his eyes briefly towards the ceiling with a muttered expletive. "If I told you I've wanted this for a long time," he breathed.

Hermione pressed up on her toes, brushing a kiss to his lips. "Then I would be very happy to hear that."

A smirk dragged at his lips, heart beating a voracious rhythm again, and he hitched her up by her arse, her legs winding around his hips. He caught her mouth in another searing kiss, tugging her hair the rest of the way free, and spun, pressing her back against the lockers.

With some effort, he managed to remove her sports bra, and mirth danced in her eyes when he huffed a laugh. Then he ducked in, sucking at her breasts, swirling the hardened peaks of her nipples with his tongue. Her moans fell like music against his ears, her nails biting into his shoulder blades.

"Draco," she breathed, grappling for the waist of his pants; but if this was happening, he was going to take his time.

He sucked at one breast, laving her flesh with kisses, drawing fluttery breaths against his skin when he tweaked the other with his fingers. His own desire for her felt all-encompassing, his mind swirling and ablaze with heat at the feel of her, pliant and willing under his hands.

Finally he caught her eye, one hand drifting towards her knickers. Breaths fell heavy from her lips, eyes darkened with arousal, and he found her wet and ready through her knickers when he slipped a hand between her legs.

He kissed along her collarbone, sucking at the sensitive skin of her throat; pulled her earlobe between his teeth. "How long?" he breathed.

"I don't know," she huffed. "Months. A year."

His heart jolted at the thought as he trailed his fingertips along her inner thigh. "Why didn't you say anything?"

At that, her eyes flashed. "Why didn't you?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He rolled his eyes, still trailing kisses along her skin.

As though growing impatient, she tugged at his shorts, awkwardly from her position, and she bit out, "Not exactly."

Draco hissed out a breath through his teeth when she shoved a hand down his shorts, palming his hard erection. "I thought you'd never want―" he cut off with a growl when her hand wrapped around his length. "Clearly, I was wrong."

"Wrong," she echoed in a breath, drawing his mouth back to hers.

He nudged her knickers to the side, slipping two fingers into her wetness, his groan muffled by her lips. Hermione's head dropped back against the locker, her chest heaving with each breath as he set a teasing rhythm into her folds. His arousal strained against his shorts, her hand pumping him, and he shoved his shorts down, toeing them the rest of the way off.

"I want you," she whispered against his mouth, "to fuck me."

Never, in all his fantasies about the woman before him, had he imagined her so forward. His heart raced at the thought.

"Yeah?" he growled, nipping at her jaw. He thrust his fingers into her, harder, deeper. Circled her clit with the pad of his thumb. "You want me inside your sweet, tight cunt?"

"Yes," she moaned, her hand tensing around him. "Draco, I―please."

As the word fell from her lips, he couldn't comprehend the wave of pure lust that swelled within him. He unwound her legs from his, tore her knickers down, and threw them to the floor. Breathing heavily, he caught her gaze for another moment, before hitching one of her legs up again.

He sank into her, her heat wrapped around his cock almost more than he could bear.

"Fuck, Hermione," he groaned, burying his face into her neck.

She twisted a hand in his hair, tugging hard enough to sting. Her eyes were heavily lidded, darkened with lust, the warm chocolate almost obliterated by her pupils. She ground against him, eyelids fluttering shut.

Drawing out, he basked for the briefest moment in the feel of her, and drove into her hard. The locker rattled; a cry fell from her lips.

Draco forced a thick swallow, rolling his hips against hers; thrust into her, again, deeper still, waves of desire swelling and crashing within him at the feel of her. "You feel so damn good," he breathed, sensation building within him.

He wrapped an arm around her, protecting her back from the hard metal of the lockers, and hitched her other leg around his waist.

Briefly, Hermione's eyes locked on his, darkened with lust.

He drove into her harder, with a teasing rhythm that had his own heart pulsing in his throat, the feel of her divine around his cock. Ghosting his lips across her skin, he lost himself in her warmth, her hands on him.

"Draco," she whispered on an exhale. She snagged her lower lip between her teeth. "Faster."

A smirk tugged at his lips. Capturing her mouth with his, he increased their pace, heat prickling across his skin as a sheen of perspiration broke at his temples.

Her breathy cries danced across his skin, hands tugging at his hair, smoothing along the muscle of his back.

And as he thrust into her, feeling the tension swell within him, nerves flaring towards his release, her name slipped from his mouth as an oath.

He slipped a hand between her legs, brushing his thumb over her clit. With a cry, she came, head dropping back against the locker, her walls clenching tight around him. Draco drove into her, carrying her through her orgasm; he felt his own climax crash over him like a wave as he released inside of her. His vision blackened, swells of pleasure coursing through him with a stifled groan.

At last, his eyelids fluttered open to find her watching him, eyes glassy and a smile on her lips.

Heavy breaths chased from his lungs, but he smiled in return, brushing a kiss to her mouth.

Easing from within her, he released his hold on her and her feet dropped to the floor. Draco reached for his wand, casting a contraceptive charm and cleansing charms on them both.

Hermione beamed at him, spots of colour in her cheeks; for a long moment he couldn't quell the joyful rhythm of his heart.

Allowing his gaze to linger on the smooth curves of her body, he retrieved her discarded knickers and handed them over with a smirk.

"Thanks," she whispered, a bit a self-deprecating smile tugging at her mouth. "Surprised you didn't ruin them."

He grinned. "Almost kept them."

Her eyes glittered with concealed heat that he vaguely recognised, only now he could see it more blatant than before. A part of him couldn't believe how the situation had played out―that she genuinely wanted him in return.

His heart still raced in the aftermath as they dressed in their street clothes through a silence that didn't feel quite as comfortable as he would have liked. Especially after what they'd just done―and before that, the afternoon they'd shared.

As he slipped on his shirt, he felt a sudden welling of nerves. That she might want nothing more to do with him―that it might have just been a one-time thing. He had wanted her for too long, and he wasn't ready to walk away just yet now that he'd had a taste. But she was the one who would catch critical remarks and harsh stares by having him at her side. He slung his Quidditch bag over one shoulder, dragging a hand along the back of his neck as he turned to face her.

"Look," he drawled, "if this isn't―we don't have to―"

She ducked her chin as he floundered, brow crinkling. "Are you honestly blowing me off?"

"No!" he exclaimed, a little louder than he'd intended. "Not at all. I only thought, if you don't want to make a big deal of this, we don't have to."

Taking a step closer, she peered up at him, worrying her lip. "And if I do? Want to make something of this?"

Draco couldn't help the breath of relief that escaped. He took her hand, brushing his thumb across her knuckles. "Then I would ask if you're busy now."

"I am not," she breathed.

He couldn't quite believe the sparkle in her eye was meant for him. Interlocking their fingers, he murmured, "Dinner's on me?"

Pressing up on her toes, she brushed a kiss to his lips. "Dinner sounds perfect." Drawing back, her lips curved into a wicked smile. "And if you think you're getting out of our lessons so easily, try again."

A grin split his face. If every lesson was going to end that way, he would make her into a pro.