I don't own Harry Potter and heartily apologize to J.K. for making her beloved characters do such dirty things. Especially when I'm not even being paid for it, geez.

AN: If I spent half as much time on my original fiction as I do on this stuff, I could be making loads of money by now. Be grateful, wenches. Also, if this scene is different from Define One Off's smut, there's good reason for that. This Dramione is coming from a completely different place, for one. For two, use your brains. It's still pretty hot, I think (or stupid). But you're entitled. Oh, and WARNING: LEMON.

To eau-bleu: Cha, that's why I'm a Slytherin. And my rl friends don't believe me. Pff.

Hermione had no illusions about what she and Draco were doing- taking comfort in one another's arms, lips, tongues. For all his sweet words and sweeter actions, she couldn't pretend to be in love with him, couldn't imagine they were anything but temporary lovers for necessity's sake. And even then the necessity was only born from the inevitably of whatever crazy attraction they shared at the moment. Necessary because if they didn't come together now, in a deliberate manner, then sparks would fly at some later date or time, in what was sure to be a compromising, embarrassing manner.

Now, under cover of darkness, they could keep things quiet and their union never had to see the light of day…which was how she was choosing to justify the entire encounter.

Not that his lips along her jaw, throat and collar bone needed much justification.

He'd pulled them both to their feet and they were standing in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around one another; his mouth upon her skin as he bent his head lower and lower; her mouth filling with sighs of appreciation and a minimal amount of terror.

It had been years since she and Harry had indulged one another, after all. And the thought of paying any attention to her sexual needs on her own was laughable, considering she didn't even like looking at herself in the mirror. But Draco…he was just right.

Or maybe that wasn't the right term for the way she felt like she was being devoured. But either way, she'd made her decision minutes ago, which meant the rest would be easy. Or should have been easy.

Draco nipped lightly at the skin of her neck and she gasped and put her hands on his head, drew him up to meet her gaze. They paused for a moment, breathing hard, and he rested his forehead against hers, then leaned forward and gave her another kiss; before lowering his head and burying his face against her neck.

He inhaled deeply and shivered. She moved her hands down to his back again and slid her fingers beneath his shirt, feeling her heart race within her chest. She could feel his pulse, too, and knew it was as erratic as hers.

"Draco," she murmured and he mumbled a response. "What?" she breathed and he lifted his head again, letting her tug his shirt over his head. His arms went back around her immediately.

"You smell so fucking good I can't stand it," he whispered and she flushed. "It's the most bloody…intoxicating…" He lowered his head again and nestled his nose against her skin, breathing deep. His tongue darted out and he gave her neck a long lick. Startled, she moaned and he laughed softly before bringing his head up and kissing her again. After another languid tangle of tongues, he straightened up and simply held her for several seconds, as if he needed time to regain control of himself. She found the thought slightly thrilling. She also found her head tucked under his chin, her nose buried against his chest. With his shirt out of the way, she could smell the Davidoff all over him and it was her turn to be overwhelmed by his scent.

"I never should have bought that for you," she murmured against him and felt him shake his head.

"I'll never wear anything else," he replied.

"Like you'll be able to afford it with your muggle salary- wherever you end up working," she replied, grinning slightly.

"I'll save up for it," he said, pulling away and looking down at her. "I'll watch every cent. Only second hand things from now on, just so I can think of you."

Her face changed and he felt it, though they were mostly in shadow. "Draco…don't say-"

He laid a finger against her lips. "I'll say whatever I damn well please tonight, Hermione. And every night you have me, until I'm gone. Let me make it real enough to remember after this is all over. I deserve that much," he finished, his voice full of some emotion that she'd really rather not know about.

"You do," she murmured around his finger and then kissed it tenderly. He slid it away and replaced it with his lips, meeting her kiss and melting away the deception of their words.

His hands pushed their way up into her hair and tilted her head further back, leaving her neck exposed again and his lips traveled down once more. She made a throaty sound and wove her fingers into his hair, holding his head there, his mouth against her skin.

"We should go," she said and he lifted his head again.

"Where?"

She hesitated and he smiled down at her.

"Invite me in, Hermione," he whispered. "I promise not to bite. I'll make this good for us both."

She shook her head slightly and drew her arms from around him, capturing one of his hands in hers. A spill of moonlight, released by a cloud's movement, suddenly illuminated her face. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips parted. Hair a tangled mess. He wanted to kiss her for the rest of his life, if she would only look like that for him, and him alone.

Those swollen lips curved slightly, parted further.

"You didn't say please," she said. He started to frown and she put a hand over his mouth. "But come in to bed with me anyway."

He started to bend down, preparing to swing her into his arms, but she shook her head and stood on tiptoe to put her mouth by his ear.

"I'd rather you didn't go that far," she breathed against his skin and somehow, between their mutual assaults on one another and whispered commands and protestations, they made it across the front hall and into her bedroom. She shut the door behind them and leaned against it for a minute, gathering her thoughts, her confidence. Was she really ready to do this? Did she want it badly enough, that it outweighed the cons?

Draco spun her about and pressed her against the closed door with his body, taking her face in his hands again and layering kisses on her reddened lips, her flushed cheeks. There was a fire building between them and they hadn't even made it onto the bed and the only clothing removed so far was his shirt. Hermione wasn't sure whether to be excited or terrified, but she definitely knew she wasn't up for any more sweetness. She wanted control of this, wanted to feel passion and sparks, because that's all it was.

Draco slid his tongue against hers, drawing moans from them both. His skin was hot against her, despite the clothes she was wearing.

"Hermione," he murmured in her ear, "let go. You're thinking too much."

"I know," she replied breathlessly. "Just- give me a second, please."

He pulled his lips from hers and straightened some, pulled his arms away. He put his hands up, flat against the door, so that he wouldn't be tempted to hold her, caress her skin. But he leaned close to her, keeping her locked between his body and the door, making it hard for her to think- which was technically his goal, she realized with a small laugh. Closing her eyes, she brought her hands up to run them over his chest. Only a few scars overlapped his shoulders, came around his sides, but for the most part the skin was smooth and warm. Hard from the muscle underneath, but sensitive to her tocuh. His breath came ragged and he lowered his head, caught her lips again.

She tasted the salt on his lips from running his mouth across her skin, smelled the remains of his aftershave. It filled her senses and she closed her eyes again, broke away suddenly. Her hands held him off her while she caught her breath. Then she reached her hands down, fingers fiddling with the hem of her jumper. He went very, very still and she opened her eyes and glanced up to find him watching her. He was close enough that even in the darkness she could see the way his eyes had gone wide. Very slowly, she drew the jumper up, inch after inch, and finally pulled it over her head. His eyes didn't leave her face and after she was done, he rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing hard. Now only a thin camisole separated her chest from his.

"You don't have to do this, Hermione," he said unexpectedly, closing his eyes. "We can stop."

There was a long pause as she watched his face and he waited for her reply. Then she reached up and caught his chin. Slowly, she slid her fingers along his jaw and watched as he opened his eyes again and stared down at her.

"No," she replied, her voice steady. "We can't."

All the breath left him and he found he was the one trembling now. She smiled at him gently, almost as if she'd expected this, and then pushed him back slowly until he felt the bed behind him. Without anymore preamble, she tugged on the waistline of her shorts and eased them down over her hips. The camisole followed the shorts. And the eensy, weensy pair of lacy knickers followed the camisole.

He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to breathe again.

"Draco," she whispered.

He knew he must have responded, he just wasn't sure how.

"Your pants, Draco," she said and he felt himself flush to the roots of his hair. Thank Merlin for cover of darkness.

The offending clothing was pooled around his ankles in another second and she was kicking them away with one slim leg, her other clothes sliding across the floor after them. He put his hands out, ready to take her about the waist, to pull her onto the bed, but she put one hand on his chest again and pushed him back, forcing him to sit.

He didn't fight her. He could tell something had changed, that she needed him to follow her lead. He stayed where he was, unwilling to move until she'd said something, directed him somehow. His eyes roamed over her shadowy figure and he longed to touch her, taste her, but he kept his hands still by digging them into the covers.

Hermione could feel him looking at her as she hesitated and she suddenly knew the room was far too bright. It needed to be darker. She needed it pitch black, so that way when she started to cry later, afterwards- as she always did- he would never have to know, would never have to see her face contorted with longing and sorrow. Because no matter how badly her body longed to be touched, how badly she wanted this now, she knew the tears would come. They always did.

As if in answer to her prayer, the room went darker, the shades drawing down across all the windows and the moonlight disappeared. Draco took a sharp breath as he felt her hands touch his shoulders in the newly darkened room. It was as if someone had clicked a deluminator, leaving just them in a black box, where the only thing they could hear was their own breathing, the only thing in front of them what their fingers touched. He put his hands up as well and was rewarded with a sigh as he ran them across her stomach and then further up, cupping her breasts.

"Draco," she breathed and leaned into his hands. He pulled her closer, between his legs, and began landing open mouth kisses along her breasts. His tongue found her nipples and he drew first one, then the other into his mouth, laving his tongue across them. She moaned and he felt himself grow harder, knowing his own arousal had to be obvious by now. He could feel the tops of her thighs pressing against him and then it didn't matter much because she was pushing him back, forcing him to lie down while she straddled him.

He made a guttural noise and started to leverage himself back up on his elbows, but felt one hand press him back down against the bed. His breath came shorter.

"Hermione?" he murmured and she responded by tracing the line of his neck with her tongue, then running it up around his ear. He brought his hands up and gripped her waist hard for a second as he tried not to come right then.

"Who's not letting go now?" she whispered and he groaned. He played a hand up one thigh as she squeezed his hips with her legs and traced his fingers along her skin, all the way up to her center. With her mouth still at his ear and her hands busy in his hair and running along his chest; she barely noticed his own motion until he ran his index finger down her folds. She shivered and stilled. He grew more daring, dipping the finger into her, sliding it deep. She moaned and rocked against him, then pressed her lips to his again, opening her mouth, mimicking his actions with her tongue. Her kiss distracted him long enough for her to reach back and wrap one small hand around his length and run it up and down him once.

He gave a soft cry into her mouth and without another word, he felt her hand leave as she settled back over him, felt her take him into her slick warmth. He cried out again, louder, and couldn't help but thrust into her. She pressed against him with her chest, trying to hold him still, and buried her face in his neck. She was shaking.

"Hermione…" he breathed, and began murmuring her name, over and over. She finally moved again, lifting her head and covering his lips with hers. If they were wet with tears, he didn't notice, he was so lost in the sensation of being inside her; of having her heat cradling him, her hands in his hair, her legs pulled up against his waist. It was overwhelming and he had to force himself to remember she was there too, that he'd promised to make it good for her.

Oh, god. He suddenly wasn't sure he could do this, but it was really, truly, too late for doubts.

With an effort he stilled their wild motion long enough to slip a hand between their bodies and find her center again; that nub he could stroke until she came apart in his arms. He found it, pressed his thumb against it gently.

She moaned against his skin and responded by arching her back. She gasped his name and he could feel her trembling.

"Draco," she breathed again. "That's really not- you don't have to-"

"I want to," he whispered. "Please, Hermione-"

"No, that's not what I….Draco," she groaned.

But he never knew what she meant, because in the next second she did come apart; and Draco followed her swiftly, clasping her to him with shaky arms as they both found release.

Hermione didn't see stars, or bright lights- well, maybe lights- but she certainly didn't feel her heart doing any sort of- oh, hell. Yes, it was. It was beating far too fast and she had to blink several times into the dark to clear her vision and she could still feel Draco buried deep inside her, her walls pulsing about him in the final throes of ecstasy. And his lips along her cheeks were soft and full; and his tongue kept doing lewd things to her neck; and while things had, at a certain point, grown slightly awkward and a little calculated, she felt incredibly good.

Like…really, really good. Better than she'd felt with Harry. She sighed and collapsed against him, allowing him to squeeze her to him again.

His arms were still shaking slightly, but that was alright. He'd just come in- with, really- Hermione Granger. That was bound to do something to a bloke. Never mind the fact that he'd just cemented his love slave status.

But this was hardly the time to joke.

He smirked into her hair and then drew his hands down, gripped her shoulders. He was still inside her heat and it made him feel dirty and quite pleased all at once. He kissed her lips, then her jaw, then her neck. Ran his tongue along her skin again, where he'd nipped her earlier. So what if she had scars in places that made him pale, or ran a horse farm, or had given up magic? So what if he was at her mercy and about to become a wizarding cast-off?

He didn't care.

In those seconds, during the afterglow, it ceased to matter, and he realized he wanted her again. And again, and again, for as long he could. His heart sped up and he held her up, looked into her face, which he still couldn't really see, of course.

"Hi," she murmured, then lowered her head again, resting it against his chest.

"Hey," he breathed. His lips formed the words, but he didn't say them. He fancied she could probably tell what he meant to ask, anyway. But following up their first mutual, flesh-on-flesh, sex-derived orgasms in years with the question, so, what does this mean, seemed like poor taste. So, he settled for holding her to him again.

After a few minutes, she finally took a deep breath and lifted one aching leg off him, rolling to one side of him. He felt as naked as he knew he actually was without her on top of him.

"I should…" She paused, then mumbled, "Bathroom." With an effort, she sat up and scooted off the other side of the bed, stumbling into the room in question. He heard the door shut. A minute or so later, the toilet flushed and there was the sound of running water.

It was all very pedestrian. The door opened again, but the bed didn't indent and he didn't hear footsteps. He leveraged himself up on one arm and turned to look behind him. The light in the bathroom was on, allowing him to see a quite naked Hermione standing in the doorway, looking out at him. He blinked in the light and resisted the urge to rub his face and ask her if she was coming to bed. She looked serious.

His heart slowed.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked softly and she shook her head. "Are you…"

She shook her head again and walked over to the bed, to him. She sat down and picked at the spread some.

"Hermione, what is it?"

She shrugged helplessly, but refused to look at him. How could she tell him that in the seconds she'd had under the bright lights of the bathroom that all the good feelings had gone and the regret had crept into their places, as it always did? Regret for the things she'd lost, regret for Ron. For the children she could never have. For a whole host of things that weren't his fault.

The tears she'd been desperate to hide from him started to spill over and his heart nearly stopped.

"Hermione-"

"Don't," she begged and started to reach for him before drawing in on herself and hugging her legs to her chest. She rested her head against her knees and rocked back and forth. "Maybe you should go," she whispered. "I didn't want-"

"Me to see this? After all the crying we've done the last month?" He gave a short laugh. "You're an idiot sometimes, Hermione," he murmured and laid a hand on her head.

She shook her head, hid her face. "I'm sorry."

"You hate that word."

She snorted and he slid over until he was seated next to her. Then he put his arms around her and drew her into the curve of his body.

"Well, at least you aren't the first woman I've made cry after sex," he quipped and felt her shoulders shake. He smiled sadly and leaned over, pressing a kiss to her head, then burying his face in her hair.

"I'm sorry, too," he murmured.

"No," she said suddenly, lifting her head. "You have nothing to be sorry for. That was- it was exactly what I wanted," she ended firmly and looked up at him.

"Hermione, you don't have to say-"

She reached up and grabbed his chin again. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she whispered fiercely. "Nothing."

Then she leaned up and kissed him, pulling his head down to hers, wrapping her arms about his neck again.

"In fact," she gasped when she finally came up for air, "I want you to do more things you don't have to be sorry for."

"I'm not sure that made sense," he responded, running his hands down her arms and over her back.

"Do you need a diagram? Or perhaps a demonstration?"

He gazed at her and ran a thumb over one cheek, wiping the remains of her tears away. She wasn't crying any longer, but there was still a deep sadness in her eyes that pulled at him. He wanted to wipe it all away; and the knowledge that he never could and, after three more weeks, never would, spurred him to action. Anything to alleviate the ache he saw mirrored in her face. He tried for a cheeky smile and fell short between sympathetic and hopeful. Then he pulled her closer, turning her face towards him.

"That might be in order," he replied softly, and covered her lips with his, determined that this time he wouldn't just make it good for her.

He would make it better.

AN: That was really long. Sorry. ;)