"Is this really necessary?" Hermione asked, but the look on the small elf's face was enough to make Hermione wish she'd just kept her mouth shut.
Winny stared up at her, bright eyes brimming with tears. "Miss doesn't want Winny to help?"
Remembering the way Winny had crumbled when she'd suspected that Draco was trying to send her away, Hermione quickly tried to ease her fears. "No, no. It's not that. Miss, ehh… I mean, me, umm I would love your help, but I… I already…"
Winny and Hermione stood in what appeared to be a large dressing room, with the elf wringing her hands at Hermione's waist, looking up at her with the saddest eyes Hermione had ever seen.
The tiny elf's chin began to quiver ever so slightly, and Hermione bit her tongue to keep from further offending her. Hermione gave a soft growl under her breath and sat down on the cushioned seat in front of an ornate cream-colored vanity, her own irritated face staring back at her in the three-panel mirror.
Hermione closed her eyes briefly, uttering a prayer to whatever deities existed to make this as quick and painless as possible, and said, her eyes closed in resignation, "Go ahead."
She heard Winny give a squeal of delight, and she opened her eyes to see that Winny's face had immediately morphed into one of complete elation. Her hands had stopped their kneading, and she snapped her fingers to pull a step stool out of thin air. Winny's tiny legs climbed the two steps to stand behind her, and when Hermione reached up to release her hair from the bun she'd twisted it into that morning, Winny slapped her hands away with an actual tutting sound.
Hermione pinched her lips together and thought, not for the first time since they'd Apparated into the room, that Winny was perhaps the most manipulative little creature she'd ever met. There was no trace of the tears she'd been shedding so profusely seconds before as she delicately pulled Hermione's hair from the bun.
"Miss should keep her hair down. Yous is a young woman, not a professor."
Hermione tried reminding herself that the poor little elf had been stuck in this house for Merlin knows how long all by herself, and allowing Winny to do her hair was a small price to pay to make the poor thing happy.
As irritating – and insulting – as it was to be groomed and forced into a makeover, Hermione tried not to be aggravated; Winny was just as lonely as the other residents of the house, and she'd been through just as much, if not more than most, Hermione imagined. Plus, if Hermione was so focused on helping to improve the working conditions of house-elves, certainly being pleasant toward one would be a good start.
She remembered her entirely misled attempts to free the Hogwarts elves and had to force herself not to cringe. It was certainly a step in the right direction to simply be kind to them… even if being kind means allowing a tyrannical little elf to manhandle your hair into submission, Hermione thought as Winny's fingers twisted the top section of her hair into a loose braid.
Trying to take her mind off being manipulated into a makeover, Hermione asked, "Do you do this for Mrs. Malfoy?"
"Oh no. Mistress can do it herself," Winny said, and Hermione thought she couldn't possibly have imagined the implication once again that she didn't at all know how to groom herself. "But Winny has always wanted a young Miss in the Manor. And Winny used to do this with Miss Andromeda." She'd expected to see a trace of sadness in her electric blue eyes, but there was none. Winny's face never strayed from a look of concentration and bliss.
She'd spoken about Andromeda when Hermione first met her, but more so in passing while describing how she'd come into Draco's possession – just thinking that word in relation to a sentient creature made Hermione wince.
"I know Andromeda," Hermione said. "I see her pretty regularly actually." She wasn't particularly enjoying being forcefully primped, and it appeared that her propensity for filling dead air with meaningless words was just as prevalent in the company of elves.
"Winny sees Miss Andromeda now, too. We's has tea sometimes," she said, as she began taming Hermione's unruly curls into more manageable ringlets.
"Did you…" Hermione stopped herself, not wanting to offend Winny, especially when she still held long swatches of her hair in the little elf's fingers. But it was useless because somehow, Winny seemed to know what question was weighing on her mind.
"Winny knew Dobby," she said, and before Hermione could respond, the elf snapped her fingers again, causing the drawer to Hermione's left to pop open. "Now, Miss needs powder."
"Oh, no, Winny, I don't –"
The look that Winny shot at her in the mirror made Hermione's mouth snap shut, and the little elf trudged on. Hermione turned to face her, and she couldn't help but feel a little silly. How was it that this elf knew more about makeup than she did? But then again, Hermione had never been that type of girl to begin with. She sat still as Winny used various tubes and powders and brushes, most of which Hermione couldn't even name.
"Dobby was a good elf," Winny said. "But not a good house-elf."
"What do you mean?"
Winny paused for a moment, a small brush in hand over Hermione's eye. She frowned slightly, more in thought than in sadness, and the tip of one ear twitched faintly.
"Dobby had a good heart but was very clumsy. He always forgetting his duties and making a big racket." She turned back toward Hermione, almost stabbing her in the eye with the makeup brush when Hermione didn't get her eyes closed quickly enough.
When she finished with the eyeshadow, Hermione opened her eyes. Was Dobby's personality the reason he was treated so differently than Winny had obviously been?
As if she'd read her mind again, Winny said, "Dobby was Malfoy family elf, not Black family elf. We's trained different." She nodded nobly at Hermione, clearly proud of her servitude and heritage in belonging to the Black family. "Tippy and Winny try to teach Dobby better, but he too jittery all the time."
"Dobby saved my life," Hermione said, not wanting to offend Winny but also feeling a bit defensive of the sweet elf who she had known and cared for. She hadn't been as close with him as Harry had been, but still, he had saved her life. And though his attempts had often resulted in more harm than good, he'd been faithful to Harry for years.
"Oh yes," Winny said, her eyes sad for a moment. "Dobby was a great elf." Hermione was surprised to see fat tears fill Winny's eyes again as she gave a soft sniff. "Winny cared for Dobby, but…"
Hermione thought these tears were more genuine than the first ones had been, and Winny blinked a few times fighting them back.
"What is it, Winny? But what?"
"But… Winny doesn't want Miss to think badly of Master Lucius. Master Lucius not always do bad things. Sometimes Dobby brings his troubles on his self. Master Lucius just has bad temper."
Hermione tilted her head slightly in confusion, not really understanding why the elf would care how she felt about Lucius.
Winny continued. "Master Draco is happy again, and if Miss leaves because of Master Lucius, then Master Draco will go away again. And then Mistress will be sad and Winny will be all alone." Winny hung her head in shame, as if admitting this had somehow betrayed her house.
"Winny," Hermione said, causing the little elf to peek up at her. She put her hand on top of Winny's, and she couldn't help but think how similar it felt to a baby's hand in her own. "I cared for Dobby very much, and no matter what he did, he didn't deserve the way he was treated at all." When Winny opened her mouth to interrupt, Hermione spoke over her. "He should not have been abused the way that he was, no one should. But, none of that is going to make me stop caring for Draco."
Winny breathed in deeply before nodding. She looked back up at Hermione, and with only a hint of sadness remaining in her eyes, she said, "There. Miss is even more beautiful now."
Hermione turned in her chair to face the mirror again and was surprised to find her makeup very tastefully done. She'd been expecting to turn around and see a clown looking back at her, complete with pasty foundation and overshaded lips like the one and only time she'd allowed Lavender to do this to her on a dare, but instead Winny's makeover had been understated to say the least. Her lips were a soft glossy pink, and the faintest blush stood out nicely across her cheekbones. The only striking feature was the gold and deep purple across her eyelids.
The smug look on Winny's face said that she could tell that Hermione was impressed. "Wow, Winny. You're really great at this."
"Winny knows," she said as she jumped off the stool. She wiped her small hands down the front of her tea-towel and stood up a bit taller under Hermione's praise. Winny was flushed as well, all the way out to the tips of her ears, and Hermione thought how similar she looked to a child; her hands were clasped together, and her shoulders swayed slightly as she beamed up at her.
Winny cleared her throat, and her demeanor changed again to one of utmost professionalism as she took Hermione's hand and pulled her towards a walk-in closet. "Come now, Miss. Winny will find you something to wear."
"Are you certain I can't wear this, Winny? It really is much more –"
Hermione's words died in her throat when Winny turned, completely aghast, to stare at her. "Oh, no, Miss. You's can't wear something so…" Winny paused for her piercing eyes to give Hermione a completely unnecessary once over and said, "Shabby." Winny's eyes stopped on her trainers, and Hermione thought the elf gave the slightest, almost imperceptible shudder.
Hermione could feel the judgment laying across her skin as she looked down at her jeans and button-up, and she had to clench her teeth to keep from saying aloud what she was thinking - and you're wearing a towel. As irritating as it was, she certainly didn't want to go down to dinner and receive the same look from Narcissa, though, based on their earlier interaction, the Malfoy matron would at least be able to hide her open disdain much better than Winny could.
Hermione sighed and allowed herself to be pulled into the closet, though she'd much rather have jumped into the closest floo and skipped the entire ordeal. Eyes widening as she took in a closet the size of her childhood bedroom, Hermione felt like she was indubitably in over her head.
As Winny began looking through the rows, the same look of concentration on her face that she'd worn while doing Hermione's makeup, Hermione allowed her hands to slide through the dozens upon dozens of dresses hanging throughout the closet. There were ballgowns and cocktail dresses, dresses with trains that reached the floor, dresses so short Hermione thought her knickers would surely be showing beneath them. As she reached the back and realized she had entered into a realm of sheer negligees, she stopped running her hands over the fabric, snatching them back as if they'd been burned.
"Winny, whose clothes are these?" Hermione asked, a blush rising to her cheeks as she realized she'd been touching someone else's naughty knickers.
"These are Mistress' old things," Winny said, and Hermione's nose wrinkled in disgust. She had to shake her head to get rid of the images of Draco's parents together. Gross.
"Here, Miss."
Hermione turned at the sound of Winny's voice and took in the dress floating in front of her face.
"Oh, no, no, no. Winny."
The dress was sheer black lace with a scalloped hem and neck line, and it looked far posher than anything Hermione had ever worn. "That's too much."
Winny walked around the dress hanging in mid-air so that she could look at it from the front. She turned back toward Hermione and lifted one eyebrow so perfectly condescending that Hermione began to wonder if house-elves took on the traits of their masters after a long period of servitude. "Too much? It is perfect."
Hermione walked forward and lifted the fabric in one hand toward Winny. "It's lace, Winny. I'll be overdressed."
Winny said nothing, but the look she gave her said plenty.
No. I'm drawing the line. Hermione shook her head once and walked out of the closet without a word.
The moment Hermione stepped out, Winny called out in a watery voice, "Miss Hermione doesn't trust Winny?"
Hermione hung her head in exasperation and let out a heavy sigh of long-suffering. She held her arm out, knowing that Winny would be there, waiting to pounce like a lioness, and she felt the dress drape across her arm. She opened her eyes and gave Winny a knowing look.
"I'm onto you, Winny," she said, narrowing her eyes at the manipulative little creature.
The tiny elf dried her tears on her tea-towel and shrugged before saying, "Winny knows what's best." She took a step forward and picked up one sleeve. "See? Winny even picks long-sleeves to cover up Miss' arm."
Hermione's brows drew together, and she involuntarily pulled the offensive appendage closer into her chest. "How did- "
"Winny remembers." Her face was grave but sincere, her eyebrows dipping in the corners slightly as she patted Hermione's hand. "Wasn't always so bad here." She smiled again, the hand that had been patting Hermione's gripped her fingers tightly as she said, "Winny hopes that Miss will stay to see it happy again."
Hermione wasn't entirely sure whether she liked Winny. She was certainly much more devious than her innocent eyes and fine wisps of infantile hair would suggest, but there were times when she seemed completely genuine. It was obvious that she cared deeply for Draco, and even her manipulative tactics seemed to serve a purpose beyond Winny's own wishes. Truthfully, Hermione didn't think a house-elf could be selfish at all, and Winny's desire to make Draco happy and reunify the house was proof that though she was dreadfully pushy, she had a reason for it.
"Thank you, Winny."
Hermione held the dress up to her body, trying to determine whether it would even fit, and Winny said, "It fits, Miss. Winny knows."
Winny and Hermione Apparated directly in front of the doors to the dining room, and the elf looked up at Hermione and said, "It's through here, Miss." When she noticed Hermione smoothing down the front of her dress, she added, "Miss looks beautiful. Master Draco will think so too."
Winny gave a completely unnecessary wink and beamed up at her. Just as Hermione was thinking that maybe she'd misinterpreted Winny's behavior and she hadn't been manipulative at all, she said, "Does Miss want her rags back, or should Winny burn them?"
"I'd like them back." She had to forcefully keep her eyes from rolling when Winny shook her head in disgust and Disapparated away with a pop.
Definitely didn't misinterpret that, Hermione thought as she took one last look at herself. She had to hand it to Winny; no matter how cheeky she'd been, she certainly knew what she was doing. The dress flared ever so slightly right at her knees, and the rest clung tightly to her curves, accentuating her waist and hips perfectly. This wasn't at all a dress that Hermione would have picked for herself, but she had to admit that she'd been astonished at how well it suited her.
She took a breath and pushed open the door, and when Draco stood as she entered the room, it made all of Winny's fussing over her completely worth it.
His chair squeaked as he stood, and his lips parted in the half-smile that always made her weak in the knees. Grey timber eyes completely unguarded shifted from her face down to the length of her body and flitted back up again, filling her face with warmth. He blinked a few times, as if he'd just remembered that his mother sat across from him, and then walked over to pull Hermione's chair from beneath the table.
"You look beautiful," he said, as he leaned in and kissed her chastely on one blushing cheek.
Hermione sat down, noting that Narcissa wore the same dress she'd been wearing earlier, and other than the addition of a skinny tie and suit coat, Draco hadn't changed either. She started to protest at having been forced to change after noticing that no one else had, when Narcissa spoke.
"I see that Winny forced you to play dress-up." She too wore a soft smile, and her eyes twinkled just as Draco's did when he was holding in a laugh.
"She told me I couldn't wear my 'rags,'" Hermione said, glancing down at the dress that was clearly a bit more elegant than the occasion merited.
Narcissa actually chuckled at that. Hermione, at first, thought this was at her expense, as if she didn't feel ridiculous enough, but Narcissa shook her head slightly and continued, "I'm so sorry, Miss Granger. You were absolutely welcome to wear whatever you wished. Winny gets a bit carried away sometimes." Narcissa's eyes met hers, and there was no malice in them. "I hope she wasn't too terribly rude to you."
Hermione chuckled as well, breathing a sigh of relief that she wasn't being mocked, and said, "Only a little."
"She's been rather lonely without anyone to bend to her will lately." Narcissa lifted her wine glass and took a sip before saying, "You do look lovely."
Before she could respond, plates appeared in front of them, reminiscent of Hogwarts' feasts, and as the smell of scallops and garlic butter wafted through the air, all thoughts of Winny left her mind.
The dinner went well. There were no more stilted silences or angry glances, and Narcissa never brought up Lucius. Narcissa seemed genuinely pleased to have her there, which was more than Hermione would have ever thought possible seeing as though the last time they'd been in this house together, Narcissa had been attempting to turn her over to Voldemort. Granted, she had certainly seemed affected by her torture and the disgusting looks that Greyback had been giving her.
And, though Narcissa had thanked Hermione immensely following Draco's trial, she really had never thought that she'd be okay with them being together, or with Draco dating anyone that wasn't a Pureblood for that matter. Hermione had chastised herself on multiple occasions throughout dinner for jumping to conclusions and expecting the worst from Narcissa when she'd been nothing but kind to her since she'd first stumbled upon them holding hands in the sitting room.
Winny came in as they were finishing their tiramisu and had the decency to look at least a bit abashed when Narcissa brought up her manipulation of Hermione, but then her subsequent attempts at giving her more of the rum-soaked cake completely diluted the effect of her remorse.
"I think she may have ulterior motives." Hermione had been convinced after Winny pressed Draco into telling her she looked beautiful again.
"I apologize, Miss Granger. It seems we really should work on her subtlety," Narcissa said with another shake of her head.
They finished their wine and said goodbye to his mother before departing through the same Floo to return to The Willows.
"If I didn't know better," Hermione said, "I'd say your elf was trying to get me drunk."
"Oh, she was certainly trying to get you drunk."
"I assume she wants me to stick around, and apparently, if I'm not drunk, I'll get tired of you," she said, throwing a smirk at him over her shoulder as she kicked off the heels that Winny had forced her to wear. Looking down at herself she realized that she definitely needed to change before going to group. She imagined the confused look on everyone's face if she showed up wearing the elegant lace dress and laughed to herself at the approving look she received from Nicola in her mind.
Remembering the way she'd overthought and overanalyzed everything when she'd tried to plan and prepare for the right moment, she took a breath. She certainly wasn't drunk, much to Winny's chagrin, but after two glasses of wine and what she was sure was a much bigger slice of tiramisu than either Draco or Narcissa had, she definitely felt the effects of it, warm and softened all over. The alcohol gave her just the amount of confidence that she needed, much like it'd done the first night they slept in his room together.
She turned around to find him staring at her, leaning against his desk in that casual way that only he could do. One hand in his pocket, the other with a finger hooked into the knot of his tie and pulling it loose.
His lips were parted just as they'd been when she walked into the dining room earlier, and the way he was looking at her, as if she were Aphrodite herself, made her feel empowered in a way she'd never felt before, adding to the effects of the alcohol. Without taking her eyes off his or allowing herself to second guess it, she slipped the sleeves from her arms and let the dress fall to the floor, pooling it around her ankles.
Her normal inhibitions seemed momentarily stunted, both from the alcohol and from the heat of his eyes roving across her skin. She could almost feel it, like static electricity tingling all over her as she stepped closer to him. But as she followed his gaze, her anxiety came back, building slowly like the first few rocks tumbling before a landslide. She tried not to think about the awful, blue-tinged starburst covering her entire hip courtesy of Dolohov. She swallowed as his eyes fell across her chest, but he didn't even linger on the slashing scars between her breasts. The regular internal diatribe that had begun to rear its ugly head was quelled like water on a flame by his fingertips ghosting along her ribs.
Any lingering trepidation was crushed as he whispered, "Gods, you're beautiful," and his thumbs brushed the bottom hem of her bra. He'd dropped his tie the moment she was within reach, and her own hands found it, pulling it from around his neck as she pressed her lips to his. Tasting sweet rum and mascarpone, she tried to force her shaking hands to still enough to unbutton his suit coat.
She pushed it off his arms and sighed into him when his tongue swept past her lips. Breathing him in, she relished the wine and heady scent of clove as his hands wrapped around her, settling their warmth into her lower back and pushing her breasts into his chest.
Untucking his shirt, she said, "Now you're overdressed," and his smile against her lips as she unbuttoned it was more intoxicating than the wine had been. Heat rushed through her, pulsing in her veins at the places his mouth trailed down her neck, and she bit her bottom lip both from the electric charge of his mouth on her skin and the sight of his bare chest in front of her.
He was beautiful. His alabaster skin was limned here and there by the rays of the sun coming in through the tops of the windows, rippling along the definition across his chest. A dozen jagged scars covered his upper body, ranging from only an inch or two to the largest that stretched diagonally from his collarbone to his sternum.
She took a step back, allowing herself room to run her hands along his chest, and she felt him flinch slightly beneath her touch. When she looked up at him, she found his eyes looking faintly hesitant.
"I'm covered in them too," he'd said when she had been too nervous for the others to see her in a swimsuit. "I get it."
He had to have seen hers, but he was completely unfazed by them, and Hermione felt the same. She could see his scars, but if anything, they just added to his appeal, the same way his Dark Mark did. The idea that he was just as nervous about her reaction as she was about his was enough to make her forget her own worries.
She pressed her lips to his chest, trailing her own kisses along the length of the largest one, and she heard his breath hitch when she opened her mouth, sucking lightly at the row of symbols and letters just below his collarbone where he'd been marked in Azkaban. Hands still trembling, she reached between them to unclasp his belt, hoping that just pushing past her own insecurities would show him all the things that she couldn't say.
She deliberately allowed her hand to graze the front of his trousers, and the delicious sound he made in response caused a fluttering in her stomach and a pleasant ache to settle between her thighs. Her heart was pounding heavily in her chest, and she couldn't control the soft but desperate mewl that escaped her lips when one of his hands pressed beneath her bra and palmed her breast.
She brought her mouth back to his, relishing the obvious heat across his cheeks and the hungry look in his eyes, when he paused. "Are you sure?" he asked, searching her face for any hesitation.
"I'm sure," she said without a moment's thought and sank her lips back to his. Remembering the way he'd responded when she'd done it before, she nipped at his bottom lip and gripped him through his trousers. The shudder he gave in response only made her crave more.
He pushed back against her, backing her up until she felt the mattress against the backs of her thighs, and he caught himself on his forearms as they tumbled down onto the bed. Twisting one leg around his waist, she pushed her hips closer to his, the length of him rubbing against her center. The press of his trousers against her knickers had her moaning into his mouth as she pulled him closer, her hands gripping his pockets.
He rolled his hip into her, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through her body and tightening the coil even further. His hands sought the clasp of her bra, and she hadn't a second to be embarrassed to be beneath him, exposed and uncovered, before his lips were on her, sucking and nipping across her neck and chest.
He looked up at her, and her eyes met his before he took one nipple between his lips. Something about his eyes on hers, hungry and full of desire, as he twirled his tongue over her peaks brought her that much closer to the edge, and she felt the aching intensify, begging for release and more of him.
She shamelessly pushed against him, practically vibrating in anticipation, and he stood up, leaving her cold without his body against her but burning from the inside out with want. He removed his belt, and it thudded softly against the floor as she sat up, rising to her knees, unable to resist touching him for even the short amount of time he'd need to undress. As his hands sought her skin, she unzipped him and pushed his trousers from his hips, leaving him in his boxers in front of her, a sizable tent pressed against her waist.
He lay back over her, pushing her down gently across the bed with one hand as the other rubbed across the seam of her knickers. The fire burning inside her continued to grow, and the sheets tangled between her fingers as she pushed into his touch. His breath joined the thudding of her pulse as he kissed the hollow just below her ear.
She wanted to – needed to – fill him. "Touch me," she said, the words coming out in a brazen moan as he teased her through the fabric. He leaned up enough for her to hook her thumbs in the waistband of her knickers, and after she lifted her hips to pull them down, they both laughed as she struggled to kick them off her ankle.
His laugh faded as he leaned onto one elbow to stare down at her. Her first instinct was to cover herself with her hands. She wanted this. She wanted him, but it still made her feel inadequate to be completely exposed and have him looking down at her; but his eyes burned with the same fire that she felt, reckless and vibrant, demanding but unsure, and his fingers like gossamer brushed across her chest. But there was more there, behind the heavy charge of desire, something else, something pure and powerful that pushed her fears away, assuring her that she was enough. No, more than enough. His was a look of pure reverence.
She pushed the elastic of his boxers, both eager to see him and not wanting to be the only one of them naked. He sat up enough to kick his own underwear off in a much more fluid motion than hers had been, and she immediately reached for him, feeling the smooth warmth of him in her hands as she stroked him.
He made a soft sound, a release of breath, and it pulled her attention back to his face. His eyes were closed, brows furrowed slightly, as he pushed into her hand. When he opened them, they were almost black, blown wide with only a ring of silver around them. He brought his hand back to her mound, his fingers graced across that sensitive spot between her hip and thigh, and she bucked against him. She felt ablaze, needing more of him than just his fingers, but when she tried to throw one leg over him, to pull him closer to her, he leaned back slightly.
She thought perhaps this was too much, maybe this wasn't what he wanted, but when she sought his face, she found him smiling sweetly at her, his eyes still saying he was just as desperate as she was.
A faint blush painted his cheekbones. "Let me touch you, love," he said, and the sheepish look on his face made her chuckle. "I'll probably last all of two seconds."
She loved that there was no awkwardness here. Despite the few times her mind had gotten the better of her for a split second, she hadn't once been overcome with anxiety nor had her thoughts drifted toward any of the negative memories she'd associated intimacy with. It was just Draco and her, no room for anything else in this moment.
She quivered beneath him when his hand returned to her sex, long fingers stroking her as his tongue flicked across one nipple. The sounds of her panting filled the room, as she tried and failed to stifle each gasp. Her hands twisted in his hair as the electricity built inside her, coiling and winding, pulling her closer and closer to the edge.
When it was almost more than she could handle, all at once, it erupted within her, simultaneously filling her up and emptying her leaving every inch of her tingling. He caught his name on her lips with a kiss, and her nails scratched into his back as she trembled beneath him.
She let out a soft sigh, feeling the adrenaline pumping through her as his kiss made her toes curl again. His hair was soft, falling between her fingers as she pulled him closer to her, wanting more of him still.
He shifted to lay over her, his body covering her own, and she threw one leg around his waist, rubbing against him wantonly. She could feel him trembling as well, his arms shaking as he positioned himself above her, and she wasn't sure if it was nerves, excitement, or simply trying to hold himself back. His eyes on hers, he asked again, "Are you sure?"
The look on his face now was cautious, just as vulnerable and exposed as she felt when she'd first been naked in front of him. The trepidation in his eyes made her wish she could erase every bad thing he'd ever experienced, every ounce of feeling that he was undeserving of forgiveness.
This time she took his face in her hands and ran her fingertips across the stubble along his jaw. "I'm sure. I want you, Draco."
At the verbal declaration of her desire, he brought his mouth to hers, softly, sweetly, savoring this moment, and she felt him pressing into her. There was a sharp sting as he filled her up, and her breath caught in a mostly silent gasp. He stilled above her, and she let out a shaky breath. He was looking down at her, his own face one now of concentration and concern.
"I'm okay," she said, smiling up at him and kissing him again as he gave a shaky exhale similar to her own. He pulled out slowly, and the stinging returned in full force making her wince beneath him.
Gradually, as the careful push-pull of his movements continued, the stinging progressed to a dull ache and then just a feeling of intense fullness. His shoulders shook faintly but enough for her to feel it, and she knew he was trying to make this less painful for her.
She tentatively wrapped one leg around his waist and felt him deeper inside her, and it was no longer completely unpleasant. The sudden shift in position seemed to break all his self-restraint and his movements became less hesitant, more erratic, the muscles in his back rolling beneath her palms.
She lifted her hips to match his movement as the stinging subsided, replaced with something a little closer to the pleasure she'd felt earlier. One hand gripped around her thigh as her hips moved with his, finding a rhythm as their motions became one.
It wasn't painful any longer, and though it was a far cry from the bliss she'd experienced earlier, the heat building in her chest now was from feeling this with him, experiencing this with him, knowing that no matter what else, they had this, their first times, together, and it was wonderful. And he'd brought her here, helped her overcome the way her brain had highjacked these moments from her in the past, and because of that, she was able to make it to this point, to give herself to him completely in a way that she'd never thought possible before.
After a few moments, the pace intensified and he rocked against her one last time, a deep groan escaping him as he collapsed on top of her, chest rising and falling heavily, slick against her own.
They lay that way for a moment, her hands on his back, fingertips grazing his skin, and his breath in her hair, before he sat up and looked down at her. His hair was darkened with sweat, and for a split second she saw hesitation on his face, his eyes flitting back and forth between hers looking for regret. There were no walls here, no Occlumency, just him staring down at her, nervous about how she'd feel about this.
She smiled at him, her hands on either side of his face again, pulling him down so she could press her lips to his again. He let out a soft sigh and dropped his forehead to hers, looking every bit as satiated as she felt. He rolled to his side, pulling her with him so that her head lay against his chest, his hand tracing along her spine and giving her chills.
She took his hand and laced their fingers together, feeling … free. His arms around her, holding her to him, she felt safe, protected, accepted.
Loved? She wasn't sure. She knew what she was feeling, this overwhelming, all-consuming fire within her that burned just for him. She didn't know exactly what it was, but she'd never felt it before. She lay there, her head on his chest, her fingers tracing his and her heart full.
She let out a soft laugh, not meaning to, and he asked, "What?" the sound telling her that he was smiling too.
"Nothing," she said.
"Ouch." She lifted onto her elbows to look at him, confused at his response.
"That isn't exactly what a man wants to hear in bed. Laughter."
She laughed again, her eyes closing in mirth as she lay back down onto his chest, finally understanding his meaning and original question. "No, it's…"
She talked over his sarcastic, "Uh hmm. Don't worry about saving my ego now."
"I just… I can't believe this is my life." She took his hand back in hers, and he stilled beneath her, serious again. "Two months ago, I was… not okay. And now," she looked back up at him again, wanting him to understand what he meant to her, "I've never felt like this - this… content."
He swallowed, and his eyes focused on their hands rather than her face, his brows furrowing slightly. "I know," he began, "I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for you to change your mind, to realize that…"
She turned so she could look at him fully, her hair falling across one shoulder and blanketing his face in shadow as she tugged his sheets around her.
"I meant it when I told you that I'm not going anywhere. I want you," she took his face in her hands. "Everything, remember?"
He smiled, the fear leaving his face again as he pulled her down onto him, kissing her and burying his hands in her hair.
"We have to go to group," she said, breaking the kiss, "but then I'd very much like to do that again."
His laugh came from deep in his chest and vibrated against her own as she kissed him, feeling weightless and still quivering beneath his touch.