A/N: *flings a drabble at you from the shadows*
*squeaks when you look up, shocked, with coffee dripping down your front*
*eyes bug out*
*runs off, cackling*
Heartless
By Kittenshift17
"I hate you," Hermione hissed, her nails digging into Malfoy's back viciously while he drilled into her again and again, her spine grinding against the hard stone wall of the third floor corridor. She didn't know how she was ever going to manage to walk by here on the way to Charms tomorrow without blushing like a maid, but she'd worry about that then.
"Granger, these moments are much more enjoyable for me if you don't speak," Malfoy drawled in retort, though his voice was husky and leaning toward hoarse as a result of their exertions.
"Fuck you," Hermione spat before she leaned forward and bit down on his shoulder, bared as it was where she'd torn open the buttons on his shirt.
"Bit late for that, you idiot," Draco answered, punctuating the insult with an extra-brutal thrust.
She was definitely going to need some salve for whatever he was doing to her spine against the wall, Hermione thought, biting him harder and trying to hold back the urge she had to scream. Merlin, but they needed to stop doing this. They were supposed to be patrolling to corridors to prevent other people from shagging in dark corners, but every night this week when they'd been assigned to patrol together, they'd ended up naked and swearing and sweating on each other despite the frigid winter chill pervading the draughty corridors. It always started off with just a little bit of bickering; a disagreement over the approriate punishment for a rule-breaker; a general irritation taken out on each other after crappy days of lessons; a disparity of responsibility. It didn't matter. One minute they were insulting each other, trying to hex each other, or outright hurting each other, and then next minute one of them would kiss the other.
Hermione couldn't explain it; she didn't want to try. She had every reason to hate him for the vicious and ridiculous bloody bigot he was. She'd seen the Dark Mark tattooed on his forearm that he tried so desperately to hide in their every day lessons. She knew what he'd become. She hadn't asked him why, or if he'd chosen this, or why he was shagging her if he felt that her blood status made her a lesser being. She hadn't asked herself why she kept shagging him, or what mental deficiency it might be a sign of that she kept doing it again and again, either. She just got angry, and then she took it out on him.
Fortunately, he didn't seem to mind.
"Fuck," Hermione whispered against his skin when she tasted blood on her tongue, realising she'd bitten him hard enough to break the skin.
"Taste like purity?" he drawled in her ear, pinning her harder against the wall and positively slamming into her now.
"Tastes like pathetic," Hermione retorted before a strangeld moan tore from her when he shifted the angle slightly and began grinding against her clit incessantly.
"Mmhmm," he hummed and Hermione hated that even now he sounded detached, almost uninterested in what they were doing. Maybe a little amused. Curse him to the deepest pits of hell, she despised him, but here she was, fucking him for the fourth time this week, just the same.
"Argh," Hermione hissed when the repeated hammering finally got the better of her.
Her head bonked against the stone wall of the castle as it dropped back, and Malfoy took advantage of the position to latch onto her neck, kissing her skin and nipping her hard enough to sting, just making it that much better. Her body spasmed as the orgasm slammed into her, clenching and squeezing at high speed and she couldn't hold back a triumphant little chuckle when his movements grew erratic before he thrust deep and groaned softly into her neck.
"Fuck," he muttered into her hair after several minutes of harsh breathing while they trembled together, silent but for their panting.
Hermione knew what came next. Regret. Annoyance. Self-hatred. The new companions she'd been taking to bed each night when he let her down and her skirt fell back into place, hiding her discretions like she wasn't betraying everything she beleived in for a little hate-sex before sleep. Tonight would be no different, she was sure. She'd still hate him in the morning. She'd still think he was pathetic, and spineless, and weak. He'd still think she was a mudblood, a waste of magic, and a frizzy mess, to boot. In tomorrow's classes they'd still ignore each other steadfastly while Harry seethed and plotted to prove Malfoy was a Death Eater, after all. And he was. Hermione knew that.
When he lowered her back to the floor and pulled out of her, she knew that. When he tucked himself back into his slacks and buckled his belt, she knew that. When she made to step around him and walk away, knowing that patrolling for the night was over, she knew that. And it was fine. It was a phase. A release. An outlet for the fury he inspired, and the anger he stoked, and the rage he detonated within her. The mark on his arm didn't matter. His allegiance didn't matter. Because when she walked away, none of it meant anything more than a simple release of anger with a rush of endophins. It was entirely heartless.
So when he stopped her from leaving by caging her in with his arms against the wall, Hermioine knew something had changed. She went for her wand again, but he was quicker than her. And when his lips landed on hers again, softly this time, tender this time, Hermione really had to struggle to remember what she knew.
"See you tomorrow, Granger," he murmured when he pulled away. Hermione remained there, dumstruck, as he pushed off the wall and sauntered down the corridor and out of sight.