deficiency
[4]

Harry glared at himself in the mirror. What was wrong with him lately? His temper was short and he was picking fights with nearly everyone, including Ron and Hermione, which was rather unlike him. Ginny had threatened to write him up this morning, and he told her to go sod off—ten minutes later there was a little green slip pasted to his desk. Harry scowled at his reflection and swiped his hands through his hair, scrubbing his scalp with his nails.

It was Malfoy. Really, it had to be. Every time Harry caught sight of his narrow, weaselly face a surge of frustration and childish anger would flare up in him. It was enough to drive someone mad, and Harry felt some kind of simmering feeling, like he wanted to push Malfoy against a wall and smack him. Or something. Malfoy was so self-satisfied and smug, putting a different expression on his face would be lovely.

Harry pushed open the door to one of the cubicles and locked it, sitting on the closed toilet. He had to get himself under control. No matter how much Malfoy irritated him, he couldn't let it get in the way of his job. Yesterday, he had broken up a ring of Death Eater sympathizers, who thought it would be good sport to throw some Muggles off of buildings and catch them with Cushioning charms, and then repeating the process. Ginny had written in her report that he "apprehended the criminals with unnecessary aggression", but really, Harry just wanted to give them a taste of their own medicine.

Maybe he was bored. It was tiring, not being able to go out in public without a disguise, for fear of reporters and fans flocking to him, asking for autographs and interviews. He definitely had something pent up. And he needed to do something about sighed. Tonight, he would ask Ron to play some Quidditch with him. Flying always settled his head and helped with any boredom or frustration.

There was the sound of tape cracking off a roll, and Harry looked up. The door to the loo had opened some time ago, but he hadn't heard a cubicle shut; who was out there, using tape?

He unlocked the door and stepped towards the sinks. Then he stopped short.

Malfoy was there, Spello-taping his shoes. The polished loafers, Harry noticed, had a worn crack through them and obviously the Water-Repelling charm was wearing of. The sole was coming apart and Harry saw that there was a hole in Malfoy's sock.

The blonde's cheeks tinted bright red. "Skulking in the loo, are we now, Potter?" Malfoy sneered.

Harry had never seen Malfoy wear anything less than the most expensive robes and the best looking clothes; Ginny's comment about the Malfoy family being bankrupt flashed into his mind.

Draco shoved his loafer onto his foot and glared at Harry. "Stop looking at me like that, Potter," Draco growled, "Your pity isn't needed."

Harry was blinking, looking down at Draco's covered foot. The Malfoy's were in trouble. There was…something like pity? And he realized abruptly that it couldn't possibly have been Draco who sent him those flowers. He wouldn't have been able to afford it. The idea of Draco not being able to afford something was messing up his head. Draco, who had the beautiful falcon for mail deliveries, who had the Firebolt before anyone else, who flaunted his father's money at every opportunity, was pinching pennies.

"Do you want to play some Quidditch with me?" Harry asked simply.

"Piss off," Malfoy said deliberately, knocking his shoulder as he passed. Harry grabbed his arm.

"Don't be a dick, I'm just trying—"

"Just trying to what, Potter? Invite me on a date?" Malfoy sneered. "Or are you trying to dazzle me with your superior broomstick and flying skills?"

DatedatedatedateFUCKwhat?

"I'm just trying to be nice!" Harry said, outraged. "If you don't want to come—"

"I don't want to come," Malfoy snarled. "Why don't you ask one of your Mudblood friends to come, I'm sure they'd be great sport. Get the fuck out of my way, Potter, don't make me hex you."

"Hey, leave my friends out of this," Harry snapped. "It was just a friendly invite, nothing more."

"I'm sure," Malfoy's upper lip curled. "Ooh, let's invite Malfoy, so we can gloat over how well-off we're doing. It's bad enough that you flaunt your Savior status like you're some kind of god, but don't expect me to grovel at your feet to get an invite from the great and powerful Harry Potter."

Harry seized Malfoy by the front of his robes, shoving him hard against the wall. "I'm not a savior of anything!" he barked, "You, of all people, should know that! I was in the right place at the right time, that's it. People look to me like I have the answers when I don't, when really all I want to do is play Quidditch and drink some butterbeer and watch crap telly—I didn't ask to be worshipped!"

Malfoy's face was so close, and there was so much frustration exploding inside him right now. He wanted to ki—kill him.

Swearing, Harry let go of Malfoy's robes and slammed out of the loo.

Draco straightened his lapel and checked his nails, and then smoothed his hair in the mirror. "Almost, Potter," he said under his breath. "Almost."

Hermione let out a deep breath, resting her forehead against Snape's. She was deliciously filled, with his hands on her hips, and it was like being wrapped up and cuddled and flown together all at once. With their bodies pressed together, the fire crackling not far away, it was almost too hot—skin to skin, she felt heat searing through her veins, and she pressed closer to his chest; she wanted to burn.

His armchair, the poor thing, squeaked in protest, and Hermione giggled, somewhat drunkenly, in his ear. "We're going to kill your poor armchair," she whispered.

He set his teeth against the taut line of her shoulder gently, and she shivered. "I'll send you a bill for the damages, Miss Granger," he hissed.

She rose an inch or so and then slammed back down, bearing down on his cock and feeling him throb inside of her. Severus groaned and let his head fall back, and he gripped Hermione's small waist, hard enough to nearly bruise, and snapped upwards Hermione cried out and gripped a handful of his hair, the silky black strands twisting through her fingers, as he bit sharply down on her neck.

"I want to wreck you," she breathed—pleaded. "I want to ruin you for all other women."

The automatic response bubbled up in Severus's brain. You already have, Miss Granger.

She came down again, and those wickedly agile hands found that sensitive bud, and she moaned, tilting her head back. He pressed hard, punishing kisses to every inch of skin he could reach, biting and sucking and wanting to mark all of her, every place. He was her Dark Mark, and in the dim light of his study she was almost as scarred and damaged as he.

Hermione crested, pleading, panting his name, and a few moments afterwards she felt his release spilling inside of her. Hyperstimulated, she thrashed as he stroked her pearl; enjoying her reaction, he did it again, and she cried out in earnest. "Severus," she pleaded, and then let her head fall against his shoulder, her breasts pressed softly against his chest.

Those eyes, soft and brown as sable, looked up at him with so much intensity and love; she glowed, her cheeks rosy and her hair mussed, those pouty lips begging to be kissed.

He nearly did. But at the last moment he pressed a kiss to her jaw instead, nipping at the hinge, and she positively whined. "You're too good to me," she whispered, slipping out of him. They sat there in the armchair, both out of breath, enjoying the heat and the post-coital glow. Hermione was insatiable, biting his ear, pressing tiny kisses to his face, stroking the bridge of his nose with one finger, half-asleep already in his lap.

"Correction, Miss Granger—I am not, and will never be, good," he murmured against her throat.

"I think you are," she said softly. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Professor. You're good, you're kind, and you're mine."

Ginny sighed and looked at her mother. "Mum," she said out loud, "is Ron going to the Ministry party?

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said, scrubbing potatoes. "Why do you ask? Aren't you taking Harry, love?"

The redheaded witch huffed out a breath. "No. Harry's got enough on his plate. But I was thinking, maybe Ron should take Luna. She's got…I mean, she's got a bit of a thing for him."

"Luna Lovegood?" Mrs. Weasley said, raising one eyebrow. "My, my, there must be something in the air! Hermione and Snape, Luna and Ronnie…too many unusual couples!"

Draco and Harry, Ginny thought to herself, smiling. "And I was thinking of taking Blaise," she added, kissing her mother on the cheek. "'Night, Mum!"

Molly dropped the potato. "Blaise?"

So I broke my hand. Which is why this chapter is so short. But I'm going to try and regularly update now, every Saturday, because multi-chapter stories scare the SHIT out of me. anyway. Hope you liked this chapter, it's a bit of fluff and nothing.

Oh and draco and harry are making out in the next chapter. mmmhmmm.- nylex