Thanks to all my reviewers – you guys are the best. Those who have read my other chaptered stories know that I don't write smut often. I have two PWP smut one-shots that were both written for challenges at a Dragon Age writer's group I belong to. However, this is my first attempt in the HP fandom. So yay for you guys, right? Having said that, here you go, in this installment, Draco gives in – and marks Hermione as his own. Sort of. Warning to those who are disturbed by flowery depictions of a sexual nature between Draco and Hermione – this story is "M" for a reason. ;)
LCailan
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
If you want me, I am yours.
Draco stared blearily into his half-empty glass of gin. Though firewhisky was quite satisfactory when he wanted to toss back a stiff drink or two, he preferred the singular taste of Muggle spirits. Besides, it was easier to get lost and be forgotten at a Muggle bar. At least, it was for him, no matter how ironic it seemed. Here he was, Death Eater, but sitting at a bar amongst those he purportedly hated. As he wrapped his palm around the glass, its contents shivered slightly from the trembling of his hand.
He had left the alienage, without telling her he wasn't coming back, and not signaling to any of those that worked for him that he would be gone for the day. He had simply left. There had been no looking back, and no thinking. And the only way Draco had found to muddle his thoughts, to blurry the visions of her in his mind – was alcohol. But not even three or four stiff drinks erased Hermione Granger from his mind.
Sodding Merlin on a stick!
Draco could not easily explain what he had felt at her touch, at the way she had looked at him when she had spoken…those words. The words that echoed, that rattled, that awakened desire within him.
If you want me, I am yours.
He shifted on the barstool as the delicious ache started up within him once more, just as it had when her lips had pressed so harshly against his, stiff at first and then more gently, and in those final moments before he had broken away, with passion.
Somehow, she had realized it, then. A secret desire that Draco found so equally horrific and fascinating, was no longer his own secret. He didn't want to want her, but-
Bloody hell, she knows. What the hell is she doing? Stalking me? Can she read my sodding mind? Am I that transparent?
Not that it was a surprise to Draco. After all, the Mudblood had been the brightest witch in their year, if he recalled correctly. On his list of reasons to hate her, that had been nearly number one, after the fact that she had been Harry Potter's best girl friend. He had spent years hating her because no matter how hard he had tried, Granger had always managed to one up him in their lessons.
Know-it-all.
Draco found himself smirking lazily as he thought of her, and he twisted the glass he held in his hands with slow deliberation.
Ironically, in this case, it was the truth. Merlin, the way she had looked at him! Like he was the only man in the world! As if she would die if she couldn't have him-
It's not real. It's an illusion. She's preying on that sick, weak part of me. It's what she wants me to feel so that I'll-
He paused, swallowing the remnants of his glass in one gulp, a heated burn rushing through him like lightning, making the room spin. He wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like with Granger. He had already considered giving in, just having one taste, one night, that was all. His fingers trembled at the thought of being with someone again, and not just anyone – she was…she was…
He stared into his empty glass unseeingly.
Tempting little witch.
And it wasn't like he'd be the only one, really. He already knew the others were doing it, sleeping with her kind weren't they?
And I wouldn't tell anyone. It would be my dirty little secret.
In his mind's eye, once more he saw her in the late afternoon sunlight, that crazy hair pinned up to her head, the escaped curls falling against her neck, tempting him, that mouth…it had the potential to destroy him and bring him such pleasure-
Fuck.
No, not even a thousand strong gins would make this feeling go away. Draco was impossibly tangled in a web he didn't understand. And now…
Granger for Potter. Therein, my problem lies. If I tell her what Parkinson wants, she'll gladly trade places with Lily. But then...
Then, he would lose Granger. His mind stopped in horrific realization.
Well, there was no way in bloody hell that he was going to let that happen.
Could I help Lily? Perhaps, at great risk – to all three of us. Could I keep up my end of the bargain? If I want her, that is. Is it worth it? What am I thinking?
As a few of the other patrons gave him dodgy looks, Draco dropped his head against the top of the bar and groaned.
Hermione stared into the mirror; the woman reflected looking back with wide, sad eyes. She had spent all morning cleaning the house, not stopping, not even for a break or to eat something – for she knew to keep from falling apart as she had done all the previous night long, she needed to keep working.
Lily…
Hermione's hand came up to cover her mouth as she tried to muffle the heart-wrenching sobs that shook her violently.
Lily…
They had come for Lily that morning, and Hermione knew she would never forget the little girl's wailing, her tears, and the way she had kicked until one of them had smacked her in a silencing effort. She would never forget the little girl's beautiful green eyes, so full of frightened tears. And she would never, ever forget the pale, gaunt face of Ginny Potter, who had lost her only little girl to a monster like Pansy Parkinson.
Last she had heard from Justin was that Lily had been taken into London, to Pansy's flat.
I have to find a way to get her out of there! To get her away from Pansy, from this God forsaken city and the alienage!
But try as she might, Hermione had come up empty, for no ideas seemed feasible. She was utterly hopeless, she realized. Without a friend in the world who had any influence, and her last hope having died out at Draco Malfoy's rejection of her.
Why did he not want me? Don't all men want it?
Hermione stared down at herself, a look of confusion flickering over her features, and as she considered her plight, she felt shame at what she had tried to do. What she was still willing to do, if it would protect Lily.
I'm no better than the women at the flats in London, am I? They sold themselves to make money and now I'm…I'm…
Drowning in self-loathing and shame, Hermione turned away from the large, ornate mirror and stumbled out of the powder room and up the stairs to where she had left her mop and bucket. Blinking through her tears, she moved to the fourth floor, where the second bathroom was, a glorious one made of marble and white ceramic tile. It was the same bathroom where she had shamed herself that first day. Standing in the middle of the room, Hermione stared at herself hatefully in the long mirror.
I'd be a Death Eater's whore.
The reality filled her with such wrath, Hermione wanted to scream. Is this what it had come down to? Was her life not enough to them? Did she have to submit her dignity too?
Lily…
For Lily, she would. Hermione steeled herself, and then stepped closer to the mirror, scrutinizing the pale, but not altogether unpleasant countenance reflected there. She forced a smile. Her image smiled back, but it was not natural. Groaning, Hermione tried once more, this time lifting her chin up a little. Her hands came up to twist a few chestnut curls, the ones that had escaped her bun, around her fingers.
He wants me…
Sadly, it was all Hermione had. The only hope, her only saving grace, the last card she had to play. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she regarded herself in that mirror.
If I give him what every man wants, surely, he'll help me, won't he? He's saved my life before, hasn't he?
As this thought marked her mind, Hermione knew that it was still a gamble. After all, he had pushed her away, in spite of her great effort. As she studied her tiny, turned up nose, and the large brown eyes that she had always thought were rather pretty, another, stark thought filled her mind.
What if I don't know how to be what…a man wants? I never was one to fancy boys, was I? I never did know how to flirt, and with Ron it hadn't been…it had been friendship first, and then-
She took in a ragged breath and let it out abruptly, staring at her reflection as she ran her hands down her body in appraisal, feeling a mixture of fear and shame once more. Then she deftly removed the pins from her hair, watching as it fell around her shoulders in a crazy storm of curls and frizz.
Sleekeazy's…oh, Merlin, what I wouldn't do for a bottle right now!
Biting her lip, and without consideration over what it looked like, Hermione began to search the cabinets and the small closet within the bathroom in hopes that Astoria's hair wasn't naturally perfect.
No one has hair like that without some kind of help, surely!
She nearly squealed as she found what she was looking for; a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion was tucked towards the back of the closet, and she fisted it quickly and rushed back to the mirror. Unfortunately her hair had seen so little tending over the years, that even the potion did little to truly tame the frizz, but Hermione managed to get it to lie around her face with more order, the curls framing her face gently.
There…
Leaning towards the mirror she wondered if there was anything else she could do to make herself more desirable to him. Thinking quickly, she began to pinch her cheeks to give them a bit more color, and bit her lips several times for the same effect.
Never had she, Hermione Granger, ever taken much time with her appearance. And she had never imagined that she would, especially after marrying Ron, and the fall of the world she had known…
She glanced back at the girl in the mirror, sighing. The reflection mirrored the sadness and worry she felt in her heart, but it could not be helped. Her clothing was still shabby, her hair a more manageable mess, and her face without makeup, but it was the best she could do. Satisfied that she had done as much as she could with what little she had to work with, Hermione slipped from the massive bathroom and then moved down the carpeted hallway towards Draco and Astoria's bedchamber. She had never been in this room excepting to change the sheets, and this time when she slipped inside, she stopped to survey her surroundings.
The room was large, with high, vaulted ceilings, and massive ceiling to floor balcony windows that opened to the outside. They were covered with filmy curtains. Beyond that lay the small balustrade that overlooked the street below the house. The bed was bigger than any Hermione had ever seen, and, down to the sheets, it was luxuriously dressed in creams and whites. The furniture, what little there was to be found here, was of high quality oak. She ran her fingers along the tall dresser and Astoria's dressing table and mirror. Though she presumed that this would be where the couple slept, the only sign of use was indicated by the messy top of Astoria's vanity, which was littered with all manner of containers, bottles, combs and makeup jars.
Not so perfect after all, Hermione thought with a slight twitch of her lip.
There were no personal touches – no photographs of any kind, and in spite of herself, Hermione found herself wishing that there was something here to indicate what Malfoy's life had been like in the six years she hadn't seen him. Strange, that the room was so cold, so impersonal.
Finally, with a huge breath, Hermione lowered herself onto the impossibly soft mattress of the bed, running her fingers along the thick cream comforter.
It could be worse. I could be giving myself to someone else. Rookwood with those lurid eyes, or Flint. Merlin, at least Malfoy has shown me a fraction of kindness in this world. Those others…
She shuddered in fear.
I'm doing this for Lily. I have to, for it's all I have left.
Steeling herself, Hermione held her breath when she heard the door opening way below her, signaling that Malfoy was home. For a few moments there was nothing but her erratic heartbeat.
Then she heard his footsteps, and saw the look of confusion, and then hesitation when he saw her. His face was touched with color, as if he had just come in from a bitter cold, and upon further inspection, Hermione realized that he had been drinking. Indeed, the air was touched with the scent of tobacco and liquor as he walked into the room.
"Get out."
The words were not harsh, and he moved past her towards the doors to the balcony. Hermione's eyes followed his.
"I hired you to keep house, not to sit on my bed."
He stepped onto the balcony, and the doors shut behind him, closing the space between them.
Draco fumbled for yet another fag, lighting it with trembling fingers and inhaling the smoke into his lungs as he stared down at the semi-busy street four stories below him. Her presence in his bedroom, of all places, unnerved him, but he wasn't about to cave as she wanted him to. Even though she hadn't followed him out onto the balcony, he could feel her watching him, and the picture she made in his mind was unforgettable.
Did she…change her hair? What the hell is she doing?
Closing his eyes against the emotions that raged within him, Draco took another harried pull on the cigarette. The balcony doors opened behind him and he stiffened, but did not turn. Now he knew she was there.
"What are you doing in my bedroom, Granger?"
The question held poorly forced contempt, for it was mostly the sound of a broken man. She took a huge breath.
"I think you know."
His head turned sharply and his gray eyes pierced all the way through her, to her soul. Hermione swallowed, but remained stoic, her knowing eyes never leaving his face.
"She's a child. Don't you think after everything that they've already gone through for me, that I wouldn't do everything in my power to try and help Lily?"
The words weren't angry, or sad, or any of the things Draco would have expected. Instead, they were resigned and determined, and her eyes shone in his direction with hope as she stepped up next to him, lifting the palm of her hand up towards his face. Though he wanted her touch more than anything – it stirred everything within him – he caught her hand, pulling it down to her side firmly.
"When I said I couldn't help you, Granger, I wasn't lying."
Tears filled her eyes, but he pushed forward, squaring his jaw.
"I have a job to do, a Lord to answer to. If it came down to it, and I had to choose between you and…"
He turned away from her, something harsh flickering over his face for a brief moment.
"Well, I wouldn't choose you."
He couldn't bear to look down at her, afraid of what he would see in those expressive eyes. Instead, he stared sightlessly ahead. His cigarette winked out and he tossed it aside, taking a huge breath.
"I know you're different," she whispered, and he shivered, for the breeze ruffled her hair and it tickled against his elbow.
He quickly jumped away, afraid of her closeness, and his growing weakness in her presence.
"No."
"Yes," she insisted. "I saw it that day, in London, when I first saw you again."
After a long silence, he turned slowly and faced her, raising one eyebrow. Then he turned around and walked back into the house, the glass doors slamming behind him. Hermione knew it wasn't too late, that she couldn't give up, and without hesitating, she followed. When she walked through the glass doors into the room, he was glaring at her, a scowl on a face that was marred by anger and something else, something she didn't take the time to think about.
"I'm not surprised, Granger," he mocked, "Playing Jesus of the Mudbloods, are you? How far do you think you'll get? Why can't you get it through that fuzzy-haired, thick head of yours that no one is a savior in this world!"
His words were meant to wound, but he found no satisfaction in seeing her face fall and watching her eyes beginning to flood with tears. When she spoke, her voice broke.
"I have to t-try."
A single tear rolled down her cheek and he wanted to bloody kiss-
-Impossible, this is impossible-
He wanted to kiss it away. Damn. Swallowing that erratic thought, he rolled his eyes.
"You don't make a bit of sense, Granger."
"If I don't make sense, then what have you been doing this whole time? Why not let me die? What's it to you? You hate me, and I hate you!"
"Bloody right."
"So then why?"
He grew angry.
"Who are you to ask me questions? Shut up!"
He turned away from her, using anger to mask his fear that she would see through him and know that he didn't have the answer to that question. That he understood even less, possibly, than she did. Taking a deep breath, he struggled for calm.
"Leave me be, Granger."
There was a silence.
"Draco."
His world stopped for a split second, a feeling he was unaccustomed to, and then her damned hand, so soft and silky, slipped into his. He tried to shake her off, but she held on. His disgust washed over him until he began to grow ill with it. Disgust at himself for wanting her, and disgust with her for so blatantly throwing herself at him-
Why don't I just do it? Why don't I just throw her on the floor and take her the way I've thought about taking her? Why am I hesitating?
It would be too easy, he knew. She would not put up a fight, and even if she didn't want to-
He flung off her hand and faced her, sneering.
"Look at you," he mocked with a hiss, his eyes traveling up and down her body brazenly, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't supposed to be entertaining thoughts of agreeing to her utterly insane proposal, no matter how much he wanted to. "I remember a stupid little know-it-all spouting the Gryffindor ideals of morality and the right thing, and now look at you!"
His voice was much too harried to be considered normal, but Draco couldn't keep his warring emotions at bay any longer. How he hated her! How he wanted her! How impossible it was that he could even be feeling anything towards her!
"You'd be down on your knees begging for me if I wanted you to, wouldn't you?"
The challenge was before them, and Hermione, feeling tears of shame rushing her wide eyes, blinked hard, but did not back down.
"If you asked."
Her whisper held no emotion, and Draco's mouth fell open in shock.
"So that's how you like it?" he spat. "Rape turns you on, does it?"
He couldn't keep the quaver from his voice, as he stared at her tear-filled eyes. She winced, as if in pain. Her lips trembled as she spoke.
"It is not rape. I am willing. I-it is what I want."
Her words were as raw and honest as the stark look in her eyes, but he was well aware that none of that equaled passion. She did not desire him, at least not the way a woman in her position ought to have. He felt a swirling of hatred mixed with poignant need. He wanted her to want him, not just-
Draco stopped breathing, wondering if he were having a nightmare. This seemed impossible, and yet, she stood there, offering everything to him. He spoke, but at first his voice was too hoarse to make intelligible sound. When he did finally manage words, they were weak.
"Stupid little sacrificial lamb, are you? Offering yourself to the big, bad Death Eater?"
She ignored the way he mocked her, only gazing up at him with peaceful assuredness shining in her large, brown eyes.
"Whatever I need to be, I will be."
Even the way she spoke was a reflection of her clear choice.
Draco watched her with a strange fascination, and his hand came up, fingers caressing the inside of her elbow and gliding downwards, to her hand, and his eyes followed suit. She wrapped her fingers around his and brought his palm back up, placing it firmly on her body, pressing her hand down on his, giving him silent permission to do whatever he wanted.
His breathing hitched, as Draco felt the sudden heat of her skin against his splayed fingers, and even though he didn't will it so, he reacted quite enthusiastically to just the touch of her. The logical part of his mind knew that she couldn't possibly desire him at all, knowing what he was and what his people had done to her family and those she loved and yet, the rest of him, his body, desired her in spite of that. The pull he felt was unlike anything he had ever felt before. She leaned closer to him and he breathed in the soft scent of her, cutting off a moan that threatened to escape, just as his eyes fluttered closed at the touch of her fingers against his lips.
Oh, Gods…
His breathing grew shallow when he felt her breath against his mouth.
"Save Lily, and I am yours. Anything you want."
Granger.
Granger, and yet, not Granger.
Granger, yet, a temptress.
Never had he felt this way, never had any woman enchanted him this way before. His eyes snapped open, wide in their burning need, and he gave in to her, his words a frustrated hiss.
"Gods, just give me this," he moaned, and then he was kissing her wildly, his mouth melting with hers, his trembling arms pulling her against him, so that it was impossible to tell where the hard edges of him ended and her soft planes began. He was completely engulfed by her heat, but it was a willing submission. Surrendering to her touch and the taste of her was much too easy for Draco, and he delved into the depths of her silken mouth, unable to withhold the groan that escaped. As he kissed her, he willed it never end, for in her arms he was discovering a blissful escape from the rest of his dreary existence. It was easy to forget who he was when she was kissing him. Perhaps, that's why he wanted it so much.
Hermione blinked up at him when the kiss ended, and she waited, breathlessly, for him to do what he was going to do. It would be now, she knew. It would be with Draco, and it would be to save Lily. Her eyes searched his flushed face, finding that she liked him the way he was now – blooming with color and life – at her touch. She tingled as her chest heaved in anticipation. She wondered what it would be like with him, wondered if his touch would be different than the ones she remembered from so many years before, with Ron. Were all men the same? Would it feel the same? Would it be different, cold, and pointless?
No matter. I made this choice, and I will live with it.
The anticipation began to wear on her already tense and fraying nerves, and what had at first been bated breath was starting to bloom into slight panic. Did he not want her? Was she not good enough? Would he not help Lily?
Hermione opened her mouth to speak when he did something that rendered her speechless. He leaned over and placed a kiss to her forehead, kissed each of her eyes, her cheeks, and finally those heated lips found purchase against hers once more, and Hermione wrapped her arms around him once more. She told herself she was not going to enjoy it, that it was simply the means to a very important end. He was hateful, he was the enemy, and he was-
Gods, can he kiss…
She lost herself in him when he deepened the second kiss, and then the third, and her fingers, which had tightened around his neck, found their way into the depths of his silken hair, pulling at it just as he nibbled along her lower lip, causing her knees to go weak. He tasted of smoke and fire, spicy with a touch of bitter. She fell into him without even thinking, drinking him in as a parched man would water.
Draco felt her responding to him wildly, and he thought that if she was faking it, he would simply die if ever this…thing…between them became something real.
It never will be. How can it? She abhors the idea of who I am, and to be with her is to defile myself in the worst way possible.
And yet, he refused to let her go.
The girl in his arms held nothing back, submitting to him in wild abandon, and following eagerly as he began to back across the room, searching unseeingly for the bed that he knew was there. When the backs of his legs found it, he let himself fall, pulling her with him, not wanting to let her go, not now, not when he felt this good.
Hermione groaned as she pressed herself against the hardness of his body, which was such a stark difference from the softness of the bed they had tumbled on, and her hands roamed along him, his shoulders, his chest, the long, muscular legs and then back up along his face, kissing him with increased fervor. It was strange, she realized half consciously, that she should feel anything for the man whose arms she so willingly occupied. Her lips plowed a passionate trail down along his firm jaw, the softness of the heated skin on his neck, and then along his collarbone, where she felt his pulse against her lips, fluttering like a trapped butterfly. His reaction caused her to gasp and bury her face against his neck for a timeless moment.
For Lily.
She reached for his trousers with trembling fingers, and then he gently pushed her off him, moving to the edge of the bed and sitting up, burying his fingers in his already tousled hair. She joined him there, crawling across the space, lest there be any distance between them.
"I can't. I won't."
His words were muffled, but she sensed despair. Fear. Uncertainty.
No. No, she couldn't have this. She needed him.
"Draco-"
"Do not call me Draco."
She swallowed, still feeling the heart of her beating in every inch of her body, still the ghost of his fingers against her burning flesh. His words were harsh.
"Call me what I am. Death Eater."
Hermione touched his shoulder, and he flinched. She reached for his forearm, seeing the Mark there, dark and foreboding. Branding him a thousand horrid things without a single word. Killer. Bigot. Heartless. Hateful. Her fingers ran along that mark, slowly, lingering for a moment on the scratches she had put there in her earlier fit, still pink and raw. She lifted his forearm and brought it against her chest.
"I know what you are," she whispered, her eyes locking with his, just as he gazed upon her.
As he watched in horror, she brought her lips against the Dark Mark, forcing herself to stop thinking, in spite of the images of every horrid thing he had ever done flashing across her mind.
Don't think of who he is. Don't think of the things he's done. For Lily, this is for Lily.
Never did her gaze waver.
"I know," she whispered against his skin. "And still, I am yours."
The utterance was broken, a strangled sound that fell from her parted lips.
Draco tore his arm away from her, as if her lips were burning him, his eyes wide with disbelief.
A second later, he closed the distance between them by yanking her to her feet and claiming her mouth with his once more, testing her, pushing her further, making Hermione feel like she was floating. She wondered why he didn't just get it over with, push inside of her so that this whole thing could be over, and she could hold up her half of the hateful bargain. But he wouldn't. He was being too slow…too gentle, and she didn't like it. It…it was making her feel something. It was making her…want-
When he broke the kiss, his eyes were like molten lead.
"Do you want me?"
His words were a groan of desire, and Hermione swallowed.
Now. It's going to happen now.
"Yes."
She forced her eyes shut and leaned into him, feeling his breath against her chin, her neck, his kisses, the love bites, feeling his body, his desire, pressed hard against her.
"Liar," he whispered before kissing her feverishly once more, his fingers getting tangled up in her long hair. "But, by Merlin, I'm too selfish to give a damn anymore. I want you. You win, Granger. I'll do as you ask, so long as you are mine. Anytime, anywhere, and any way I want you."
Her eyes shot open and she gazed at him confused, as his silver eyes took her in like a man famished.
What does he mean? What ways…?
She thought of Marcus Flint. Of the disgusting stories she had heard. Of Rookwood's strange, covetous gazes.
For Lily.
His eager hands made their trembling way down her body, along the line of her skirt, her bum, and along her knickers. His touch was hot, but not altogether unpleasant. Hermione struggled not to arch to his fingers, convincing herself that he was loathsome. That it was only for Lily. Only for-
"Mine, Granger."
His words were possessive, ringing with a tone of desire she hadn't heard before. And by the Gods, those words stirred a deep, dark longing within her – an ache she refused to acknowledge. Because in the end she knew that he didn't love her; he lusted after her. And she didn't love him; she needed him to protect Lily.
There was no other way.
Hermione's eyes closed again, and she gave into his ministrations, afraid her legs might not hold her up as his fingers dipped beyond the elastic line of her white knickers, towards the heat waiting there. She was nervous, she was terrified, she prayed he be gentle, and then leaned up to kiss him, if only to distract herself from what was happening.
Draco found her as he imagined she would be – ready for him. He groaned in satisfaction, increasing the pressure of his kisses, his fingers exploring her more deeply. The whimper he received in return made his mind whirl with the deliciousness of what it would be like to finally take her. He couldn't wait to see the flush along her satiny skin, the heave of her breasts, the noises she would make when he was finally home within her-
Does she want me? Does it matter? She's already offered and I won't refuse. It's too much to refuse.
Hermione's knees went weak as his fingers danced along her most intimate places, clutching him to keep from falling. His hands moved faster, ceaselessly and Hermione bit into his shoulder, her head rolling back mindlessly.
I hate him...I hate him…I hate him…
She gripped his shoulders more tightly as his hand moved faster, and then faster still, and she forgot to feel anything but what he was doing to her. The feeling roiled within her, growing, shifting, changing, in waves of pleasure, until she felt herself freefalling over an explosive edge – her body rigid for a split-second before falling into him, limp and spent.
Tears blurred her vision. Was it over? Would he not…have her? Pulling away, Hermione gazed into his face, hers flushed with her passion and the shame she felt in the heart of her. Somehow, she had expected his eyes would be full of derision and his expression one of disgust. At how low she had fallen and at how far she would go to help someone else. But instead, he wore a look of fascination, his body still tense against hers, and his fingers burning and flat against her belly. Hermione's legs were like jelly, and she did not trust them to keep her standing, so she clung to him still, her lips parted as she sighed.
"Oh…"
Never had she felt anything like what he had just done to her. A part of her cringed in disgust, but the other part wept for more of his touch, his heat, the hardness of his body-
No. I don't want it. I didn't want this. I have to do it.
Swallowing her confusion, she opened her mouth, the words hoarse from pent up desire.
"Why-why didn't…you…?"
It took everything in Draco not to attack her like a wild animal and finish what he had so slowly begun, for never had he seen brilliance the way it reflected in the passion awakened eyes of Hermione Granger. Groaning he pressed his cheek against hers, heat against heat, shocked at just how erotic it had been to watch her.
"I wanted to watch you," he breathed into her ear. "Remember, you are mine now, and I do with you as I please, do I not?"
He felt her shudder and then melt against him in submission. For a few seconds, their hearts returned to normal, and finally, Draco pulled away, albeit reluctantly. The rest of the world was slowly whispering a dreary reminder in his ear, and he knew that no matter what happened here, in that room, that afternoon, that he was still a Death Eater. And she was the target of the Ministry's hatred. And he still-
"Fix yourself up," he told her, stepping away to readjust his trousers and the linen shirt he wore with unsteady hands. "My wife will be returning soon."
Hermione found herself inexplicably confused at how a man who had shown such passion a moment before, could be so cold the next. And though she would not acknowledge it, on some level, it both frightened and pained her. Blushing at her traitorous thoughts, she fumbled to smooth her skirt, and button the blouse she wore. Her hands ran through her tousled mane, and she was unable to look him in the eye, wondering what he was doing to her, what his plan was.
"Same as usual in the morning, Granger, and I'll take you back just as soon as I see to my wife. Remember, you are a Mudblood and I am a Ministry Official."
She waited, holding her breath, for reaffirmation of their bargain. He hesitated at the door, his pale, long-fingered hand poised at the knob. Then he turned, gazing at her with what she knew was imagined gentleness, for he did not know understanding, did he?
"I'll need time if I'm to help Lily. But I will keep up my end of our agreement."
Hermione sank down to the bed once more, weak-kneed with relief, and their gaze went on a few seconds longer than she imagined it should have. Then with a strange, curt nod, he was gone, leaving her alone, but not without hope.
Hope once more, in a man she should never have hoped in.