End of May
Hermione:
"It feels weird. This entire time we've been at a Church."
"Stop changing the subject. We need to talk about-"
Her head turned sharply. She looked at him and concentrated on the breath leaving her nose and entering again. She focused on the sensation of air in her lungs.
"As far as I'm concerned…it never happened."
Something that was either confusion or anger flashed across his face, but he didn't bring it up again.
Draco:
The end of May felt different from the end of other months. It was almost summer time and he knew that responsibilities at home were growing larger and more prominent. He didn't know how to ignore them any longer, but leaving wasn't an option. After all, how could he take care of the Malfoy estate with no magic? No contact had come from any family…no one from the office wondered where he was. Yet, he was not denied money when he went to the wizarding bank in Ireland, Cremlins. He was one of the most powerful men in the wizarding world, and yet…he was completely invisible.
He thought about the kiss all the time. It had been a dirty impulse to kiss her, and he knew it. And yet, there she had been on his bed and they were half awake, vulnerable and lacking. For a moment, just a second in time, he had been needed.
She never brought it up. A week had passed, and as May drew to a close, she kept silent in general. He didn't ask questions and she didn't answer his quiet ones.
Hermione:
Hermione explored the concept of being a warm body. When she first heard the term, her and Ron and Harry had all been sitting in the Gryffindor common room, their toes by the fire and arms all connected. Ron had been seeing Lavender for a month or two at that point, which broke her heart, but the way he told it to them that night, she was "just a warm body." Later she would consider if she was just that to him their entire relationship, but she didn't think it mattered so much these days.
Not since Malfoy kissed her. Not since she realized how much she liked it. But he didn't make a move to kiss her again, and this struck her as cowardly. In a way it was like finishing a book, or rather, not finishing it at all. You saw that the book wasn't going in the direction you wanted it to, or it simply didn't interest you, so you closed it and put it away for good. Was she a boring book? Did her disappearing that night scare him from reading the end?
But she had a thought, which gave her hope, and it was this: recently, Malfoy had been bringing Camels to their smoking sessions, and he didn't complain though she knew he found them short and sour.
She watched him carefully, raising the tube to his lips and closing his mouth around it. She imagined leaning over and kissing him as smoke came out in wisps, but she stayed still. And then he was looking at her, breathing short breaths, but he did nothing as well. They both did nothing for a long time, and it made her feel just as empty as she did before that night.
Draco:
"You would never jump. I can tell."
She huffs and throws her cigarette over the edge of the cliff. They are both sitting, side-to-side, on one of the Cliffs of Moher, 214 meters above the Atlantic Ocean. Their legs and feet dangle, but she wouldn't jump, not for anything in the world.
"You wouldn't jump either. You'd die."
"No, I'll die from smoking; from life in general. You seem to be dying from something else entirely, and much more slowly. Which is why you wouldn't jump. You like to prolong your own misery."
"I do not. Why do you even…how can you just say things like that so seriously?" She raises her leg in the air, looking at her foot against the sky and then put it back down, watching it dangle where moss drops to water. "And anyway, I am not dying."
"Then kiss me."
She felt her whole body get warm and then his arm was around her, his hand gripping her right hip, pulling her towards him, and suddenly she was dropping off over the edge, her heart sinking. He's going to kill me, but instead he continued pulling her and soon she was sitting on his lap.
"Malfoy…Malfoy, stop." She could feel how close she was to the edge. Her whole body shook. "Please… I don't think you…I hate heights!"
But he was smiling at her, tracing his thumb over the sharp cut of her jaw, his mouth gently pressing against her neck. He bit, softly, and then sucked and she arched back, moaning in a sort of primal way she didn't know she had in her. When she opened her eyes she saw the sky. She knew she was tilted off over the edge, but she wasn't scared. She was almost lying on air, but she wasn't falling because Malfoy had his arms tightened on her. She felt safe, but she felt alive, and this strange combination of two things that never collided for her caused her to sit back up to look at him.
The sun came from behind her and hit his face. His hair was white, just like she remembered it to be, but his eyes were not gray, nor were they flat. They were blue, and blindingly so. They were light, like ice, burning a cold hole in her chest. She kissed him because she wanted to, because she had to, because she needed it. He responded immediately, pushing a hand through her curls. It sent a shiver down her spine and into her bones. Her mouth pushed harder against his and he bit on her bottom lip as she pulled away.
"Don't stop." His voice was husky with raw need.
"Here?" she squeaked. "But…there are-"
"There's no one."
His mouth moved quickly, finding the spot on her neck he somehow already knew was her favorite, trailing down to her collarbone, his teeth skimming her skin as he went.
"Malfoy please, I can't-OH. Fucking… hell."
He had moved his hand beneath her shirt and his fingers lightly tapped up and down her ribcage. Her blood was too hot, threatening to explode out of her and she was swelling, her breath catching in her throat.
She pushed him with an open palm and he fell back. Her knees pressed against his sides and his mouth opened in pleasure.
"I don't think I do want to stop."
His eyes were closed but as he smiled up at her she could swear she had already memorized what he looked like when they were open.
"Then don't."
Draco:
Hermione slammed into him so hard he could feel the tension in his head move around like toys in a box. Her fingers were everywhere; in his hair, down his chest, digging in his skin. It doesn't seem real, but he finds his hands balling on her shirt, tugging more and more until it's over her head and on the ground. She pulls and he pushes, landing on his bed.
The feel of her beneath him is unbearable. Her exposed skin touches his arms and he needs to feel the warmth more so he fumbles, gripping his shirt and trying to pull over his head.
"Here…" she mumbles, breathing quickly, gripping and pulling with him.
"No, I-"
She gets it off, holding it in her hands for a moment, victorious, before flinging it on the ground. He presses down onto her eagerly, and her moan of acknowledgment meets his own, filling the air. She slides up, bites his shoulder and he's hard instantly. He can feel the length of himself pressing on her stomach, and she's so much smaller than him once again. He's almost forgotten how very little she is, but she's not breaking right now. He's seen her broken before, and it didn't look like this. Nothing like this.
She bites him again, reminding him where he is and he leans down, cradling her head in his hands and explores her mouth. He likes this. He's had woman before but none as vulnerable as her, and for a moment he forgets that he's supposed to hate her and just lets go. He commits her to his memory, instead of hating her, and finds it is more enjoyable.
She pulls away from him, but he moves his lips to her neck, wanting-needing- to have some part of himself connected to her still. She arches back, her bottom lip catching under her top.
"Don't be quiet." He murmurs into the heat of her.
She pushes herself into the sheets, sinking deeper and further away from him, but he follows. She's looking past his head, at a spot on the ceiling, and it's funny that she won't look at him when all he can see is her. He wants to bring her back, and without much hesitation or thought his fingers unsnap her bra and his mouth goes around her breast.
"Oh."
She breathes it out, her body pushing up to meet him firmly. They're together and it's so hot, so hot, in the room.
She's tugging off his pants before he consider doing it himself, but kicks them off when she's pulled them down as far as she can reach. His arousal raises and presses more firmly against her. His groan is searching, needing, wanting. She responds by slipping her hand under the leg of his boxers and wrapping it around him tightly.
"Make me cum, Granger." She pulls up the length of him, pausing at the head to gather moisture, and then slicked back down again, slowly. "Faster."
She begins to pump in quicker strokes, his heart thudding in his cave of a chest. Her fingers begin to stroke one at a time and he shudders. The blood is rushing to his head and more than anything he just wants…
His hands are moving quickly, his fingers unbuttoning her pants and sliding them down to her knees. He roughly pulls her knickers down and then he pushes inside her. Their togetherness is intoxicating. He sinks in to the hilt, feeling her walls and pushing down on her with his hands. He pulls out halfway and then sinks again. He gets slower and slower, each time he moves until he hears her whimper, softly, and knows he's achieved what he had not had until then. Dominance. Power. Control.
"Malfoy…please."
His name on her lips, those little pink lips, sent him reeling. He slammed into her, quicker and harder, hips snapping, flesh pounding on flesh. She cries out first, her hands balled in tight fists at her side. Her legs tightened around his sides, squeezing, and then he's done for. He feels parts of him empty inside of her, and he's never felt so tired and satisfied.
He only remains inside of her for a moment before rolling off and laying on his back.
Neither says anything. It's very quiet. He's not sure he wants her to stay, but for once he can't find the nerve to be rude and ask her to leave. She makes the decision to get up on her own and he watches her pull on clothes quickly from the corner of his eye. She's at the doorframe now, looking at him looking at the ceiling.
"So…well…"
He says nothing; he makes no move to indicate she should go or stay. She fidgets for a bit before grabbing her wand off the floor and sliding it in her pocket. She doesn't say goodbye and he falls asleep as soon as she's left.
Hermione:
Her whole body was sore and she didn't feel like leaving her bed. She drifted in and out of sleep, her hand over her heart to make sure it was still beating. She knew had broken some sort of law or moral by having sex with Malfoy; even more so because she enjoyed it.
Her dreams were full of color-of the Cliffs and of his sheets and skin. There was a feeling inside of her and she couldn't place it, but she tried anyways. The feeling made her think of her parents. Of the last time she saw them, really saw them, before the war. They had bought her new robes and taken her out to eat at her favorite Muggle restaurant. While the waitress passed around salads, she looked up from her plate and her parents were looking at each other. It wasn't disgusting and it wasn't showy. What it was, she knew, was a casual affection for each other that did not falter but rather grew every time they laid eyes on one another. Her heart had swelled and she loved them so much.
She had been so…full. And she was full now. It wasn't because she loved Malfoy-certainly not. Rather…she found that having sex with him had given her control over her life again. As if by making the decision to fuck him like she had never fucked Ron, she had gained a bit of power in her life. She chose to lie beneath him, and this choice made her…full.
- X -
"You've been busy lately."
Hermione didn't look up from her bowl of soup. Her spoon cradled broth and she tilted it slightly so that it ran in a stream.
"I suppose."
"With Ireland?"
She couldn't answer. Ireland had become more than a series of places to see. She remembered the National Park, The Cliffs of Moher, the Church and the wall. All had Malfoy's face somewhere in them and she couldn't untie the two from each other.
"I saw the Cliff's the other day."
Madge smiled at that, filling Hermione's cup with more water.
"Did you now?"
She only smiled back at her, taking a bite of her food. She was gaining weight, her sides filling comfortably into her pants. Food had begun to taste to her again and she was more eager to eat these days.
"I loved it. He was-it was…beautiful."
Her eyes widened at Hermione's slip of tongue. In her mind she saw the crystal of Malfoy's eyes as he had faced her, the haze of gray they had turned when he was above her. A stirring in her stomach came about and she willed herself not to think about it in such a public place.
"You're sweet on someone."
It wasn't a question but Hermione felt the need to answer for herself.
"Not sweet on someone. He's…he's awful, really. Really rude and…he's such a prick."
"Dip your hair in ink, did he?" She joked. Hermione smiled.
"Something like that."
- X -
"I'm really not hungry."
He smiled back at her, a quirky grin that left no room for arguing.
"Right, so, if you aren't hungry then what was that noise your stomach made when I was unzipping your pants?"
She blushed. They had been very close to having sex when every part of her seemed to protest in some way. Her leg cramped, her eyes glazed over and her stomach growled, just loud enough to be embarrassing.
"Stop. It isn't funny."
"You're extra bossy when you're embarrassed, did you know that?"
She scowled at him, her eyes dark. He was bustling about the kitchen in a peculiar way, but it was familiar all the same. The casual way he reached for pans and items; opening and closing the fridge and various cabinets…it was as though he had been doing it his whole life. It reminded her of her home and of her family.
"So…so you're making me food?"
'No, Granger. I'm making a painting. You can take it home with you if you'd like." She huffed and opened her mouth to bite back but he silenced her. "Make yourself useful. Come here."
She raised her chin and glared at him.
"Why should I help you?"
"Because, as I seem to recall, I am making you food." He raised an eyebrow and she sighed heavily.
"Well, ok."
He motioned to the sink and she turned it on, letting her hands rest in the water. The soap smelled like lavender and the sweetness of this made her smirk when she was sure he wasn't looking. As she was drying her hands she looked over and he was standing at the stove expertly moving around food in a frying pan. It was such a domestic thing to do; something she would have never expected from him. She wondered when he had learned to cook and if he liked it
"Why are you looking at me like that, Granger?"
She blinked and raised her eyes to him. He looked back at the food quickly to make sure it wasn't burning and then glanced back, waiting. They had reached the point with each other where when one asked the question the other answered without objecting. They didn't know how this came to be, but smoking with someone for three months maybe had something to do with it.
"My Mum used to have this…little box that you would open and there would be a collection of recipes in it. When I was younger she would shake the box and then tell me to pick one out for her to make that night." She smiled. "When I was seven I was particularly found of spaghetti and she always pretended to be shocked when I pulled that recipe out."
He didn't say anything, maybe because he already knew how that story ended. She was grateful.
"Well we aren't having spaghetti tonight I'm afraid. And I don't use recipes."
She wrinkled her nose and looked at him curiously.
"No recipes? But…what…how do you know something will taste good?"
"Like sex, it's just something that comes naturally." He winked and she felt herself blush.
"What can I do?"
He handed her a small bottle of what looked like shaven acorns.
"Put a little of that in the first pan and stir."
She tilted the bottle into the pan and the smell rose to meet her immediately. It was a spicy smell; an earthly smell. She picked up the wooden spoon and pushed around the items, carefully inspecting each one for burns.
"What is this?"
He was pulling out a pot and filling it with water. As he put it on the stove it hissed where water lingered.
"It's my first time making this actually, so I'm not sure."
She thought he was joking but as he poured rice in the pot he made no joking gestures. She peered in the pan as the items made angry sounds and caught a mushroom, broccoli, string carrots and a few other vegetables. It was like a stir-fry of sorts.
"You can sit, I have it." He took the spoon from her and seemed to move faster and more efficiently than she did. She felt embarrassed again and stood to the side. She had never been…inferior to Malfoy in anything before. It was unnerving to know he was in charge for the night.
"Hey…Malfoy." She walked over to him slowly.
"Mmm."
She took her hand, slipped it up his cheek and around his neck, pulling him down to her. She pressed her lips, which were a little dry, against his and he responded eagerly. The spoon dropped from his hand and hit the floor with a clang. She pulled her lips away giving a little popping noise and he tried to pull her back but she turned her cheek.
He was taller than her, which Ron was as well, but there was never this much of a difference. She stood on her toes and pressed her lips against his neck. His hands wrapped and knotted themselves in her hair, sending a chill down the nape of her neck. She pulled him down again and moved up his throat in open-mouthed kisses, occasionally dragging her tongue up in between and tasting his skin. It was salty sweet, like regrets and past lovers. His lips parted and he breathed hot air on her forehead. Hs hands were still in her hair, not moving or feeling, just standing in front of her.
She moved down again, pressing her lips more firmly on his skin, the warmth seeping into her lips. At the base of his throat she opened her mouth and sucked on a piece of skin. The groan the came after that was deep and rich; he moved quickly.
His hands pulled out of her hair and moved to her hips, gripping them firmly. He lifted her up and put her on the island, which he had just cleaned this morning. It still smelled like lemon cleaner and soapy water.
His hands were everywhere and she felt like she was burning. His grip became tighter on her hips and she wrapped her legs around his. She felt him pressed against her and smiled. He froze.
"Maybe not tonight." He whispered and turned awkwardly from her.
She stayed on the island, watching him and waiting for him to turn around and tell her he was joking. No such moment came.
"I'm just going to…" She hopped down, the balls of her feet making a soft thud on the floor. He didn't turn to face her but simply nodded and continued cooking.
She walked over to the bathroom and turned on the light, shutting the door behind her. With wary feet she made her way to the sink and looked up at her reflection. He had pulled hair from her ponytail and it hung around her face messily. Her mascara and eyeliner were smeared in streaks and her lips were swollen, reminding her of a thirsty plant. She turned on the water and cupped water in her fingers. She pressed her face into her palms and the water felt cool.
When she looked up again water was dripping down her face. She ripped a piece of toilet paper from the roll next to the toilet and carefully blotted her throat and face. Her pinky moved under her eyes, meticulously swiping and cleaning up their mistakes.
"Dinner is ready."