Draco Malfoy

The Horcrux mission was not going well. Hermione had been unable to focus on anything: not the locket, not the putting up of the shield charms around their camp, not even her true love Ron. A certain blond-haired boy, who had perversely shown affection towards her in a fit of anger the year before, distracted her…

Unable to clear her mind, she announced she was going for a walk, ignoring the protests of the boys as she stalked out of the tent. She would take down the shield charms momentarily to get out, but she would not go far.

As she wandered the woods, who should appear but him, cloaked, head down. After a moment of indecision, she revealed herself to him. He explained he was running from his Death Eater brethren at Malfoy Manor. She explained how she was helping Harry (which she suspected he had learned long before). She didn't know what possessed her to trust him enough with that secret, although it probably had something to do with the confused feelings that had been broiling inside her ever since just after the first of the year. She invited him to come back to their camp, despite Malfoy's protest that "Potter or Weasley" wouldn't want him there. She didn't care. She had no intention of revealing him to them.

They returned to the camp and Hermione warded the place. Leaving Malfoy hiding at the side of the tent, she went in and grabbed some supplies, telling the boys that she would take the first watch. She rejoined the Slytherin outside and waited until she could hear the steady breathing that told her the boys were asleep. Noticing Malfoy pressed up against the tent fabric and shivering, she offered her blanket to him, apologizing that they would have to share.

"I don't need you to stay with me." He grabbed the blanket. She noticed that he was still shivering and wondered how long he was outside.

"I have the first watch," she snapped back. "I'm not staying with you."

"If no one can see or hear you, why do you have to watch?"

"If someone does come, we have to be ready to leave." Hermione sat down on the ground, near Malfoy, but have turned away. A few minutes passed this way in silence.

"You're just a Mudblood, a filthy Mudblood," he said finally, and her cold hands curled into fists.

"How dare you," she began, but he hadn't finished.

"So why can't I get you out of my head?" He spat the words out, almost angrily. It was dark, and she couldn't see him, but then there was rustle and she imagined that he had turned to look in her direction.

"Do you think I want you in my head?" she asked. "It's easier to hate you, to wish you weren't here right now. But-" She stopped, before she could say that sitting next to him, imagining his hands on her body, was making her want to close the distance between them, pull his head down to hers, wrap her legs around his waist.

More movement happened. She could feel him fumbling against the ground, next to her, but then he found her, and his hand closed awkwardly over hers. "I don't like you. I don't know you. But when I see you, I think of you naked on a desk or a bed, and I want you again and again" he said and her blood burned.

"I don't like you either," she said, isolating the statement that she could deal with. "But I don't hate you anymore."

"I suppose I don't hate you either, Granger." His hand was cold, like hers, and she pulled it closer to her, resting her leg on top of their clasped hands.

"Did you shag Weasley?" he asked suddenly.

"No," she said, trying not to laugh and cry at the same time. She had shagged a Weasley, but not the one he was thinking of…despite that she desperately wanted Ron to shag her.

"Who, then?"

"That's none of your business, Malfoy," she said primly. She thought she could almost hear his sneer, but then he snorted, and it was so uncharacteristic, so out of place in the dark and cold, that she laughed too, even though she knew he was laughing at her.

Later, she couldn't remember who made the first move, but suddenly she was in his lap and his hands were on her waist and their lips were pressed together. He bit her lip and a small sound escaped from her mouth. Again, he bit her, harder this time, and she moaned. Desire gathered deep within her and her hips twitched involuntarily, moving against him, and she felt him growing hard. She moved off him and tugged at his robes until he was free of them and then stroked him with her fingers, feeling him. There were stars and a sliver of moon, but she couldn't see much under the cover of trees.

If Malfoy could see her clearly, she didn't know if she would do this, but the dark made her bold, and she pushed him back, to lean on his hands, and she bent over and dragged her tongue down the length of him, eliciting a groan. She closed her mouth around his cock, moving her lips and tongue against him. He smelled and tasted of sweat, but not unpleasantly so. Hermione didn't know what she was doing, exactly, she had only found a few books on the subject, but he was breathing heavily, and she decided that was a good sign. His cock was hard and filled her mouth, pressed against the back of her throat. She was struck by how completely he was in her power at that moment, and with that thought, she felt wetness spread between her own legs.

Spurred on by his ragged breathing and occasional groan, she gained confidence, bringing her hand up and wrapping it tightly around the base of his cock, moving her fingers up and down along him, sliding them along the wet tracks of her own saliva. His breath came in gasps and her mouth was just getting tired when he sat up. She sat back, but he reached for her, his hands brushing against her knees, traveling up to her thighs, then finding her waistband, catching at empty belt loops and prying at her clothes. Hermione reached down to undo the button herself, and as soon as it was undone, Malfoy pulled her jeans down, hard. She was cold, and shivered, but then his hands were on the insides of her bare thighs, and the skin under his palms warmed quickly.

He brought his head down and she felt his hair brush against her stomach. It tickled, but her body contracted, tingling with arousal.

"I don't think I smell very nice. I haven't showered -" she began, but he cut her off.

"You smell foul. I smell your dirty blood." Hermione didn't know why these words sent burning trails of desire up her spine, instead of the anger she should have felt, but then Malfoy was pushing her legs roughly apart, and his face was between her legs, and she didn't care anymore. His tongue was nothing like Ginny's. Their awkward exploration last summer, incited by boredom and a bottle of old wine, was not entirely clear in Hermione's memory, but she did remember the delicacy with which Ginny trailed her tongue across various parts of her body. It was slow and excruciatingly sweet, and all Hermione wanted to say was "faster" and "harder". Ironic, that Malfoy was only the…seventh man she had ever kissed in 2.5 years, yet her first time had been with a woman.

Malfoy didn't have a technique, exactly, but he made up for this lack with force, and she inhaled sharply as he plunged his tongue into her. Her squeak of a gasp seemed to encourage him and he moved his tongue inside her. His fingers brushed against her, pressing and rubbing and then he switched, his fingers inside her and his tongue licking up to the spot at the top where she was most sensitive. She didn't know how many fingers he had inside of her, at first, but she could tell when he pushed another in, and then another. She felt stretched, and it hurt, a little, but she moved into the pain and then there was only the exquisite feeling of being filled. His tongue flicked at her and swirled around her as his fingers drove into her, and she shivered and shuddered and smacked uselessly at the ground and finally she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time, so long, almost, that she didn't recognize it when it began, the warmth building between her legs and rising and then spreading and she spat out "Don't stop, Malfoy, don't bloody stop," and it didn't occur to her that he might stop, just to be cruel. But he didn't and she came, her legs quivering, her hips bucking and pressing her sex harder against his mouth. He took his fingers out of her and grabbed her hips, holding her, shoving his tongue back inside her.

"How do I taste?" she asked, her voice rough from gasping.

"Like mud." It was an answer she had half-expected, but he caught her face in his hands and kissed her, and there was nothing cruel in his mouth moving against her own. She tasted herself, salty, with a metallic tang, on his tongue.

She climbed back onto his lap, lowering herself onto him. He pushed his hips up against her, thrusting farther up into her. Hermione let out her breath in a moan and moved with him, riding him, hard, her hands holding onto his shoulders. His hands spread across her arse, fingers pressing into her skin. It didn't take long for him to come. He bit her neck, and her earlobe, and then groaned against her ear, thrusting up as her arse slapped down onto his thighs one last time. He held her there and moved shallowly a few more times, panting. She was exhausted and leaned her head on his shoulder without thinking, but he did nothing more than run his fingers through her hair, which was somewhat tangled, and then curl his arm around her waist, brushing his fingers awkwardly and lightly along her side.

When they started to shiver, she got up and put her clothes back on. Malfoy did the same, and then they huddled under the blanket, without speaking. But his hands gripped her through the hours of the night, and she didn't complain when her fingers began to lose feeling.

She went back into the tent, once, to check on Harry and Ron. Harry stirred, and she told him that she wasn't tired, that she'd keep watching. He mumbled something and rolled over without ever really waking up.

When pale light began to spread from the edges of the sky, she stood on shaky legs. Malfoy stirred as her foot brushed against the blanket, and he opened his eyes.

"It's dawn," she told him. "They'll wake up soon." The last thing she wanted was for them to see her with him, and for them to infer (correctly) what they would from it.

Malfoy nodded. "Granger-"

She shook her head. "Not now. Nothing now."

"Alright." He stood; bunching the blanket up and handing it back to her. Hermione stared at him, studying his face, trying to decide what she saw in his eyes. They looked old and tired, and she suddenly felt very sad.