Chapter 9: Avoidant Behavior

Hermione escaped to her room, dressing hastily before practically running out of their rooms and towards the Great Hall. She didn't know what the hell had come over her and she didn't know how to deal with this new and vulnerable Draco who cared enough about her to want to be her quasi-therapist. Something was going on, it had to be, and she needed some distance to figure it out, to gain perspective. She barreled headfirst into Neville, because of course she did, and fell hard on her bum.

After he used his big, strong hands to set her to rights she commanded he take her to his room for another "girl chat", pronto. Smart enough to know never to argue with Hermione Granger, Neville thought wistfully of the breakfast he wasn't going to get before his first class of the day as he led his first school friend into his dorm and straight to his room. A room she paced like a madwoman, pulling at her hair and spilling all the details of the previous evening and that morning so fast he was sure she hadn't taken a single breath during the entire spiel.

Holy shit, she slept with Malfoy.

It took half a bottle of contraband firewhiskey, an entire box of tissues he only kept on hand for the days when Hannah was put out about something and refusing to sleep with him, and missing the first class of the day, the first of that particular class of the entire term, really, before she was calm enough to resemble a human being again.

"And now I don't know what to do!" the witch wailed, as if that wasn't entirely obvious. "It must be some sort of spell. There isn't any other explanation. This doesn't make sense, Neville. He's Draco Malfoy and I'm the mudblood he wished were dead in second year and watched get tortured not 6 months ago but somehow we can't seem to stay away from each other and now I've gone and had sex with him and we cuddled…cuddled!"

"I can tell this is bothering you. A great deal. I don't have the answers for you 'Mi. I wish I did. Maybe you just need some distance for a few days. Get your head on straight. Give him space to evaluate, or re-evaluate, as it were. You can stay here, if you want. The guys won't mind." He wasn't going to mention that Hannah probably very much would mind.

"I can't do that, Neville. Hannah would not appreciate it and I don't want rumors spreading about us. I'll stay with Gin. She's got the heads suite and I'm sure she'll let me crash on her couch or something. I'll just tell her that Malfoy is driving me mad and I need to avoid him for a little while before I hex him." Hermione felt a lot better with a plan in mind.

"How are you going to avoid him outside of your rooms?" Neville knew about the map but didn't know that Ginny had wrestled possession of it from Harry.

"The map. I'm sure Gin will let me borrow it. She can't stand Draco and will readily believe that I'm avoiding him without needing the exact details. Thanks Neville for your shoulder to cry on. You're a great friend."

And then Hermione Granger was gone from his room, leaving a giant pile of used tissues and questions behind. Topmost in his mind was who would ever think of charming, spelling, jinxing, cursing, hexing, or enchanting Malfoy and Hermione with the purpose of them bedding each other. He hated to think it, feeling as if he was betraying his friend, but Neville was pretty sure there wasn't any magic involved whatsoever and that the two lovers were just two people who inexplicably and against all odds found each other. There was a thin line between love and hate after all.

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Hermione was glad that Ginny hadn't asked too many questions before offering up her room to the older witch. And an extra uniform and robes. And the map. She was a good friend and Hermione loved her all the more for it. She contemplated spilling the beans to the redhead but could never find the courage to do so. The map made it quite easy to avoid Draco while she got her head on straight and the two evenings spent with her friend were nice, like the summer months had been before she had decided to return to school and Ron decided to move on to greener, more available pastures. And if she thought about a certain blonde-haired Slytherin every now and again, she just brushed it aside to deal with later. And if she set up silencing and privacy charms around the common room of the head's dorm so her screaming nightmares didn't wake Ginny, she was only being considerate.

Saturday was their first Hogsmeade trip of the year and Hermione felt guilty about going, knowing full well that Draco was probably going to spend the day alone rather than risk a repeat of recent events. She felt horrible about leaving him the way she had, knowing that she was the only person currently speaking to him, including most of the professors, and that he was probably feeling pretty isolated.

As the day wore on and she became more and more distressed, even Ginny started to notice. Finally, the younger witch pulled Hermione aside and demanded she tell her what the hell was going on or else. Hermione didn't even ask or else what before she admitted that she had started a truce with Malfoy and felt bad about leaving him to his own devices for the last few days, aware that he had no one else and would effectively be alone. Ginny didn't even pretend to care about Malfoy's well-being but realized that Hermione was upset and so graciously offered to head back to the castle with her so she could make nice with her estranged dormmate. Hermione declined but thanked the girl for the use of her rooms and her clothes, promised to return the current outfit, and headed straight back to her dorm to confront the man who had been occupying her thoughts all day.

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Draco didn't see Hermione for three days. She had apparently gone to breakfast but was gone before he arrived. They didn't share any classes, at all, and considering they were taking very similar subjects, Draco started to believe it was carefully orchestrated that way. Sharing a dorm was one thing, but sharing classes apparently was too much for Minerva McGonagall to contemplate, as if she could only subject the two to each other's presence after dinner hours, as if she was doing them a favor.

It became quite clear that she was deliberately avoiding him as she was never at meals and when he had gone off to the kitchens to check for her there, the elves said he had just missed her. She either hadn't had a nightmare the last few nights or she wasn't sleeping in her room or she had employed some silencing charms of her own because he didn't hear her either. He tried staying up to wait for her to return from wherever she was going, but invariably he would wake up still on the couch with a headache and a crick in his neck. Knocking on her door yielded no response.

The shower was never wet, either, hinting that she wasn't bathing in their dorm. He missed the smell of her, which was odd considering he had hated that smell prior to their…encounter. Draco was getting antsy and lonely. He hadn't spoken to another soul in three days, not even to threaten or reassert his position as someone not to fuck with. When other students looked at him askance or threw insults his way he merely raised a perfectly arched brow a la Snape and kept keeping on.

Three days was enough of this isolation shit, especially when one of those days was Saturday and he didn't have the benefit of classes to keep his brain occupied, and he was ready to tear their rooms apart in frustration if she didn't show her freckled face soon. Merlin, what he wouldn't do for that map that the Weaslette had.

Draco, you blithering idiot! Follow the ginger and you'll probably find the brunette hiding behind her robes. Or under them if the contents of that box are any indication.

Thinking of the box and the witch who owned it was enough to get Draco a different kind of frustrated. His body, which had gone so long without pleasure, was greedy for more now that it had felt it once more…twice more. Before the war got really bad, after popping his cherry with Pansy Parkinson at the end of 4th year, he had enjoyed the occasional shag, able to choose from willing partners within the four houses during school and various debutantes from around the wizarding world during the summer months when he accompanied his parents on business meetings and holidays. Determined that the Malfoy name remain respected and revered, he had made sure that he learned the best ways to please his partners. As a true Slytherin it had been easy enough to convince his partners to show him how they liked to be touched, storing the information away for later, to use with other witches when the time came for it.

Then, things got bad and he found himself seeking witches not for pleasure but for escape. If his mind was occupied with a witch, he wasn't thinking about what was going on in the common rooms on the floor below him. His father encouraged him to forge alliances with other pureblood families and if that meant that he wooed and bedded their daughters, so be it. As long as he didn't impregnate any of them out of wedlock, the Malfoy patriarch turned a blind eye and covered for him with the Dark…Voldemort…when yet another revel was held at the manor. Draco couldn't possibly participate when he was bringing another pure family into the Dark…Voldemort's…circle. Draco fucked to forget and was content with letting the madman think he was just a whore, recruiting for the dark side on his father's orders.

Then, the war ended and Draco Malfoy was Undesirable Number One. The well ran dry, so to speak, and he spent four months with nothing and no one but himself for company. He was so damned depressed that he didn't even contemplate sex enough to miss it. But now…his body remembered and demanded more. His head had gotten used to having someone talk to him, look at him, see him and he missed that too. He refused to go back to the dark place he had spent his summer in.

So he made up his mind that he would follow the last remaining Weasley at Hogwarts until he once again had Hermione Granger in his sights…his arms…his bed…or hers; he wasn't picky. Draco spent that third evening without her contemplating and scheming until he had what he thought was a brilliant, solid, infallible plan. He was Draco Malfoy and he always got what he wanted. Even if what he wanted was a truly infuriating, bushy-haired, know-it-all with a hero complex and the most perfect pussy God had ever created.

Of course, the one thing he didn't plan on, didn't factor into his schemes, was for the witch herself to come sauntering in through the doorway as if she hadn't abandoned him for three days. The girl had the nerve to stroll casual as you please towards him, seating herself at his side and smiling as if she hadn't LEFT HIM ALONE FOR THREE DAMNED DAYS!

Draco did what any self-respecting Slytherin would do. He stood, casual as you fucking please, sneered down his nose at the girl, and stalked off to his room, slamming the door behind him. Surely that would teach her that she shouldn't ignore him while showing her clearly that he didn't actually care that she did. Of course, the fact that he had literally just spent hours planning how to get her back just to shun her when she came back of her own free will didn't bear thinking about.

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Hermione deserved that. She knew she did. He had opened up to her, even if just the tiniest bit, and offered to be her shoulder to cry on and she had left him, no explanation given or time asked for. And then she had avoided him and left him to come to his own conclusions in her absence. He was probably feeling pretty rejected and lashing out. But she had come back and he would, too, when he was ready. She would give him whatever time he needed.

Bugger that, she thought as she got to her feet. He invaded my shower when he wanted to talk, so he is going to have to deal with me now that I want to talk.

Hermione was aware that she was being irrational and high-handed, just as she had done with Ginny, but couldn't really be bollocksed to care. Knowing that she would need every weapon in her arsenal, Hermione stepped into her bedroom to prepare herself for war. Every soldier needed a uniform and so Hermione donned hers, stripping out of the corduroys and jumper she had borrowed from Ginny that morning and pulling a pair of sheer green knickers up her thighs. Remembering his reaction to her oversized t-shirt, she pulled a threadbare quidditch tee, once belonging to Harry truth be told, out of her wardrobe and put it on. Conjuring a full-length mirror she surveyed her reflection.

The shirt was large, but Harry wasn't as big as Ron so it didn't have quite the same look. A swish later and the neck of the shirt stretched out to slip off her shoulder very enticingly. A flick and the color changed from a deep maroon to emerald green and the POTTER scrawled across the back reconfigured into an unmistakable, highly stylized dragon. It was as close to his name as she was willing to brand herself with, even if only temporarily. Hermione mussed her hair a bit more, giving her a just-rolled-out-of-bed look, pinched her cheeks for color, and, looking around to ensure no one was watching even though she knew it was ridiculous, twisted her nipples into hardened points easily seen through the thin material.

Uniform complete, Hermione contemplated her weapons. Every soldier needed an arsenal, after all. Hermione decided and assault on his senses was the best way to go. Well, her looks would disarm him temporarily. What about smell? Hermione dabbed her pulse points with her favorite perfume which had hints of vanilla and musk. It reminded her of her mum and baking cookies on Sundays. For taste she used her own version of a freshening charm, which cleaned her teeth and left behind a flavor unique to the caster, in her case, vanilla and coffee. To attack his sense of touch, Hermione charmed her body smooth and hairless and then rubbed moisturizer into every inch of skin she could reach. She would deal with sound when he decided to listen to her.

There wasn't anything else she could think to do to get his attention. She was truly sorry for avoiding him and wanted to talk to him, see him, listen to his troubles. But first she had to get him to look at her and welcome her back. She wasn't above using whatever means necessary and knew that the Slytherin side of him would probably approve of her tactics.

Girl, get real. His dick is going to approve of your tactics before his head will have a chance to even figure out what hit him.

Straightening her spine and steeling her nerves, Hermione left the safety of her own room to the relative unknown of his. She knocked on his door smartly, anticipating one of two scenarios. Either he would ignore her or he would open the door and sling insults at her. Ok. Three scenarios. He could also open the door and act completely unaffected by her, rejecting her as she obviously had rejected him. Fine. Fine. Four scenarios. He could also hurl insults at her without opening the door. Great. Now she was nervous again, not knowing what he would do, just as she had been when he had stood so close to her that first night.

Draco opened the door. So what would it be, insults or nonchalance? His lips were raised in a sneer and his nostrils flared as if he smelled something unpleasant. He opened his mouth to say something when her image must have finally registered in his brain because no words came out.

Direct hit.

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Draco was pretty sure he was having a stroke. His brain was misfiring and the only thought remaining was a picture of Hermione in sheer green knickers, what appeared to be a Slytherin quidditch tee falling off her shoulder, sex hair, and her bottom lip caught in between her teeth. He was obviously hallucinating because there was nothing he had done in recent memory to cause the fates to bless him in this way.

The Hermione hallucination stepped closer to him and that scent, her scent, engulfed him, filling his nose and making his head spin. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with her. Merlin, he had missed that scent. Fingers tiptoed up his chest and around his neck, pulling his head down until his lips were a scant inch away from a softer pair, the lingering scent of coffee and vanilla strong enough for him to taste.

"Draco," whispered across his lips. "I'm sorry. Please, I want you…to… talk to me."

Those fingers slid down his arms and grasped his hands, pulling them to rest on very real hips, before meeting behind his neck once more. From one breath to the next she was in his arms, smooth legs wrapped around his waist, breasts flattened against his chest, and lips pressed to his own. It was somewhere between tangling his tongue with hers and filling his hands with her ass that his brain caught up and he realized she wasn't a hallucination, he wasn't having a stroke, and that this was really happening.

He was still upset with her but also…didn't really care about that too much at the moment. Hermione pulled away from his mouth with a whimper. That whimper. The same whimper that had led them to this situation to begin with. Well, to the situation that made this situation possible. Shite, he couldn't think straight.

"I want to talk to you," the petite witch repeated. "To explain…"

"After," Draco snarled before claiming her mouth once more. He tightened his grip on her bum, pulling her flush against his hardened cock and reveling in the moan that spilled from her lips and into his. Lips that he sucked between his own, nipping and licking before reacquainting his tongue with the inside of her mouth.

He needed a bed. Or a wall. Whatever. A few strides and he had her pinned beneath him in the center of his bed, her hair spread across his pile of pillows and her legs spread wide to accommodate his hips. Draco pulled her hands high above her head, grasping both her wrists in one hand so he could jerk her shirt up, taking one pert breast fully into his mouth, circling her nipple with his tongue over and over again.

There were those sounds again. She was so vocal and uninhibited in her pleasure. He didn't have to ask if she liked something, or guess, or manipulate her into revealing her desires to him. He knew the moment he did something whether it was well-received by the sound she made. There was a hierarchy to her sex sounds. Gasps were first, followed by whimpers, moans, kitten mewls, keening, animalistic grunts and finally, the scream. It was his goal to elicit the scream.

His attentions to her breast were pulling whimpers out of her plush lips. It wasn't enough. He wanted more from her. She had been able to ignore him for three days. He was going to make damn sure she could never ignore him again. He would brand her with his cock and his mouth and his hands, tattoo his sex on her muscle memory until her body's automatic response was to crave him, to clench in anticipation of being filled by him, to seek him out.

He released her breast with a wet plop, commanded she keep her hands where he left them, and slid down her body to find her waiting and wet for him. He licked her through her panties. A gasp. Again. Again. Again. The whimper. Over and over, he licked and lapped, finding her clit through the material and sucking it between his teeth. He had her keening before he tore away the thin barrier of her soaked knickers and put his tongue to her bare flesh, slurping her juices into his mouth and stabbing three fingers into her wet heat, curling them and dragging them across her spongy walls until…she…screamed, his name echoing off the stone walls.

He had her flipped with her ass in the air and her cheek buried in the pillows before she had finished climaxing and was buried balls deep in her before the first aftershock hit her. He rode her hard, his hips slapping against the plump mounds of her ass, his hands digging bruises into her hips as he pounded into her, a man possessed. It wasn't enough. He wanted still more from her. She was such a tiny thing, especially compared to him, that it took no effort at all to sit back on his haunches, wrapping an arm around her waist and dragging her up and onto his lap, her legs spread on either side of his thighs and her head pulled back onto his shoulder.

He fucked up into her, pushing her down to meet his thrusts harder and faster until she was grunting, a sure sign that she was close to another orgasm. "Touch yourself, Hermione," he commanded, desperate to feel her cunt milking his cock and hear his name once again come from her mouth. He watched her lower her hand to her swollen clit, circling it faster and faster with the tips of two fingers in time with his ceaseless battering of her pussy.

Draco felt her pussy flutter, like her pulse had against his palm on the train, and latched onto her shoulder, biting down and sucking hard as she exploded around him, his name bouncing around the room. He didn't scream her name aloud when he came, shooting rope after rope of pent up seed deep inside her, but inside his head it repeated like a mantra, like a prayer, until he was empty and spent.

He lowered them both to the bed, not pulling out of her body, until they were spooned together in the wreckage that constituted his bedding, both sweaty and panting hard. He pulled her hair away from his face and her neck, and tenderly left a trail of feather-light kisses along the mark he had left on her shoulder. Hermione tilted her head to give him better access, and he kissed along her ear and her jaw line until exhaustion overcame him and he slipped into a deep sleep, the first decent sleep either of them had had since Wednesday night.

Sometime during the night he awoke, hard and aching, his left arm pillowed under her neck and his right thrown over her waist, hand cupping her breast. He pulled her atop him and woke her with slow and dreamy kisses, entering her just as her eyelashes finished fluttering open and her whiskey colored eyes met his. She rocked against him soft and slow until they both came with a sigh before falling asleep still astride him, her nose buried in his neck. They didn't wake again until the sun was high in the sky and only then because of the heavy pounding on their dorm room entrance.