I frown, tapping my fingernail impatiently on the brick wall behind me.
Late. Harry is late.
I try to assume that he's just running behind, and that he's not in terrible danger, but my nerves still haven't calmed down, even these few years after The War. If I weren't in Muggle London, I would send a Patronus his way, or maybe an owl. But it's a bustling street, and by the time I would be able to get to a place quiet enough, it could be totally redundant if he shows up here, expecting to see me, because by then, a Patronus or an owl would attract just as much attention as me sending one right now.
So, I tell my worried thoughts to shut up, and that I'll just wait for a few more minutes before heading inside and trying to figure this out on my own.
It's a hardware store. And though I, Hermione Granger, am considered the Brightest Witch of Our Age - I cringe mentally at the thought - I do not know how to build a bookshelf. My old, rickety one that I picked up at the antique store near my flat broke, much to my dismay, after I stacked one too many books on top of it. I am determined to make one from scratch that I can trust is sturdy enough to withstand my collection, and because I want to prove to myself that I can be handy, too - the Muggle way. With a little help, of course, from Harry.
Who... is still not here. I check the time on my watch. Thirty-two minutes. A new record for him, really, and that's counting when he and Ron had to fly the family car to school. I laugh at the memory.
I ignore the small panic that builds in my chest as I wonder where Harry could be. I mean, Ginny is pregnant, and he has his Auror training... there are many, many reasonable causes for his lateness. If he's even showing up at all. And he's not an idiot - he hasn't owled me for the same reasons that I didn't owl him. Gods, how I wish he had cell phone service at his house, or at the Ministry. Unfortunately, living in the Wizarding World comes with a lack of phone towers. I'm glad that I live in London.
I lean up off of the wall, and open the door of the shop to go in.
An arm shoots above my head to push the door open the rest of the way.
I turn my head to offer a thank you, and my face falls.
Of all people.
Malfoy.
Tall, blonde, and annoyingly sexy. I scowl at the sight of him, with his stupidly tousled hair, and his aggravating black jacket that offsets his pale skin just so. He looks like a fucking model, and here I am, in my baggy pink sweater and messy braid. He smirks.
"Thanks," I say, turning away abruptly, before walking in the completely wrong direction, towards the doorknobs, and not the wood and nails.
"Granger," he says, and I hear his footsteps following me.
Fuck. Now I can't even subtly go behind the aisles and walk to what I actually need.
"What?" I ask, not bothering to hide the annoyance in my voice.
"What are you doing here?" He sidles up next to me, his tall frame boxing me in against the wall.
"Building a bookshelf. What are you here for? I didn't know you knew what hardware was."
Malfoy nudges me, a move that startles me. I haven't touched Malfoy more than once. The one time was third year, when I punched him. Gods, that was satisyfing. "Trust me, Granger," he says, his voice low, and... seductive? "I do."
I accidentally blush at his words, and turn my face towards the random grout and spackle to my left to hide it.
"Do you know what you're doing?" he asks.
I nod, a little too enthusiastically. "Yes, of course I do."
"So why are we in the plumbing section?" he asks, humor in his tone.
"Because I was trying to get away from you," I say, turning around and promptly heading towards the other side of the store.
"So... you need help, I assume?" Malfoy asks, getting next to me again.
"No."
"Yes, you do. Or you wouldn't have waited outside for so long, looking lost. Expecting Harry or Ron?"
I shake my head. "No. I can do it myself."
"Hmm..." Malfoy says, running a hand through his hair. "Sure, I believe you. You don't mind if I ask for a few pointers, then? Perhaps I'm looking to build myself a shelf."
"I do mind, in fact," I say, frowning up at him. "You irritate me."
"Or maybe, you don't know what the fuck you're doing, and might need just a bit of help."
"I would willingly accept help from Harry, or Ron, or anyone that hasn't bullied me my entire life," I say, walking up to the lumber. I spot some pieces that look to be the right width, and reach up to get them down.
Malfoy watches as I stretch up to reach two pieces of wood that are a little too high, and a little too heavy. On the way down, I feel the wood snag in my palm, and flinch as the splinter punctures my skin.
In a moment, Malfoy is next to me, picking up the wood and leaning it against the wall. "You don't need help?"
I close my hand. "No, I don't."
"Well, maybe I'm just feeling helpful, because I'm going to build this bookshelf with you."
"No, thank you." I walk over to the screws, and get the biggest ones.
"Wrong." He reaches over, plucking them out of my hand, and puts them back on the shelf. He grabs the next box over.
I go to the drills, and pick up one off the shelf. "No." Once again, he makes another choice, and a box of drill bits, and stuffs them under his arm.
He walks away, suddenly, and I'm left standing awkwardly next to the lumber, trying to decide what my next move is. Obviously, his choices are correct - do I grab the same things and leave?
Before I can decide, he is back, with sandpaper, and one of the store associates.
"He can cut the wood for you before we leave," Malfoy says.
I frown at him, but follow the man to the electric saw, where he takes the dimensions that I have written down, and loads the cut pieces into a cart.
"Thank you," I say quietly, as Malfoy takes the cart and pushes it to the counter.
I follow him grudgingly, getting my money from my purse, handing it to the woman at the register. Malfoy snatches it up and away, and hands the woman his card.
"Excuse me," I say. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Not bullying you, that's what," he says.
"Money doesn't solve everything, you spoiled brat," I say, scowling away from him as the card reader beeps and his payment clears. He hands me back my own card.
"It doesn't, but that's why I'm going to put in some manual labor," he says, and pushes the cart out the door, to my car.
"How do you know which car is mine?" I ask, hurriedly taking the things out of the car and putting them into the trunk before he can even think about doing that for me.
"I was at the restaurant across the street," Malfoy says, nodding behind me. "I saw you get out and started to wonder what the fuck you were doing."
"Stalker," I mutter, pushing the cart back up to the store.
He's sitting in the passenger seat when I get back. I slide behind the wheel.
"Get out," I say.
He shakes his head. "No."
"Get out," I repeat again, with more force.
"No," he says, the same level of calm and quiet that he did the first time.
"Fine, but you're not coming into my house," I say, and back out, driving away.
I drive awkwardly with my palm not touching the wheel, and when we get to my flat, Malfoy is out in a flash, getting everything out of the trunk, and uses magic to open the door.
"Fuck you," I say, and follow him inside.
He sits everything on the counter before grabbing my wrist, gently dragging me to him, but holding on tightly enough that when I try to yank myself away, I fail.
"Let me see the fucking splinter," he says.
I bare my palm to him, cringing at the sting the movement causes.
"Where is your bathroom?" he asks.
"Upstairs?" I say.
He pulls me upstairs by my wrist, and pulls out his wand, extracting the wood pieces slowly.
"I could have done that myself," I say.
He doesn't respond, and once the bits are out, he pulls my hand to the sink, gently washing my palm with movements too sweet; too kind.
I freeze as his thumb brushes over my hand.
Malfoy completes a healing spell, closing the small hole that the splinter left, before dropping my wrist.
"Get some gloves," he tells me, before heading back downstairs, leaving me alone with my confused thoughts.
After I dig the work gloves out of my closet, I join him downstairs, where he is standing in front of the broken bookshelf. I would repair it, but the wood is too thin, and the entire thing is cracked down the middle.
Malfoy is laughing.
"Stop it," I say. "It's not funny. It's quite sad, actually. It was a beautiful shelf, and I've ruined it."
Malfoy shakes his head, moving forward to pick up the broken pieces and sets them to the side. I reach to help, but he whips around, holding up a hand.
"Gloves," he demands.
I'm confused at his seriousness, but I put them on, not because he told me to, but because I don't want another splinter. I ignore how hot and commanding his tone was.
He takes off his jacket, his muscular arms tightening as he begins to work.
We work together in the quiet. Malfoy explains, occasionally, what he is doing.
It doesn't take more than two hours between the two of us, and at the end, Malfoy sweeps while I put my books back on the shelf.
"Thank you for helping," I say, my tone strained. I haven't ever had to say a real thank you to him before. Ever.
"I needed something to do tonight," he says, handing me the next book in the stack.
I don't respond.
I go to reach for the next book at the same time that Malfoy does. And in a ridiculously cliche, stupid moment, we accidentally grab each other's hands.
I freeze. Malfoy doesn't.
He pulls me into his lap, my legs on either side of him.
I don't dare breathe. I'm not sure if this moment is a figment of my imagination.
"Granger," he murmurs, still holding my hand with one of his, the other one planted firmly on my waist.
I grasp tightly to his hand. "Malfoy," I whisper, the words strained; tight.
"Can I kiss you?" he asks.
I nod, and he leans forward, gently touching my lips with his. His fingers intertwine with mine, pulling me closer. His other hand tangles in my hair and oh-so-gingerly angles my face to his.
I scoot closer in his lap, and he stops.
"Hermione," he says, his face stern, his perfect brows furrowed. "Stop doing that."
"Stop doing what?" I ask, though I think I know. I may not have been with many men, but I'm no idiot.
"Stop moving," he says, gritting his teeth as I do it again.
"Do you really want me to stop?" I whisper, bringing my lips down to his ear.
"No," he whispers back, his voice gravelly, his grip on my fingers tightening.
I sit back. "The least I can do is to thank you for your tremendous help today."
"That was to help apologize for how shitty I was to you when we were younger," Malfoy says.
"I forgive you," I say, tightening my thighs around him. "So... can I thank you?"
I'm nearly blinded by lust. Watching him work did something to me. Seeing how kind he can be made me view him in a different light.
Instead of answering, Malfoy lets go of my hand, and picks my hips up and off of him. I lean back, getting ready to scoot myself off - I can take no for an answer.
"Where the fuck do you think you're doing?" he asks, before sitting me on the floor and yanking my hips down so I'm laying below him.
"Oh," I breathe, and Malfoy smirks.
"Oh," he mocks, and all of a sudden, all of Malfoy is on me.
His mouth attacks mine, his tongue sliding past my lips.
His hair falls onto my forehead, grazing my eyebrows.
His hands slide under my sweater, over my bra.
His hips press against mine, and I feel the growing firmness of him between my legs.
His entire body pushes me into the floor, and I feel entirely consumed by him.
I gasp for air as his tongue works at my neck, leaving countless marks behind. I feel the graze of teeth. His fingers inch up, pulling down the cups of my bra, pinching my nipples.
"Draco," I breathe, as he grinds me into the floor, hard.
He moans against my neck, and as if out of his control, his hips jerk upward. My body twitches under him with the pressure almost breaking between my legs.
"Say it again, baby," he says.
"Draco," I moan out, as the pleasure reaches heights I've never experienced before.
"Good girl," he says. He rips off my sweater, tearing it over my head before bringing his lips to my nipples. I cry out as he slowly circles his tongue around each one, sucking marks.
"You have a perfect body," he whispers.
"No, I don't," I say, laughing a little bit.
Draco stops, bringing his eyes back up to mine. "Yes, you do," he says. "And I'm going to prove it to you."
He reaches behind me, undoing my bra, and taking out my braid. "I love your hair," he says.
He pulls my shorts down, bit by bit, until I'm only in my underwear.
"Lace," he says, his voice husky. "Who knew?"
"Knew what? That Hermione Granger doesn't wear granny panties?" I laugh at the frown on his face.
"I just figured you were a satin kind of girl. So high maintenance." Draco smirks, slowly kissing down my body.
"I am not high maintenance. Satin is better for your skin, anyway. I would be wearing my satin, except I like this particular pair of - " I cut off as I feel Draco pulling my underwear down. "No, Draco, you don't have to..."
"I'm going to prove to you how perfect you are," he says, before using his teeth to graze my clit.
My head falls back, hips arching off the floor, as he uses his tongue in ways that I didn't really know a tongue could be used. I feel him, thrusting in and out of me with two of his fingers, sucking on the rest with his mouth. His free hand reaches up and grabs at my breasts. I see him grinding against the floor, and hear him moan against me.
I cry out his name as it builds, and builds, and builds. He goes harder with his fingers, and pinches my clit with his teeth, his tongue.
"Come for me, baby," he says, and so I do. I scream out his name as he scissors his fingers inside of me, my nipples aching at his touch.
I look down to see Draco sucking his fingers. "You taste good," he says, a smile at his lips. "Perfect."
I smile back before leaning up and grabbing at his shirt. "I thought I was supposed to be thanking you."
"No, that was me proving a point," he says.
"So argumentative today," I say, before peeling his shirt up and over his head. And holy hell, does he have a body.
I kiss down his torso, pushing him by his hips onto his back before taking off his pants.
I start to work at his underwear, but he says, "Stop."
I lean up immediately. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - "
"No," Draco says, laughing at my concern. "If you put that hot little mouth of yours on my dick right now, I will come down your throat and won't get to feel how tight your little pussy is. And trust me, baby," he says, smirking. "You want me to fuck you."
He's right, so I sit up.
"Fuck me, then," I say.
Draco doesn't hesitate. He picks me up and sits me on the bookshelf, before pulling his briefs down and kicking them to the side. "Are you on the potion?"
I nod. "Yes."
"Good," he says, and pulls me by the backs of my knees so I'm on the edge. "How do you want it?"
"I'm at your mercy," I whisper, "So however you'd like."
His eyes darken, and he kisses my forehead. "I'm starting to like this thank-you," he says.
He steps in between my legs and thrusts up inside of me. I cry out from the sheer size of him, and how he fills me up so completely. I'm dripping for him. He pulls back and thrusts in again, harder this time.
"Draco," I moan as he starts moving more rapidly.
His hand is in my hair, his other hand in between my legs, working at my already-sensitive clit. He moans against my neck, against my mouth, against my chest.
"You're so fucking perfect," he whines, thrusting harder; faster. "So fucking perfect."
My head falls back against the wall, and he reaches around, grabbing onto my neck and squeezing. He picks me up by my ass, lifting me up so he can angle in even deeper. The vibrations from his movement reverberate around to my clit, and I feel the pleasure building again.
"Draco, I'm gonna come," I say. "Oh my gods, I'm gonna come."
I clench around him, crying out as he continues thrusting into me. He drops me back down on the shelf, grabbing onto my knees with both hands and pushing them up. He chases after his own release, now, and the look on his face of pure desperation and primal pleasure spurs me on even more.
I hold onto his back, digging my fingernails in. One of his hands drops from the back of my knee and comes back down to my clit. I'm so fucking sensitive, I want to scream. So I scream out his name, high-pitched whines that make me sound absolutely feral. And I am. Because Draco fucking Malfoy is shoving his dick so far inside me that I feel like I might break in half, but in the best fucking way, and he's whining out my name like there's no other words in the world.
His movements start to get frantic, and I feel another orgasm building up inside of me. "Draco," I moan out, my head lolling forward onto his shoulder.
"Baby, I'm gonna come inside you," he says.
"Yes, daddy, yes," I shriek out, the pressure between my legs soothing the ache of his intensity. "Please, oh my gods."
"I'm coming!" Draco shouts, moaning into my mouth as I feel him shoot inside of me, right as I spasm around him. "Holy fucking shit, you're so fucking perfect."
I feel my muscles relax around him as he stops jerking.
"You're perfect," he repeats, bringing his forehead to mine.
"And yours," I whisper.
"Mine," he says.
"And the bookshelf stayed intact," I say.
"A damn good bookshelf," Draco says, leaning forward to kiss me.