Author's Note: Hope you all had a Merry Christmas and that you're looking forward to 2014! I really appreciate the messages some of you have been sending, and I can tell you I am doing okay, it's just difficult sometimes. By the way, I would never kill Draco, guys! Just a bit of suspense for you. And a bit more in store for you now.

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I've never felt so alive, like I feel right now in this moment,
I've never felt so alive, like I feel right here standing next to you,
Heaven's heard me calling, the stars have all aligned,
Your touch is so electric, and looking in your eyes; I've never felt so alive.

It's so surreal, the way you feel.
How fast my heart is beating, and we're breathing together now.
As we float out above the clouds, I swear I'll never let you down.
- Alive, Good Charlotte

"Given the circumstances, Mister Malfoy, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to send you home."

Stern words ring out against a worried, lined faced. Against a face that has never looked at me that way.
If I wasn't so drugged up, I probably would've started bawling by now, or maybe laughed, but I'm so numb and disbelieving, and unsure of how I even got in this chair, this uncomfortable, rickety chair, that I just don't react.

I thought it might come to this, but I don't think I could ever have prepared myself.
This is the final solution; get rid of the angry pureblood so Hogwarts can function properly.

And the worst part? That it's the right decision.

Maybe now Hermione can be happy without me.
I'll be miserable.

Hand cupping her chin, fingers fiddling with a quill, McGonagall taps the parchment of my 'release form', a title I can barely read from a foot away. Hope was drained from my veins long ago, but now I think I'm completely sucked dry, just floating around now unsure if I'm alive anymore. Coming out into the light has made me see how entrenched in myself and in darkness I was last year. And now I have to retreat back to that place, and pretend like I'll be able to recover again.

"Don't you have anything to say? No protest, no resentment?"

"It's not going to change anything, is it? You'll ship me off regardless." My tone is far more defeated than I would've liked it to sound.

"Yes, I will. But you don't seem slightest bit upset as to why we reached that decision. Why you're being robbed of being here."
Surely McGonagall has free authority on whether or not to decide if I belong here.
So why does she look so concerned? She's getting rid of the student plaguing the rest, just cutting out the disease from the rest of the healthy bodies.

"Certainly, I am…..what do you mean by we, Professor?"

"If you are, you aren't showing it. It' fairly concerning, frankly. And I contacted your mother when you were recovering; we discussed your options."

WHAT?

"You look surprised," she tells me, tilting her head slightly. "Draco… you do not seem to realize the severity of your actions. Protocol suggests that we should have alerted St. Mungo's immediately after finding you in the Forbidden Forest. Professor Slughorn advised that I talk to your family first, so I agreed. And she told me that it would be best to take you home, that you don't take well to strangers, and that you have a special hatred for ahem institutions. She's coming to pick you up at the end of this week's classes."

The room around me is suddenly hazy. This doesn't sound like expulsion, this isn't how I thought this was going to pan out. This is much graver.

When I go home, all the progress I made will fade away, I'm sure of it.
And I won't ever get to see her.

"No….I don't think I understand. Why would you call St. Mungo's? Madam Pomfrey extracted the spider venom just fine. I'm alive, aren't I?"

Slowly removing her glasses from the bridge of her nose, she sighs, placing them delicately on the oak desk, and leaning forwards in her massive chair. Very firmly, she says;
"Mister Malfoy, when a student attempts to commit suicide, we never assume the child is okay after recovery."

"Suicide?" My stomach is ice-cold, it spreads to all my extremities, until the full comprehension of what everyone thinks transpired dawns on me. "Is that what you think happened?"

"Frankly, you would have a difficult time convincing me it wasn't. Somebody should have come and discussed Dumbledore's memorial with you, about the significance and difference from the rest of the students its occurrence would have made you feel. But Professor Slughorn and I thought perhaps you could make your own decisions on whether or not you felt fit to come, and I assumed that, being Head Boy, he would have spoken to you more often than say three times all semester," she utters, shaking her head, very annoyed. "So for that, I formally apologize."

"Whatever, I don't care about that. Just why do you think I'd kill myself?"

You wanted to end it.
For fuck's sake, my mind hasn't regressed into a borderline schizophrenic in a long time. I can't let her see me like this, I push my thumbs to my temples and stem the flow for only a moment.

Calming my body that's gone so frantic, nothing else talks back within me as I release my head and look back up.

She's taken aback, usually I'm oh so polite. Formal, perhaps.
"Miss Granger informed me you walked with her to the lake but decided last minute to stay on the shore. Then, when the ceremony was over, she came back and you were gone. Mister Potter informed me that she was frantic. She searched everywhere for you for over an hour before contacting me. Why on earth would you run into the forest of all places? And why at all? I assume it's because of the emotional distress of remembering the night, but somehow it must be more than that. You ran directly into the colony of acromantulas, that's very deep into the woods. They'd almost begun to try and….and feast on you before we found you," she whispers, shuddering at the thought.

"I ran because I… I was scared."

I can't tell this fucking woman anything, least of all my internal thoughts. I don't want to die, I just want my past to.
Nothing more is going to get elaborated. Not this time.

"Of what, exactly?"

"Facing the truth."

Adjusting in the chair, she exhales lightly, then stares at me intently.
"I think you already have. It is of my opinion that it's dealing with the relationships around you and your own demons that have truly, shall I say, messed with your sanity. I thought you could return here with everyone else this year. I thought extending the opportunity would help the healing process, and show your peers that second chances might prove to be a good thing. But I think that was a false mistake on my part. Post-traumatic Stress Disorder must be a lot more difficult to deal with given who your father is, and which side of the war you were forced to be on. You are no longer the person you were before all this disaster happened, but you also fail to be the best version of yourself. Even with Miss Granger's help, it's not enough. You need professional help, and I cannot force you to get it. But I can make you leave to be under constant care, at home. "

You're going to break if you leave.

I can't go home.

Well you have to now, don't you? What then?

I can't leave.
Fuck – fuck – FUCK.

My head is screaming, throwing voices of insanity to break my rationality.
"But – Headmistress, Professor- I was miserable at home!" Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm standing up, drawing myself to full height against her, while she remains to be seated and collected. "All I did was drink. All I did was nothing. Coming here forced me to be clean, forced me to be understand what is wrong with me and act accordingly. Please don't make me go."

"I'm afraid the decision is final."

"But two days isn't enough to leave!" Her resolve is strong, but she's flinching as my fists curl around the edge of her bureau, face directly in front of hers. "I don't – what's going to happen to me? How am I supposed to graduate?"

"We can arrange to deliver your coursework, and you can make up for practical exams or tests with extra assignments. You've made it through a good deal of the year, you'll be able to continue the rest of your education."

"Professor, please – " I break then, unable to choke anything further from my throat.

"Dinner is beginning soon. You can go down to the hall now, I will escort you."

Her manner of speaking suggests that this is her verdict, last word on the matter. Thumbing the rigid scar that runs along the top of my scalp to the base of my nape, I inhale deeply.
And realize that maybe I am an endangerment to myself. Maybe I should go for me, and not for anyone else.

So I tell her: "Alright, let's go."

The seat's legs creak across the stone floor as she get up, her robes shuffle away against her frame when she glides to the exit. My feet feel hollow, lightly treading down the spiraled steps to follow her, to walk to a destination I feel I have no business being in.. My head is pounding, and I'm sweating profusely from stress, or the potion, maybe both. My school robes aren't even on, I'm wearing something I brought from home It's as if I've already began the process of being shut out from this place.

"Trust me, Mister Malfoy," she says after a long bout of silence except for our movement, "this is for your own good, and for your best interest. You've already made some progress, if you can finish it as a new man, you will feel worlds better."

Maybe.
Doubt it, that niggling voice is mocking.
And I just want to scream aloud 'Shut the fuck up!'

"Are you alright to go in alone, or should I – "

"No, no – I'm ok. Really."
We've made it to the hall, and it doesn't really matter if I'm fine or not, because nothing really matters anymore. I wave her away before she notices me struggling with myself in my own head.
I'm fucking nuts.
It's over.

"I'll be sending Professor Slughorn to check in with you periodically."

And that's my dismissal, my grand finale to this life-changing conversation.

So I barrel on through those fucking oak doors, paying no heed to the assholes who speculate on what happened to me, that whisper as I march past, ears buzzing with snippets of conversations I don't care to repeat.

Nobody at the Slytherin table acknowledges my existence, a stark contrast from the people gaping at me, probably wondering whether or not I'm going to explode with rage, or grab a razor and slit my wrists, something morbid and dramatic.
the last thing I want to do is shovel food into my stomach, and though there lingers a bottle of whiskey in my desk-side table, I refuse to resort to old habits. The ;last thing I want to do is turn into who I used to be.

But damn, the urge is strong.

Sitting here, I've never felt more alone in my life until she comes alone and surprises me by sitting next to me as silently as a slinking cat. Only, she's not sympathetic or affectionate; she looks livid.
And the spark of fire I felt noticing her, the flicker of joy, diminishes at the frown on her face. Not even staring directly at me, her gaze is straight-ahead, as if she can't even bear to be around me.

"Why would you do that?" she whispers, after a tense, unbearable pause.

I don't respond. I'm not sure how.

"Draco, talk to me. I'm really mad at you."

Swallowing hard, my fingers are trembling, I can feel the tears well up, and my lips are still paralyzed because I have to tell her I'm leaving, and now I'm almost certain she won't even care.

"I searched everywhere for you for hours. You should've waited for me. To find that you ran off into the forest….I thought when they brought you in you were dead for sure. You didn't wake up for days."

I'm raw from holding back my tears, I want to choke, I want to curl up and wither away so I never have to hear such painful anguish in somebody's voice again. Somebody I care about so much that it physically hurts to even think about not being able to talk to her on a regular basis. To be able to hold her, or touch her, or look at her. And I so desire to sprawl onto the floor in a heap like I know I will later tonight alone, and to tell her I love her, that I'm going to be empty without her, but I have to explain to her what she wants, what she deserves.

"I saw you," I somehow manage to spit out. "I saw you with your friends, holding their hands. You belonged there, where I wouldn't. And I realized that I don't fit into your equation."

"My….equation?" she asks, almost deadly silent.

"The one where you live care-free without any conflict, the way you were meant to, and the way you earned it to be. Not with me, whose family has done unspeakable damage to everyone you care about, where you'd live in exile because I am an outcast."

"Draco….I thought I made it clear that I chose to be with you. Didn't you know that?"

"Of course, but - I was so happy you did when you told Potter off, but I…I'm just wondering if I'm the right choice and– " I fail to continue, unsure of where I could go with this, feeling more foolish by the second.

"If you trust me, then you should my judgement. Right? So then why would that compel you to hurt yourself…..to kill yourself?" she stutters, finally whipping her head towards me, burning me with the look in her eyes. "It can't have just been that, you can't be that – you can't care about me that much that – "

And she too is stuck on the very true, very real truth she wouldn't wrap her head around because she's too modest, she's unable to see how much she means to me.

"I do care about you that much, Hermione," and her mouth is threatening to twitch to a sad frown. "Didn't want to kill myself, I just felt…..dead inside. And I ran away because I got this overwhelming feeling of…..of inescapable, and inexplicable loneliness. Of raging guilt for what I have done. Look, Hermione – " I plead, grabbing her hand gently. She flinches, but doesn't push me off. "I don't entirely know what was happening in my head then. All I know is that I so desperately wanted to be the one to be able to commiserate with you, and to comfort you. And I don't know if I ever will get to be that person."

I was longing for her to wrap her arms around me. Instead, she rolls her eyes and ticks so frustrated, I surely have to appear the smallest I've ever been.
"You know Draco? I know what the problem is. It's impossible for me to love you because you hate yourself."

"Impossible?" Fuck this, fuck my gravelly voice, the stupid waterworks that are now relentless and unyielding. Her words stab through me like a flesh wound. She has to understand. "I'm trying so hard – I- I just love you so much. But you've sacrificed so much more than I have, you're putting so much into this to make me feel better and it was everything to me."

Suddenly, she's still, her grip goes cold.
"W-what do you mean, was?"

"I'm going home in two days."
Like an anchor that drops out of my mouth, and it plummets the conversation to worse than terrible to a depth I can't even phrase properly.

"H-home?"
For the first time, her composure almost slips fully.

"I'm unstable, Hermione. I keep hearing these voice in my head telling me I'm going to fail again when I leave. McGonagall and my mother agreed that I have to leave. They were going to ship me off to the looney bin, but….guess I got 'lucky.'" I attempt to smirk at her to lighten this dismal mood, but her eyebrows knit, she's not amused at all. "Maybe it's for the best. You can patch things up and be happy again. They were right when they said I needed help."

"Draco, when will you get it?" she practically shouts, glaring at people who choose that moment to glance over. She turns back to me: "You make me happy, by being yourself. I decided on you. I don't want to go talking to other people and then walk around feeling thrilled and then sad, or empty. I like the smell of your hair, and I like the sound of your voice, and I – I decided on you. You've changed. That's why I've been fighting for us. That's why Harry finally got it and said something, and maybe it was bad timing, maybe these past few weeks have been terrible, but it was going to get better. Until you realize that you're not a burden, you won't convince anyone else. I love you, but…. If leaving's going to help you realize everything….. god, I still don't want you to go."
And she wraps her arms around me.

I'm so dazed by this, I don't know what I'm going to do when I leave or what to do now.
"I don't want to leave you either. Everything about you….is perfect. Perfect for me, anyways."

"What does this mean for us? For everything. You were doing so well, and, and now- "

"Just- shhh," I put a finger to her lips, and the overwhelming urge to kiss her is something I'm having trouble not succumbing to. Instead, I yank her into my neck, needing her closer than I ever have. "I'll be fine. I'm just going to be lonely. Really lonely."

"Oh – Draco - " she squeezes me, and with a rush of affection, I wish were by ourselves.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm so sorry I put you through that."

"Just don't do it ever again," she murmurs pulling away to snog me.
It's so passionate, so needing, I forget my worries for a moment, which then fuels my anger for this situation. This is why I need her around, this is why I'm so annoyed at myself, because she's a fucking godsend and I feel endlessly incompetent. But she's here anyways, she wants me too. Doesn't she?

"I promise I won't. Do you still want me, even after I leave? I'll wait for you. I'll wait for you, forever."

"I want you," she sighs into my ear, "God, Draco, you really scared me. How are you going to make it without me, no, how am I going to make it without you?"

"It's 5 months. I'll make it."
Fuck, that's so long.
I'm not going to make it.

"I'll visit you whenever I can."

"Like every weekend?"

She giggles finally, an angelic sound, holding me tighter. "If I can get that permission….you know I would do it."

"I'm going to be lost without you."

"You'll find your way."
And the way she gazes at me, the way she is sincere, I actually believe her.

"Do you want to go somewhere that's not here? I want to spend my last moments with you, I don't give a fuck about anything else."

For a moment she hesitates, fiddling with the pendant necklace round her throat , before nodding fervently and seizing me and dragging me away.

He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving.
Having somebody I love almost perish because he was so frightened made me throw all my qualms out the window about choosing to be with him. If he didn't act that way, he wouldn't be healing. But is this sadness ever going to end? His actions have led him to leave, but it might be good for him to get away from everyone who reminds him of how he used to be. After we leave here for good, he never has to look back.

But that doesn't mean that I'm not going to miss the way he tucks strands of hair behind my ear before he kisses me, miss the way he always clamps me as tight and as close as he can, fingers trailing up and down my back when we embrace, when we make love.
That's what we're doing now, knowing it's going to be a long wait for the next opportunity. That's what he's doing to me, holding me with a grip impossibly unyielding, pushing me gently up and down with a thrust of his hips on this carpeted floor in the library, as I wrap my legs around him and never stop for a breath. Our lips are together, always together, and it's as if I don't even need to say anything aloud, I know he's probably sharing the exact same thoughts as I am.

And as the pleasured groans and untempered moans leave us, and the pace is faster, the burn and the lust elevated, I rip apart from him, holding his face in my hands, to find that he's not dripping from perspiration, his eyes are swollen red. Instead of letting me see him like this, he dives in and bites my neck, to make me scratch his shoulder blades with pleasure, and it's not a diversion, an embarrassment of seeing him 'weak', but so this moment isn't over.

I find my thumbs tracing his new scars, while my lip is being bitten, while I get him as deep in as I can. And I try to peck them better once he lets me have the chance.
And he says, "I love you."
And the words echo into my brain.
And they don't placate me, they just stay there.

They're still there after the moment does end, they linger there for the rest of the night, when we've changed positions, gone softer, then rougher, then stopped just to kiss, or talk about nothing.

And by the time it's Friday, even though I've barely left him to sleep or eat, and we've dodged all the teachers and everybody else, there's an overwhelming nausea that permeates in my gut, a feeling of agony because I'm lying in bed and even though its early, I'm not going to be able to handle it.
7 am, and I have dark circles under my eyes, and I'm ignoring all the pleas at divulging what's wrong with me, because I'm not ready to accept what's about to happen until it does. I feel like a failure, and it makes me feel horrible because I know this isn't my fault. I'm not responsible for holding somebody up on my own, I just finally thought Draco had put out a sturdy leg.

"Hermione, can you please talk to me?"
Ginny catches me by surprise as I'm sitting on the common room sofa, sinking into maroon velvet with giant leather pages over my face to hide my expression.

Light as air, she's settled beside me, seriously troubled at my lack of speech lately.

"Hermione, I know it was very difficult for you to have to see Malfoy – Draco – in such a bad state, and then wait for the recovery….just – what happened? I haven't seen you in days it feels like. Did you break up? I saw him wandering the halls in between class yesterday. He looked terrible…" she finishes quietly.

Putting down the book slowly, I heave possibly the biggest sigh I ever have, and rub my eyes before shooting her a look of defeat: "He's leaving today."

"What?" She's confused. "Why is he leaving? And where?"
For some reason those words are the ones that make me fall apart at the seams, and when I choke out a "God, Ginny," she leans over and wraps me in embrace, rubbing my back.

"Everyone thinks he tried to kill himself. He was just getting overwhelmed. Flashbacks, like you said would happen. And when harry and Ron held my hand, he felt excluded I suppose, reminded him of how different we are. I don't know how I'm going to be able to stop worrying when he goes…and he's going home. He needs help."

"I know," she whispers, "he's going to be ok. You both care about each other a lot. If he really does seek what he needs, he's going to be alright."

And even though I know she's right, I can't calm the feeling in the pit of my stomach that's squeezing me dry. I feel like I can't breathe, that I'm going to be so empty soon.
Then I have this revelation, wondering how somebody could actually love another person so much. Because the girl next to me does.

"Can you promise me one thing?" I ask.

"Anything," she insists, sitting back again and taking my hand.

"Talk to Harry. Please."

Her worry is now etched into a frown, and she swallows a lump in her throat.
"I'm not ready yet."

"But – but you love him. And it's my fault that – "

"Hermione, it's not your fault at all," she states, almost angrily. "I do love him, but we're supposed to be adults now. Harry should've been able to cooperate with you better, look past his differences with Draco. I didn't like him, and I still don't forgive him or really trust him, but it's very clear he's treating you well, and it's clear he's not an arse. So I can look past the damned past and move on properly. I understood it was going to be hard for him, and even harder for Ron, but he behaved like a child. And ignored me. And didn't think it might be just as difficult. And I didn't like any of it. He didn't have to do any of it."

"I know….I just want you to be happy. Like I've been trying to be. Like I was…"

"Like you will be," she stresses.

"Like I will be."

I've been staring at the door, at the ceiling, at the curtains, and finding it funny that I might actually miss this horrid place. That I might actually – cry later because I'll likely never step foot in this fucking dungeon ever again. That for me, my house and my 'legacy' at Hogwarts can be put to rest early.
If it ever does.

And gathering all of my possessions, memories slide by in my mind.
Having sex with Pansy in these very sheets two years ago.
Drinking with the older boys and thinking that I surely must be the coolest that ever existed.
Having a laugh with Blaise about the stupidity of Crabbe and Goyle.

These are supposed to make me feel nostalgic, but all of them make me sick to my stomach. Of what I called 'a good time' was just being rude, or being a user and a manipulator.

If I do shed a tear, remind me to bash my head in once I get back to the manor.

I don't really desire to go to class, to do anything really but be with her, but I can't skip, can't give any more reasons as to why I'm a bloody mess.
I think the reason I'm so angry at myself is because everyone else can hold it together the way I used to pretend to. Wear an outside shield, or maybe just a brave face, even if they're hurting inside. And I can no longer put on that act, I am no longer being targeted by Potter, the hate I'm getting recently is from something I actually deserve.

Doesn't really matter anyways now, I guess. I've dug the grave, the bags are packed. Literally. And now all I get to do is wait it out and see if being mostly solitary will be good for me this time. The door clicks open.

"Feeling alright?"
I've almost forgotten about Nott. We haven't spoken in a long time, although he did tell me when I came back the first night out of the infirmary that Hermione actually came in here to find me. Bloody saint, she is. Risking her academic records, and her positions to just – fuck, I hate her. She's so amazing.
I hate that she's so nice to me, I hate how much I love her now I have to go.

Anyways, I should probably attempt to stop thinking of her so much, it's going to be a long period of her absence.
Theodore is gazing at me as if I'm a pitiful child he feels sad for. I don't fancy it.

"Not particularly."
It comes out icy, it comes out trite.

"Oh….going somewhere?" he continues prodding, plopping on his sheets, eyebrows furrowed in misunderstanding.

"Home. And I'm never coming back."

I expect some kind of verbal exclamation, but nothing is said after. Despite my better judgement, I'm too curious as to why, seeing as he's normally so annoying and loud; so I turn around.

"You're running away?" he blurts before he can stop himself, and the sneer I must be wearing is making him flinch. "I didn't mean , I -"

"Surely you haven't been living under a rock? You were there, I saw you. Everyone thinks I tried to kill myself, and now because of all this speculation, everyone knows what happened two years ago in that godforsaken tower. I know they all do because they've been eyeing me like I might explode or with such disdain I want to rip my eyeballs out."

"Did you want to kill yourself?"
Chuckling, it strikes me as painfully hilarious that he's the first one to ask me before assuming that's what I wanted. Even Granger thought the worst.

"Not exactly. I wanted to run away. And McGonagall thinks I'm unwell, fuck I probably am, so she's sending me home. Instead of St. Mungo's, thanks to Slughorn, probably the only favour he's ever done for me."

"Well…I'm sorry, Malfoy. Really."

This is the moment I can take or leave. Forgive or forget it all for good.
"I'm not. But I appreciate it."

Turning to him, I can only muster up a small smirk, and I hope, and I think, that he understands.

"I'm…I think I may actually miss your company, as weird as that sounds. You aren't as bad as you think you are, at least not when you're brooding in constant misery," he smiles, blushing the slightest of reds.
It's hard to admit things like that when you're like us.

"And you're not as bad as I used to think you were," I find myself saying. And even more absurd; "You know, after you leave here too, feel free to visit. You don't have to, of course, but the door's open."

"Thanks, man."

I don't really have the will to try and have to say good bye to more than one person today, so I find myself leaving then, after we pass little nods and an uncomfortable silence.
Marching up the steps, through the hall, I find her before I thought I would.

She's running up to me, tearing away from Ginny, who waves before going to eat breakfast with a grim grin and wave.

"Come with me."
And before I can comprehend anything, she's dragging me away, down to a corridor I've rarely been too far away from the Great Hall, to where the Arithmancy tower is.

"What are we – "

"I need you one last time, Draco. You're going right after last class."

She's pushing me into an empty classroom, one that's been closed for the year, to the office in the back that's bare except for a desk.
Shutting the door and enchanting it to be locked, no sooner has the handle clicked as she jumps on me, lips on lips, hands in my hair.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," I'm murmuring in between pecks, leaning against the bureau and tugging her into me, running my fingers up and down her back, along her hips.

"I love you too, Draco," she breathes, fumbling on the buttons of my blazer, of my shirt. And before I know it, I'm discarding hers too, and we look a mess but we don't care.

And I'm sitting on the desk, as she's leaning into me, when she pulls my zipper down, and ghosts her hand over where I want it to be. So teasingly slow, it's almost excruciating, but she knows that, and she knows that I love it, she knows exactly what to do to me.
For that reason, this creates an experience so fucking bittersweet, I actually do want to cry, or get angry, maybe both. Because leaving is going to be a fate worse than death when I don't get to see her everyday anymore.

But I don't express any of these sentiments, I just keep kissing her, and then she lowers herself in a very calculated slinky way til she's on her knees, and she's pulled me upright. My trousers are down, and my cock is in her hand, and then in her mouth, and I can't take it.

"Moan for me," she manages to whisper while her tongue is sliding up and down, and if I wasn't so caught up in my thoughts right now I'd probably have came right now.

"Fuck," Is what comes out instead.

Pecking the shaft, running her palms along my inner thighs, she shoves my whole length down her throat, grabbing my arse to pull me closer into her. So immobilized, I can barely even move to run my hands through her hair, instead I'm practically screaming, sweating from trying to control what sounds I'm making.

"You love this, don't you? You love it."
And that's it – that's all I can take.

She's on the floor, her skirt is being pulled up, and her panties ripped off.
I don't let her have any time to speak, I'm the one pushing her down, crashing with her and give back what she was giving to me, stroking her with my tongue, and pushing my finger inside in time so she's bucking her hips and scratching my shoulders with her nails. When her legs wrap around my neck, I feel myself getting lost in her as she's wetter and wetter, and I think I'm going to burn a fucking hole in the stone.

"Can I please fuck you? Please?" I beg, coming up to breathe, to watch her chest rising, watch the way her eyes are sparkling with lust, lust for me.

"Yes."

I scramble to get on my knees, and I hold under her knees to spread her apart, still wearing her knee-length socks, she's so hot, she's mine, and I wanted this last time to be memorable and make her feel so good, but my strategy fails because I have a fever.
And Hermione is the cause.

I was going to try and calculate the best angle to thrust with, but I stop for a moment to look at her, really look, and her whole face is lit, like it's on fire. I've never seen her wear such a face, and It's almost as if she is seeing straight through me, but not in a bad way.
Like she understands everything about me, or maybe just understands how I feel. And I don't even give a shit if I'm reading too much into this, I'm haunted by the stare, I'm turned on.
The only option I have left is consuming her with my whole being, plunging into her, and wrapping my arms around her head so I can get myself close enough to swallow her whole.

She shifts so she's against the wall, so her feet can snake around my waist, so she has leverage to ride me and so I can push back, and I don't even feel like a person anymore, just nerve endings that are reacting to every slight friction on my skin. The only noises that I can hear to make me feel human are her soft whimpers in my ears, and the flicker of her marking me with red, reminders for later when I will only have her as a memory.

Release builds up, I can tell she's fast approaching too by the way she tenses.
And then it comes for us both.
And I realize, that if I hadn't gotten help last week in time, I would never get to experience this again. This is a small, very important, thing to live for.

Because it makes me feel alive.