Author's note: My most sincere apologies for taking this long to update. The end of my senior year has been crazy, but I am graduating next Thursday, so hopefully I will be able to keep up with the story (for the most part). Just a warning: this story is going to be a lot longer than I originally intended, and also a lot more graphic. I'm trying to keep it as classy as I can, but what can you do with a story where the main premise is physical? Maybe I should have thought this one through... haha. Anyways, please enjoy and don't forget to review! I always get so discouraged when I don't get many reviews.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the world of Harry Potter, I just play in it.
Later that night Hermione was staring at her reflection in the mirror, brushing her teeth harder than perhaps necessary. Her eyes burned with indignation that he had yet again gotten her into such a compromising position, but this time with such an audience. She moodily spat her mouthful into the sink and contemplated its gloppy, dripping form before rinsing it away with an evil smile and a stream of cold water. She was having too much fun imagining Draco's tiny face, eyes bugged and mouth open, whimpering "noooo!!" as it washed down the drain to stew rightfully with the rest of the castle's sewage to notice the door open on the opposite side of the room. Hermione scowled deeper, barely containing the urge to storm from the bathroom and slam her door shut like a first year when she finally noticed Malfoy had entered the bathroom looking far too smug for her liking. She continued to frown at his form as he paused in the doorway, seemingly contemplating something.
"Enjoy yourself tonight?" he drawled as his eyes made a quick sweep of her body.
"Shove off, Malfoy."
"You know, this is starting to become a regular thing, this 'you not being able to keep yourself off me' thing." His eyes glittered malevolently at her. She ignored him and closed her eyes, making sure she kept breathing.
That was the one thing she knew how to do: breathe. No matter what happened, she could count on her next breath. Even at the Ministry of Magic the night Sirius died, she took solace in her next breath. As long as she could do that, she would live. Time would continue to roll by, and she could wake up in the morning. Time would pass and it would feel like just one second ago she was receiving that very first letter from Hogwarts that changed her life, but each breath between then and the moment she was in marked the time that passed. Another three seconds filled and deflated her lungs before she opened her eyes again. She knew that as long as she kept breathing, she would be fine. Everything would come to pass, and she would be ok.
He looked at her, almost betraying the puzzlement that he kept hidden behind his eyes.
"You are the most self-centered, obnoxious prat I have ever come into contact with" she ground out, glaring at him through the mirror. Leaning casually against the doorframe, he merely nodded politely to her as if she had just told him his hair looked nice when it wasn't slicked back like he had it second year.
"That sure offends me, coming from a mudblood like yourself," he snickered from his spot. Her face reddened and she spun to face him before hurtling herself across the room at him. He was moving to halt her progress a half second later. She raised her wand to throat-level as she charged across the room, but he met her halfway and caught both her raised wrists easily and held them tight.
"I don't know where you get off calling me that, Malfoy," she hissed, her voice dangerously low. "Just because I wasn't born to wizards like you happened to be doesn't make me any less skilled. You know very well that I have the top marks in our grade. Are you upset because you are aren't even in the top 5 with highest marks? Oh yes, I know." His face lost the little color it had to begin with as his features set with rage. He spun her around while still holding her wrists, and bent her arms up behind her back. Hermione allowed herself to wince because she knew he couldn't see her face.
"Marks are nothing, Granger. They can't save you when the Dark Lord comes for you. There's no way to protect yourself from Him. That's your problem, Granger. You support the good guys just because they seem to have a 'noble' cause. You Gryffindors. Don't you realize all the nobility in the world won't be able to save you? My Lord can crush you and your followers with a flick of the wand. You don't stand a chance." Hermione fought against his grip, the feeling of his hot, angry breath over her shoulder was not helping to suppress the rage she felt rising from the pit of her stomach. She wrenched one arm free and swiveled around while snatching her other hand away. With a sharp shove to the chest, Malfoy stumbled backwards a few steps before regaining his footing.
"I agree my marks won't save me. Everything I have learned in order to achieve those marks, however, will. And we will succeed. Voldemort will perish." She suppressed the urge to chortle when
she saw Draco flinch at the use of his lord's name. "We have something to fight for. Bravery, honesty, good, loyalty, free will. I, unlike you, can do as I please. You will always be serving a higher power, taking orders and completing tasks set for you by others. You won't ever be your own master. You have been someone else's possession, someone else's play thing since you drew your first breath. How anyone as intelligent as you could go along with all that hogwash is beyond me, but they've got you brainwashed. Oh, how I pity you." Her voice had been rising steadily until she was screaming the last few words, too blinded by her own anger to see him quaking with wrath across from her. She picked up a small, mostly empty bottle of hand cream and threw it at the wall two feet to the left of Malfoy and was rewarded with the satisfying sound of shattering glass.
He took one step towards her and shoved her hard, and she gasped when her back collided roughly with the wall behind her. He stalked up to her and trapped her against the wall, one hand next to each of her shoulders. His breathing was very strained and she could tell he was having a hard time controlling his temper, his steely eyes burning through her as he struggled to contain his voice. When he finally spoke, his mouth was next to her ear and he was speaking in a voice quieter than a whisper. Were she thinking straight, she might have been slightly intimidated.
"I am no one's play thing. I simply follow orders given to me out of respect. I fight for pride, tradition, class, honor and to save a population that is quickly decaying and becoming deluded by mudbloods like you." She laughed, but quickly regretted it as his hand shot into her hair and twisted a chunk around his hand. Her eyes watered as several hairs were pulled from her scalp. Instead she clenched her teeth and prepared a response.
"Please, Malfoy. You take orders because you're afraid not to. There is no honor in killing witches and wizards who have just as much right as you to be involved in the wizarding community." She was still yelling. Somehow, she couldn't manage to control the volume of her voice. Malfoy quickly ducked away because he mouth had been right at his ear, but he still held her pinned painfully against the uncomfortable stone wall. "You're going to end up a mindless puppet like your father," she finished, waiting for his explosive reaction. She was well rewarded when he began shouting in her face, his eyes now wild with more emotion she had ever seen him register.
"My father?! My FATHER?! What gives you the right to go around talking about my father?! You know nothing, you stupid mudblood! I have a mind of my own, I do not do only as my father says!" he roared with apparent indignation. Hermione had finally found the switch that set him off. Draco nearly resented his father. When he was little, all he wanted to do was please him. Anything that the young boy tried, however, failed to impress the man, and he was punished more times than he cared to remember. What was worse was that he knew Granger was right. His father only raised him to serve the Dark Lord, to follow in his footsteps and become another one of the high-ranking slaves that receive more important missions and therefore harder punishment if not completed. Draco still had faith in his side, his morals, his teachings. He just maybe wasn't so sure about handing his service over to someone else such as his father or his Lord.
Their anger seemed to be pulsating through the room and the air around them seemed to vibrate with it. Both breathing hard from the effort to keep from fatally injuring the other, their eyes locked and Malfoy's fingers curled tightly around Hermione's upper arms. The seconds drew out and neither moved, but their breathing slowed a little. Seemingly at the same time, both realized the proximity of their bodies, and she fought the urge to shift in his grip. Draco hadn't intended to get in such a large argument. He had only wanted to get back to his dorm room so he could relax after the party. It shouldn't have been so easy for Granger to provoke him. He would never admit that it was because he was still worked up from their kiss earlier that evening. After that damn mudblood had left, the group had wisely picked a new game and Draco was at a loss to find a girl before he returned to the dorm. Still reverberating with rage, annoyance, and excitement, he bent his head down next to her ear again. Neither moved.
"Why aren't you trying to get away?" he breathed, pressing his body slightly further into hers. He didn't notice he had until her breath hitched in his ear, however. Damn hormones. Why did Hermione have to be a girl? One that he decidedly liked battling—with verbal fights or physical encounters. He cursed his hormones once again as her hands clutched at his arms just as tight as he held hers.
"I can't get away, Malfoy. You have me trapped." They were staring at each other.
"You could escape if you wanted to," he said in a near purr. All that anger and heat wasn't helping either of them. He could tell she was fighting the same urges by the way she was shifting ever so slightly in his grasp.
"Of course I want to get away. Don't be ridiculous!" her voice quivered hysterically, "just….let go of me, Malfoy." She was fighting to keep composure. Malfoy, however, had lost his. Suddenly he thought of something, and he acted quickly by dipping his head down into her neck, keeping her pinned to the wall.
"I propose an arrangement," he breathed into her neck. She squinted at him, trying to shimmy from his half-embrace.
"What are you talking about, Malfoy? And I thought you didn't want me touching you with my filthy muggle hands." She was worried. If his coposure had been compromised, she'd have to fight for hers twice as hard, and she wasn't sure she could do that.
"I propose that we, ah, relieve each other's stress," he murmured before giving in, although he knew he would probably hate himself for it later, and nipped at the spot where her neck met her shoulders. She shrugged him off to the best of her abilities. Her neck seemed to mourn the decision.
"Why would I agree to such a thing?" She spat, turning to face him and trying to side-step him to get away. He was too quick—he put his hands on her hips and lifted her up, setting her on her own counter and trapping her by standing between her legs. His hands were again resting on either side of her.
"Because I'm irresistible," he drawled, his face a scant three inches from hers. The two of them were still breathing hard, impossibly worked up from the evening at the party and the yelling match that had switched to seduction in mere seconds. The familiar feeling of his breath on her face made her squirm. She took another breath. Now is not the time to go and act like a teenage girl, she scolded herself, willing herself to try and get away again. Draco's suggestion, had it been from any other decent looking, good wizard, might have been more acceptable. That is, for her mind. Her body already appeared to be giving its assent. But she tried to continue refusing to acknowledge him.
"Well, I'm resisting," she said with as much finality as she could muster. His mouth caught her under the ear. She was resisting. Well, she was trying.
"So they all say," he hissed from somewhere just below her left ear. If she was going to make it out of the bathroom without doing anything stupid, he would certainly have to stop doing that.
"But I think you're a foul boy. Keep your filthy hands off me," she regained composure by pushing him away from her. Damn, she thought bitterly, it's hard to dissuade a boy in need.
"I'm not asking you to like me, mudblood." Her hand streaked up to his face, where it left a bright red mark across his left cheek. He merely chuckled softly and appeared to not even have felt it.
"Then what are you asking, Malfoy?!" She was getting frustrated by now, because his need was wearing off on her and she knew she had to get out of there fast. Damn hormones and their damn debilitating effects.
"I'm asking a friends with benefits deal—" he placed his hand rather high on her thigh.
"But we aren't friends!" She thought fondly of the door, or maybe an icy shower. For the two of them. No! For just her—let him wait for his.
"Well, what about enemies with benefits? Rivals with benefits? Call it what you want, I want benefits."
"There is absolutely no logic in that, Malfoy," she sighed, exasperated.
"Exactly, it's just fun. And it's here, and it's convenient. Don't pretend you didn't enjoy kissing me in the library. And the Room of Requirement just a bit ago."
"I didn't. You revolt me!" Now frantically lying, she was desperate to escape because, contrary to what she saying, her mind had started to believe him. It sounded so good right about now. Especially with all the tension she had built trying to research this damned Romania for her two friends who were now furious with her. Keep breathing and you can talk to them later. Settle things out. Make everything right. But right now, nothing was right. Draco had her pinned on her own bathroom counter and she was seconds from accepting his request.
"Nothing you do can make me like you," she assured him.
"I'm not asking you to like me, mudblood," he said for the second time in two minutes. His lips were at her neck again, and she felt her composure dissolve as a small moan escaped her before she could stop it. He placed his hand on her opposite hip and licked where he had just bit rather hard, and her head fell back a bit. She deserved this. She didn't deserve him, she deserved much better than him, but he was here now, and she was tingly now, and his lips were at her neck. She couldn't say no anymore. She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and leaned back on her other arm. He lifted his mouth for a moment and looked haughtily at her with a victorious look filled with desire. You just can't dissuade a boy in need.
"I take that as an acceptance," he smirked conceitedly before attacking her mouth. This kiss wasn't an ounce different from the others; the two felt the need to compete, to conquer, to beat the other into submission. They weren't tender, soft, or passionate, but needy instead. His hand slid from her hip to the hem of her skirt, and he paused there. She began to grow impatient with him; all this build-up, and he was hesitating there?! She growled in frustration and slid herself forward a little on the counter, causing his hand to slide just under her skirt. He broke from her mouth and look at her wide-eyed.
"Not the innocent little Gryffindor, are you?" he sneered, sliding his hand to her outer thigh and up her skirt, stroking the outside of her leg.
"You don't know the half of it," she snarled before she could catch herself. He looked at her, clearly amused. Her eyes grew wide. "No, I mean—not that." She quickly corrected. She had, for the lack of a better word, changed somewhat over the summer, but not that much. But right then she was too turned on to elaborate, and he was happy to continue. As his hand slipped to her inner thigh, she leaned forward and sucked at his neck as his fingers danced over the fabric of her knickers. She trembled in delight, renewing her efforts at his neck. The work his fingers were doing let Hermione know that Draco was rather well practiced. When he was finally awarded with a final gasping moan, she scooted happily back against the mirror, eyes lidded and heavily sedated. He gave her a second to bask in the feeling before raking his fingernails down her leg to remind her that their agreement had been two-way.
She was quickly brought to attention, and hopped off the counter to stand before him, her cheeks still glowing from her arousal. When she leaned forward and dragged her fingernails down his biceps, in much the same manner as he had just done to her legs, while biting his ear with a little too much force, he hissed and pressed forward into her to remind her of his ultimate need. Her hands traced down his torso and undid his belt and lowered his trousers without removing her mouth from his ear. He briefly wondered just why she knew what she was doing so well. Then he smirked at the thought of Ron's face if he ever found out what his precious little mudblood was doing to his own body at the moment.
To Hermione, Draco had ceased being Malfoy and had merely become a delicious, pale, lithe body the moment his hand slid up her thigh. Hoping to seem a little more knowledgeable than she really was—she had only done this a few times—she carefully freed him of his boxers and brought him
to his own growling peak within minutes while keeping her mouth on his ears, neck, mouth, and collarbone. With a final harsh kiss on the mouth, she turned to brush her teeth again as he cast a quick cleaning charm and proceeded to his side of the bathroom to get himself ready for bed, already feeling rather sleepy.
"G'night, Malfoy," she murmured, feeling slightly awkward. His reflection nodded at her's through their mirrors.
"Granger," he said as he tipped his head. She disappeared into her room and was in bed, fast asleep, in minutes.
