No symptoms today. Just a normal, ordinary morning. Except Hermione couldn't stop thinking of Malfoy as she readied herself for the office.
Was he thinking of her? Would he show up today? Had Hermione embarrassed herself in front of him with that brazen display?
But no, reliable as ever, there he stood in the Ministry Atrium.
"Good morning."
She gave an awkward bob of her head and averted her eyes. He fell into step beside her as per usual.
"Why so shy today Granger? Did you not enjoy our little library session last night?"
"It felt rather one-sided, if I'm honest."
"Can't very well give you everything you want so soon. Isn't it much more fun to let it build?"
"I suppose," she mumbled.
He stopped walking and she quickened her pace out of mortification.
"Hey… hey wait, Granger," he spoke softer now when he caught up again. "You don't regret it right?"
Where had that tone come from?
"No, of course not," she answered, surprised by his sincerity. But then she blinked and it was gone.
"Good. If you'd like another evening of… discovery, come over after work."
"I have plans with—"
"Cancel them. Nothing will be as stimulating as what I can show you. If you want."
What Hermione wanted was the salacious promise whispered against her as she climaxed. That honeyed voice dripping sin in her ear.
Virgil or Mephistopheles?
Dante or Faustus?
The Madonna or the Whore?
Hermione irritably banished that last duality from her mind. How awful to only think in such extremes.
A middle ground always existed.
Another evening of a Floo arrival to the library at Malfoy Manor. Her host dressed all in black again.
"Would you like something to drink?"
"No, thank you. I'd like to keep a clear head."
"Are you so easily distracted from the task at hand?"
Hermione didn't dignify his question with an answer.
"What did you mean yesterday? When you said you could show me things?"
"What do you think I meant? You're in the private library of an ancient bloodline with access to thousands of books and scrolls on every subject imaginable. Dark magic very much included."
"Why this push towards the Dark?"
Malfoy shrugged. "I have a feeling it's an avenue you've not pursued."
"I've read Dark texts before."
"How scandalous. Have you ever used any of the magic within these texts?"
"No. Of course not."
"Because you've never felt the urge to? Or because the situation never called for it?"
"Both."
"Ah, but what if your mysterious ailments require you to briefly bend your morals?"
Hermione fixed her mouth in a grim line. "I think that's putting the cart before the horse."
"Your unfamiliar Muggle phrases never fail to delight and confuse me."
"What I mean is, I need to find out what is happening to me before I research how to stop it. It certainly feels Dark in nature."
"Describe it to me."
Hermione stared back at him, unable to form a coherent sentence. He looked hungrily at her, so curious to hear just how this magical anomaly had taken over her whole being on the days it bothered to show up. But there was another component to all this she couldn't name. The growing strength and the curiosity that accompanied it.
"I… I'm not sure I can."
"Well, let's get you something that can help then. Shall we?"
He held out a hand. A hand that had stroked her newly-formed wings upon her request but wouldn't touch her body yesterday.
Hermione took it and he tugged her gently closer to him.
"Are you going to run off this time?"
She rolled her eyes and yanked her hand from his grip.
"Come on then Malfoy, I apparently require your direction."
He caught up with her and together they crossed the threshold into the last aisle. The one she'd been so afraid to even approach yesterday. Now she strolled down it without hesitation. Whatever chill she'd felt previously no longer warned her off. The imagined mysterious aura swept away; pushed aside by a thrum of intrigue.
Malfoy led her to a point midway and stopped.
"See anything familiar?"
A spine just behind his head caught her eye.
"Secrets of the Darkest Arts," she recited and pointed.
Malfoy's brow furrowed as he turned to find the title. He looked back at her and his lips curled into something borderline wicked.
"Very good. Come select it then."
Her feet moved forward until she stood toe to toe with him, their chests almost touching.
The book sat just above his left shoulder. Hermione reached out, but her hand hovered inches from the book, inches from his face. She stilled, her fingers floating and making no movement toward advance or retreat.
"What is it you're afraid of Granger?" He challenged her softly.
Hermione, like any person, had many fears.
Failure. Losing her friends and family. Flying too high on a broomstick. The unpredictability of the future. But she did not fear this man. Not his words nor his actions.
Her fingertips rested on the spine of Secrets of the Darkest Arts. A tome she once lugged through field, wood, glen, and cave in an enchanted beaded bag in a cramped tent for months. This book had helped her discover how to destroy a Horcrux. It included instructions for how to make one too.
Hermione slid it out part of the way and stopped again. She diverted the focus of her gaze, flicked it from her hand on the shelf to the grey eyes in front of her instead.
Stone grey.
Not a violent storm with lightning at the edge of tumultuous skies. Not turbulent waves reflecting dark clouds above. Not gleaming ice that could break into sharp, dangerous shards.
Just a wall.
Hermione trailed her fingers away from the book and dropped them to the back of his neck. Malfoy's eyes remained unchanged. But the bob of his throat betrayed him.
"I don't fear a single thing in front of me," Hermione whispered. She leaned up and pressed her lips to his. She half expected more resistance, a reticence to respond to her advances.
His mouth's neutral position lasted for a mere tenth of a second. His surrender lasted much longer.
Her mouth had started the chase and he returned the charge with an intensity that should have toppled her had she not anchored a grip in the hair at the nape of his neck. Determined to match this new unleashed ferocity, Hermione only clung harder and pushed her body against his, angling her head to allow him to taste more of her.
Hermione didn't think she could classify their current shared action as kissing, despite the connection of lips, opening of mouths, the meeting of tongues.
Brutal. Harsh and punishing. Her lips had somehow offended his and their retaliation would be fierce and all-consuming. It felt of an insatiable hunger he'd denied even existed within him until this very moment, and now must feast upon her for as long as she allowed.
Malfoy's arms stayed at his sides.
She tried everything to have him rectify this. A deeper swirl of her tongue in his mouth. A bunching of the fabric of his dress shirt with her other hand. A sinking of her body, pliant and willing, against the firm planes of his chest and abdomen. She could feel the hard outline of his stiff cock and pressed her hips to his.
And while his mouth answered her with vigor, his hands and hips stayed put. Malfoy kissed her as if this were her fault. When her grinding into him reached such a fever pitch that she moaned into his mouth, he pulled his head away.
"I knew that curious nature of yours would eventually win out," he boasted quietly.
Malfoy took hold of her wrist behind his head and guided it to the shelf at his back. "There's so much to learn. So much about magic they never teach you at school. Don't you want to know?"
Hermione's grip closed around the spine and she removed it fully to pull it down. She held it at a distance, regarding the title with a frown.
She did want to know. She wanted to know everything. But at what cost?
Malfoy grabbed it from her hands and beckoned her to follow him out of the stacks. He took a seat at one of the high-backed wooden chairs at the reading table.
"Why don't you come over here and read it with me?"
"All right."
He pushed his chair out, legs hip width apart, placing the book down in front of the other open seat. She dutifully followed but took a slight detour.
She wore a skirt tonight, purposefully, and that wardrobe choice would now play in her favour. Hermione came to a stop in front of his legs, turned, and bent over the table, pulling the book closer.
"How am I supposed to read with you if you're blocking my view?" he drawled.
"Sorry," she said, though her tone belied any remorse.
Hermione backed up and lowered herself to instead straddle one of his thighs, onto the solid, lean muscle of his quadricep.
"Was it too much for you to get your own chair?"
"I like sitting here. And you can see the pages now, can't you?"
Malfoy shifted forward, chin hovering above her shoulder. He swept her hair out of the way and rested his hands on either side of the book.
"Perfectly."
Hermione flipped to the index and scanned the chapter titles.
"What does it say?" he asked after a minute or so.
"I thought you said you could see perfectly?"
She slid her lower half forward then back along his leg.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing," she replied with a grin he couldn't see, and kept repeating the gentle rocking motion.
She took both his hands off the table and placed them on her knees. Malfoy flexed his hands but did not move them. Hermione glided her hips back and forth, more insistently this time. He groaned and moved his hands to her waist, stilling her progress.
"We're supposed to be reading, Granger."
"I can multitask, can't you?"
She backed up further on his thigh until she reached his groin. The grip on her waist tightened, but not enough to prevent her from brushing against his waiting cock, nor from deriving pleasure from rutting on his leg.
The giving in and letting go felt sublime. So freeing that she couldn't refrain from begging.
"Please, please let me… let me..."
"You're the one in control here."
She stilled and then stood to face him. Other than a flush to his cheeks and the erection straining his trousers, he seemed quite unaffected by her wanton actions. But his statement gave her pause.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," Malfoy licked his lips and quirked them upwards, "if there's something you want, something you desire, all you have to do is take it. It's that simple."
She lowered herself back onto his thigh, facing him this time. "Perhaps I require a partner in this endeavour."
Wet and aching between her legs, and wearing knickers that could be described as "insubstantial" at best, the thought of ruining the fabric of his trousers made her almost giddy. His eyes moved down her body and landed on the apex of her thighs as she sought relief for this fire he'd initially ignited in her mind that had now spread to the rest of her.
Malfoy closed his eyes, a resigned furrow to his brow and his hands slid from her waist to her backside. He cupped and kneaded, and now it became less about her initiative as he moved her body for her. Hermione clutched at his shoulders for support, letting him control the speed of her movements, setting a rapid, euphoric pace for her.
"Fuck," broke past his lips. "You're so fucking tempting."
"You're feeling tempted by me?"
Malfoy stopped moving her. His eyes snapped open. No more lifeless walls of stone grey. Now she saw the sheen of a liquid mercury, viscous and alive. It could pour down her throat and poison her.
"More than you could ever know."
He kissed her this time. It had the same fervency as their previous snogging against the bookshelf. Malfoy apparently did not know the meaning of gentle when it came to kissing. He set a brutal pace once again, stealing the breath from her, and Hermione had no more patience for the lean muscle of his leg.
She quickly shifted and threw her leg across his lap to straddle him. Grinding down on him in this position gave her the benefit of his cock and finally feeling him meet her frantic movements in turn. The full surrender she'd craved from him from the start.
As it had previously, a moan into his open mouth caused him to separate their lips again.
"The book—we should—you should—"
She stopped moving this time, annoyed at his insistence to divert their attention elsewhere.
"I didn't have anything happen to me this morning."
"So you think your problem just disappeared?"
"I'm saying that I've now had two mornings in a row with no abnormal physical or mental symptoms."
"Wait, what do you mean by mental?"
"It's nothing, Malfoy."
"Granger, you sprouted bloody fangs and then wings, and now suddenly you think it's nothing?"
"I just don't see the need to make a fuss."
"But see, here's what I can't figure," his hand came up to cup the side of her face, "I've only ever known you to make a fuss in the face of something you don't understand."
"I understand it perfectly."
He frowned and dropped his touch.
"Oh? Explain to me what's happening to you."
"Happened. It's done now."
"What makes you so sure?"
"I… I… I want it to be done, so it's done."
"So that's it then? No more nightly library visits to me? No more wing massages in your office?"
"What if I want these visits to be about something else entirely?"
Hermione shifted her hips in his lap again. Malfoy sighed.
"Let's make a game of it then. For every stride you make towards an explanation, you may earn a reward of your choosing."
He leaned forward and pressed an open-mouth kiss beneath her ear. He brushed aside a mass of curls and whispered, "You were always such an insufferable little swot, isn't this much more fun than grading you?"
He kissed down her neck, and though she could not see the expression on his face, something about his lips felt reverent.
He pulled her chin to look her in the eye. "Would you agree to my terms?"
"You make it sound so formal."
"Not at all. I'm saying that you want two things. You want to solve your mysterious ailment and you want the pleasure of my company. I'm offering you both."
With an agility and strength she hadn't anticipated, Malfoy lifted her off his lap, turned her around, and pulled her flush against him again.
"Now you can read and I can give you what you want. See how easy that was?"
He smoothed his palms up the tops of her thighs, letting them rest at the edge of her knickers beneath her skirt.
"Are you going to hold up your end of the bargain or not?" he asked.
"You're assuming I've agreed to… whatever this is."
Malfoy chuckled, a low and deep rumble in his chest that she could feel at her back. "Oh Granger," one of his hands moved to the front of her underwear and came to a frustrating halt, "I think you're too curious for your own good to not agree."
Hermione shook the book open more forcefully than necessary and bent her head over the table of contents. She tried to focus on the printed words instead of the hand cupping her front and the erection pushing against her backside.
She scanned the page, ruling out many topics quickly that wouldn't apply to her odd situation. Not horcruxes, not Unforgivable Curses, not a potion, nor a plant either. She briefly flicked through the herbology section on various fungi or spores that could cause frightening, random symptoms, but these effects seemed to all be of the hallucinatory nature. And her cracked skin, fangs, and wings had at least had a confirmed sighting by one other person.
The man at her back with his hand atop her sex.
"It could be creature related, though the transfigurative properties of the sudden occurrences make me think it's human in origin."
He had no reaction, verbal or otherwise to her pronouncement. She flipped to the Animagus section, wondering if a forced transfiguration gone wrong could explain some of her experiences. But she'd not attempted that sort of spellwork on her own body, nor had anyone else cast it on her, to her knowledge.
Malfoy's fingers began to move in a precise, circular pattern, causing her to jolt in his lap.
"Always wise to consider multiple options," he murmured. Hermione's fingers curled against the pages of the book as he stopped his torturous, light dance of touch. He then brought his hand to the top of her knickers and then inched them inside, stopping there for now.
She blew out a harsh breath and refocused on the facts at hand.
She had experienced sudden, random bouts of physical and possibly mental disturbances in recent weeks. These disturbances ended when she willed them away. She had confirmation from Malfoy that these changes were at least visible to him.
And now Draco Malfoy's fingers were in her knickers.
Her gaze hovered over the section on Obscurials; on the details of a dark, parasitic magical force. That didn't quite fit, she mused, but it did lead her to a possible theory.
"Magical core manipulation," she muttered. In her enthusiasm to learn more, she shifted forward to read and in doing so, pressed herself into Malfoy's hand. She let out a sharp gasp and almost tore the page clean out.
"Is that your best guess at this point?"
"Y-Yes."
"Good girl." His fingers rubbed at her clit then moved down to her entrance and her eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. "Can you keep going for me?"
His other hand squeezed her hip in encouragement.
"But—I—you're very distracting."
"Oh? Did you want me to stop?"
"No." Did she need to say it so desperately?
He slipped two fingers inside her and held them still.
"Tell me why you've landed on magical core manipulation."
She could pass out from want.
"It's… what I think… what I think could be a solution… but I...I…"
He pushed his fingers deeper. The almost bruising hold on her hip warned her not to move.
"But you've not yet discovered the true origin of your plight," he offered.
"Exactly, but I think if I go back to the section on controlling magical outbursts I could form a better theory."
Hermione half-turned her head, looking back at him out of the corner of her eye. Malfoy chuckled and doled out her reward for progress.
In and out. In and out. A press of his thumb on her clit. In and out. In and out.
He even let her rock her hips back and forth in time with his ministrations.
"Turn to the proper page," he ordered.
"If I… If I do will you… will you go faster?"
"If that is what you want."
Her clumsy fingers scrabbled at the book, furiously flipping through pages until she reached the correct section. Descriptions of how an overload of magical power could be detrimental to a witch or wizard blurred across her vision.
Because Malfoy kept his word.
Her hands balled into fists atop the table and she gave up on reading comprehension. She kept anticipating a sudden end to it all. At any moment Malfoy could decide she'd had quite enough of his fingers bringing her off and leave her gasping, frustrated, and delirious enough to beg him to continue.
Instead he let her come without any further resistance, demands, or quips. When her quivering and clenching subsided, she watched his fingers coated in her slick trail out from under her skirt.
"What about you?" She asked breathlessly, but he didn't answer.
Hermione stood and smoothed down her clothing. Turning around, she awaited his next move. Just how would Malfoy escalate things next?
"Oh, you know me Granger," he stuck his fingers in his mouth and licked them clean. "I always get what I want. Eventually."
"What do you want?"
"To help you, of course. Tell me more about this magical core manipulation."
"I think I've had enough research for tonight. And since I've not had anything happen since the wings, I don't see the need to continue."
She nodded tentatively at the bulge below his beltline.
"Are you sure I can't…?"
"Go home, Granger. You look knackered."
"I'll see you tomorrow?"
"You know where I'll be."
Hermione paid the price for her foolish arrogance the very next morning.
Instead of waking up and reminiscing about Malfoy making her come so hard she'd been rendered temporarily illiterate, another situation required her attention.
She stayed completely still, immobile beneath her covers. Another presence in her room caused a chain reaction of fear paralysis. Her heartbeat sounded louder than her breathing. If she didn't move, if she didn't make a sound, maybe it would just go away.
She didn't want to disturb the thing at the end of her bed. It peered over the edge at her. Was it only that height or had it crouched down to stay partially hidden?
It was a shape her brain couldn't rationalise. Hermione couldn't name it. Just a thing staring back with bulbous eyes and creeping hands resting on the mattress.
The sinister invader held Hermione in its thrall. Should she reach for her wand? Yell for help? Turn on the lights?
What was the best way to banish such darkness?
"What do you want?" she cried.
It had a mouth now, she saw. It smiled wide and exposed two rows of sharpened teeth. The clear implication to frighten her angered Hermione.
"You shouldn't be here! Get out!"
The thing vanished. But her morning woes were not over.
Now came a pain in her abdomen. A clenching of her gut muscles so strong she half expected another pair of hands there, reaching into her innards with an unrelenting grip that twisted and pulled and yanked.
Hermione rolled onto her stomach, her hands grappling with the sheets beneath her body. Reaching for something, anything to brace herself felt logical but the instinct made no sense at all. What would holding tight to a flimsy handful of cotton do for the tactile trauma occurring inside her?
She could throw up for how it hurt but knew emptying her stomach would do absolutely no good. She tried curling up, she tried straightening out, she tried thrashing her limbs, legs kicking in a futile effort to have her body focus on any other part of her. Hermione gave up holding herself around the middle and grabbed at her hair instead.
Agony to move, torture to remain still.
Sprawling outward but then snapping back to its localised home, the torture in her gut taunted her. It expanded, as if it were trying to dissipate. Spread itself along the rest of her, conquering her, but also lightening the load for her midsection. The rest of her could pull its weight, could share this burden. But just as this pain seemed on the cusp of doing something other than an incessant throbbing, it doubled back.
Hermione clutched her hands to her skin, but nothing her own touch could do would stem this onslaught. She remembered the feel of another's hands on her but attempting to bury herself in pleasant thoughts of scorching touches still did nothing.
She remembered what she'd read just last night in Secrets of the Darkest Arts on magical core manipulation. Her brain clung to the information like a liferaft, and she visualised the black and white text before her. The pain receded inward and turned into something else. Something tangible. Something she could… if she could just… summon the strength she could...
Tempting as it was to chase this new sensation, it gave her just enough clarity to remember how to put a stop to everything happening.
"I don't want to feel like this anymore."
The pain stopped. The strength surge stopped too.
Hermione unfurled her sweat-drenched frame and caught her breath. Tears from the ravaging her body had just taken became tears of frustration. Frustration at her naivete, her hubris, and her lust-addled mind from last night. If she'd spent half as much time searching for an answer as she had trying to seduce Malfoy she wouldn't be in this position.
But how exactly did he benefit from her situation? What did he actually want from her? Hermione didn't believe for a minute that his motives were entirely altruistic, despite his claim to the contrary.
Inexplicably, a familiar saying floated across her mind.
Hook, line, and sinker.
Malfoy awaited her in the Atrium. For some reason she thought he'd be waiting closer, perhaps right by the Floo she exited. But like a player taking his stage cue and following it to the letter, he stood across the floor, as he did every other morning.
"Granger. You're looking well."
"I was wrong."
"About?"
"Something happened. I felt… it was some of the worst pain I've ever felt, but on the heels of it…"
She trailed off and met his stare.
Excitable eyes today. She'd said something that inherently pleased him.
"What else did you feel Granger?"
Hermione couldn't help the nervous swallow this time.
"Power."
She cancelled dinner with her parents and promised to make it up to them the following week.
The urge to seek out St. Mungo's advice dwindled to nothing but a fleeting thought before she left for Malfoy Manor instead. What could she say to a healer that didn't sound insane? "I experienced a random bout of excruciating pain and a staring contest with a mysterious creature but I've willed it away"?
Better to be a bit more discreet for now.
Everything waited on her. Malfoy in his dark clothes in his dark home. A Dark text open on the table.
He'd kept it exactly as she'd left it the night before.
"Good evening Granger," he gestured for her to sit and took the chair opposite her. A healthy distance away. He slid a quill and parchment over.
"Are you going to watch me read and take notes all night?"
"As much as I would enjoy that, I'm here at your disposal."
He didn't say it lecherously, but the pointed heat of his gaze made blood rush to her cheeks all the same.
"I… I think it's best I just focus on reading this evening."
She pulled the text towards her and opened the chapter on magical cores. Quill poised over her parchment, Hermione jotted down her known list of symptoms from the past few weeks.
"I'm happy to be of service in other ways," Malfoy spoke up after a few silent minutes. "Perhaps a sounding board, if you like."
"Did you study up before I got here?"
"No, I dared not attempt to out-bookworm the bookworm. But it has occurred to me that you are looking at this all wrong."
"How so?"
"You keep referring to it as a problem."
"Because that's what this is."
"No. This is a gift. An opportunity."
"Going through painful, random transformations with no logical explanation is a gift?"
She dismissed him with a scoff and bent her head over the book again.
"I think you agree with me," he murmured confidently.
"You don't even know me, Malfoy," she spat.
"Oh on the contrary Granger. I know you quite well."
Her face flushed at the implication.
"I know you like a challenge," he continued. "You thrive on it. So ask yourself this: why did you come to me for help?"
"You offered. And you were the only one who could see my physical symptoms."
"That may be so, but you have other options. Options that aren't me and my nefarious library."
"Give me your best guess then. Since you apparently know me so well."
Malfoy got up from his chair and circled behind her. Then he loomed over her and put his large palms beside hers on the table.
"You could have gone to a colleague at the Ministry," he said in a hushed tone. "You could have gone to St. Mungo's. But you're too proud for that. And there's still the biggest reason of all that you've not yet acknowledged to yourself."
"And what is that?"
He bent down next to her ear.
"You're bored. You're bored of your neat little life with your safe, dull Ministry job, and your same-old weekly routine with your friends. Safe. Boring. And very much not you."
She should be offended. She should call him rude and presumptuous and—
Hermione should not want to tell him that he was right. Nor give in to the urge to turn her face and capture his lips.
He continued in his low-voiced pitch. "And now, you've been given this opportunity to push the limits of your magic. You, Granger. You said you felt that raw power. Imagine what you could do with it instead of dismissing it."
His hands slid atop hers, then trailed up her arms, coming to rest on her shoulders. The sweeping touch ignited a lust and determination in equal measure. His thumbs drew light circles on the tops of her shoulders, lulling her body into a comforting compliance. She drew the book closer and read the chapter introduction for magical core manipulation.
If what this book said was true, Hermione could tap into her natural power source. All witches and wizards had this ability; it explained accidental bouts of magic during times of distress or in children without wands. Those more attuned to their core could easily master both wandless and non-verbal spells.
She flipped the pages, eager to learn more about unstable magical cores. If her magic was acting out, perhaps she was too stressed from work recently? Not sleeping enough?
Except the book did not detail how to rebalance an unstable magical core. No, Secrets of the Darkest Arts could tell Hermione how to master it, without a wand. That she could manipulate her powers in such a way that they'd be unmatched.
The wand, or any conduit, dampened the effects of curses, according to this text. Those seeking to enhance their power, could pursue this path instead. It extinguished the need for Occlumency, Legilimency, or Unforgivables. All manner of magicks were at the disposal of the witch or wizard strong enough to survive the attempt of harnessing raw abilities from within.
But it could do good too, Hermione argued to herself. It could be used for all manner of healing purposes.
"Find anything of interest?" prompted Malfoy. His touch hadn't left her shoulders the entire time.
"If my magical core has become unstable, I need to find a way to regain control," summarised Hermione.
"And is that all you want? Just control?"
She bristled at the implication. "Despite what this book suggests, I think the wisest course is to try and stabilise my magic."
"Nothing more?"
"I think that should suffice for now."
Malfoy dropped his hands and returned to his chair.
Hermione picked up the quill and prepared to jot down instructions for controlling her magic. But as she'd resisted the suggestion to wield her core, so the book now resisted her. The page wouldn't turn past the chapter introduction.
Her hand scrabbled at the page, but it felt like an invisible barrier kept her from moving onward. She could move no further than the first few pages she'd already read. Malfoy sat silently staring into the fire, seeming unaware of her growing distress.
Hermione tried to stay calm and flipped back to the beginning of the section. She re-read these words, noted down some observations, then once again attempted to progress in the text.
It still resisted.
Swallowing her panic, she set down the quill and decided going home would be best for now.
"I've finished for the evening," she announced.
Malfoy nodded and stood to escort her to the Floo.
"Thank you," she said.
"More research for you tomorrow night?"
"Possibly, or perhaps some practical application of theory."
"I look forward to it."
She moved closer and he, again, made no sign of encouragement. Hermione frowned up into his neutral face.
"Have I terribly misread things?"
"What do you mean?"
She flicked her gaze to the floor, embarrassed.
"Nevermind. I've made my interest clear. I won't be coming by tomorrow as you can't seem bothered to—"
A hand grabbed her wrist. When she looked back up he was smirking. It was the boy from Hogwarts who'd been gifted a broom better than Harry's. The boy appointed to the Inquisitorial Squad. The man who...
"I see," he said and stepped towards her and though it didn't feel menacing, she took a step back.
But Malfoy still had a hold of her wrist. Hermione backed up again and then was flush against the wall beside the fireplace.
"You think me uninterested?"
Hermione stared up defiantly. He seemed angry. An anger born of hurt. But then he flipped his internal switch. Wicked once more.
"Please witch," he bent his head to her ear, catching a lobe between his teeth. "Tell me how I should indicate my interest."
He nipped lightly then dragged his teeth and lips down her neck, scraping her skin.
"How should I prove myself to you?" he whispered.
Hermione resisted the urge to press herself against him.
"No need to prove anything," she replied tartly.
He released her wrist and skimmed his fingertips up her arm. They continued journeying up her neck to the underside of her jaw. He tilted her chin up with one long finger, peering down in peak smugness.
"Would you prefer me on my knees?"
Malfoy knelt from his considerable height before her and moved his hands to her waist.
This was an unanticipated turn of events. She could only silently marvel at this new vantage point, this change in positions. What could she say to such a provocative question?
Yes? Please? For as long as you want?
Nothing came out of her mouth but rapid breaths.
"So quiet now," he said mockingly as he unbuttoned and unzipped her trousers. He yanked them down and then her knickers.
"Such a timid thing you are all of a sudden," he said with a sneer.
Hermione's response to his taunt was to whip her shirt over her head, unclasp her bra and let it fall away. She didn't need words to exhibit daring.
His hands shot up and roughly palmed her breasts. She arched into his touch. Closing her eyes, she succumbed as he finally took charge the way she'd hoped he would. Confirmation received that he would touch her without her having to negotiate or beg.
He dragged his thumbs across her nipples, circling them until they hardened into peaks. Exactly what she'd wanted since he'd stroked her wings.
And then he dropped his hands. Her eyes flew open and she bit back a whine.
"Should I leave you like this?"
"No," she gasped.
Malfoy leaned forward and pressed kisses to each hip that involved more biting than necessary. When his mouth moved to her abdomen and began a trail south she released an involuntary whimper. His eyes snapped to hers.
"Do you want this?"
"Yes."
"Then be a good girl and come for me."
His mouth on her cunt was as relentless as when they'd kissed last night. His tongue was a crime; wicked beyond reason and it erased all thoughts from her mind as Hermione sunk into this sensory experience with everything she had.
His physical handling and tasting of her was so aggressively in opposition to the careful way he spoke to her in the mornings. Malfoy may have prostrated before her, but she was at the mercy of his mouth and fingers.
His large hands flattened against her hips, keeping her firm against the wall and not allowing for any sort of movement. She couldn't jut forward, she could do absolutely nothing with her lower body given the strength of his grip.
Hermione hadn't touched much of him during these encounters, but he could hardly stop her now. She buried her hands in his fine, white-blond hair.
The wall scraped her back and she did not care. He was fully clothed and she was naked in a library of a man she hardly knew and she did not care.
It was only him, him, him.
"Malfoy!"
She hadn't meant to say a thing aloud. But the intense pleasure had skated up her spine; a quick, surprising slither of intense euphoria. As she cried out his surname, his hands dug painfully into her hips, so hard his nails pierced her.
Her legs shook and he kept on licking and kissing her through it. Benevolent generosity in ensuring she felt every bit of her orgasm before he removed his mouth. He rested his forehead against her stomach, and she could hear him catch his breath, feel the warm puffs of air on her skin. She released her grip on his hair, letting the strands slip through her fingers.
He sat back on his haunches and leered up at her. "Satisfied?"
"Very, but you… I could…?"
Hermione waved a vague hand between them, indicating she'd gladly reciprocate. Malfoy stood swiftly, towering over her again. He muttered a cleansing charm for her and flicked his wand to re-dress her. The sudden switch from nude to clothed made her skin itch.
She rubbed up and down her arms, feeling off-kilter again. He never answered her question and she sensed the dismissal in his lack of response.
"I can… come by tomorrow night?"
"As I've told you countless times now," he reached out and brushed some of her hair off her forehead, "you are welcome here any night you wish."
The turn to tenderness should have made her head spin, but a warm reassurance bloomed instead. From cordial, to flirtatious, to cold, to seductive and now sweet, Hermione felt like she should start keeping notes on Malfoy's moods too.
And why each reveal only made her want him more.
A/N: Thanks for reading chapter 4 of 7. You can find me on tumblr: heyjude19-writing.