Those first two weeks of December passed in a blur of discovery and passion.
The first major discovery they made was that, if they spent the night sleeping beside one another, they had absolutely no nightmares at all. They completed the memory spell on one more occasion, but each of them had found that whatever came up was a weak, pale representation of some long-forgotten incident, and it diminished so quickly that they didn't even have the time to become overwhelmed by it. And so, they stopped their sessions, and instead found it just as effective to fall asleep together every night, usually in Draco's bed, completely naked so that they could feel as much of each other as possible.
Another discovery they made was just how hard it was to keep their hands off one another, now that they knew how good it could feel. Throughout the day, Hermione and Draco walked around the castle, attended classes, ate with their friends, and hardly took any of it in. They were far too busy trying to drive the other to distraction, seeing who would be the first to break.
It became a game between them, to see who could avoid looking the longest, who could shift just right in their seat to give the other a better view without catching the attention of those around them.
Hermione frequently had to clamp her thighs together when she lost against her own will and her eyes flicked up to find Draco slouching in his chair on the opposite side of the classroom, apparently paying rapt attention to the professor, while he ran those long fingers distractedly through his white-blonde hair, or under the desk his long legs were splayed and his large hand rested against his inner thigh.
Draco had bitten the inside of his cheek to shreds while watching in his usual undetectable way as she leant forward, resting her breasts on her crossed arms so that they were ever-so-slightly pushed up and together, or as she played with her lips, running her fingers along them almost absent-mindedly, nibbling at the end of her quill in apparent thought and, the thing that always made him throb in response, chewing at her lower lip as she seemed to be re-reading her notes.
And all of this teasing and tension would burst from them the moment the portrait door clicked shut each night. He would be on her in seconds, hands tearing at her clothing, lips searing her skin, fingers digging in everywhere he touched while she clung to him, tugging at his hair, wrapping her legs around his waist and rolling against him when he lifted her up. Sometimes they made it to a bed, sometimes they made it to the sofa.
On one particularly difficult day, Draco had had to watch across the Great Hall while a couple of Hufflepuffs had tried their luck at inviting Hermione to join them for a drink at the next Hogsmeade weekend. She had politely declined, but that night they didn't even make it into the common room.
'You're mine, Princess,' he had growled in her ear as he thrust furiously into her, her back pressed up against the stone wall next to the portrait hole. 'Mine, and I'm going to fuck you so hard that you'll never forget it. No-one else will ever turn your head from me, not after what I'm going to give you tonight.' She had looked down on him with slightly glassy eyes, her lust heightened by his fierce possessiveness.
'Then do it,' she'd breathed, her eyes daring, and with a roar he'd sunk his teeth into her neck, taking care that it was her uninjured side. She'd walked around with that bruise on display for the rest of the week, her head held high, telling anyone who asked about it that is was from a rogue accident with a book falling on her from a height during a serious study session. Part of him wished they could tell everyone it was his mark on her, but he held that inside, willing himself to be patient.
On another occasion, it had been Hermione who had snapped. They'd been sitting across the library from each other, avoiding the other's glances, when she'd heard two Slytherin third-years near her giggling. She'd looked up to find them shooting furtive glances in Draco's direction, both of them blushing. Her jealousy flared, and she glowered at them, annoyed. He was clearly irritated by the attention, too, as he got up with a sigh and headed into the rows of books. She waited a minute, then picked up one of her reference books as a decoy and followed him in.
After looking for a while she spotted him, standing near the back of the library, just returning a book to its shelf by his head. Hermione shoved her own book onto a nearby shelf with uncharacteristic abandon and stalked towards him. He felt the small hand push his back, and looked around to see Hermione behind him, urging him further into the stacks and looking furtively behind her.
'Granger? What are you - '
'Shh,' she hissed irritably, pushing harder when he slowed down. Soon they were stood between two shelves that were so close together and crammed full of books that she and Draco were almost touching.
'Hermione,' he said softly, his eyes glittering as he looked down at her. 'Is this wise?'
'Don't worry so much,' she'd replied, waving her hand in his face dismissively. 'I know this place like the back of my hand. Nobody ever comes back here. So as long as you're quiet, we'll be fine.'
'Quiet? What are you - fuck!' She had gripped the front of his trousers and was fumbling with his fly. The space they were in made it hard for him to also get his hands between them to try and stop her.
'Quid pro quo,' she murmered as his trouser button popped open.
'What? Was that Latin? Granger, I - nnng!' He grasped the shelves on either side of her head, his knuckles white. She'd plunged her hand into his trousers, under the elastic of his boxers, and gripped his erection, already mostly hard from the day's teasing.
'If I'm yours, then you're mine,' she had growled, deftly twisting her wrist so that she jerked him, hard and fast, her thumb grazing his tip. 'Understood, Malfoy?'
'Yes,' he'd gasped, his forehead lowered to rest against hers, hips snapping helplessly as she drove him to ecstasy. He'd tried to stifle his grunt as he shot his load into her hand, his boxers, up her shirt. As he panted, she'd smiled up at him, that spark in her eyes, and she raised her hand to her lips, licking it clean. His knees almost gave way and his eyes were almost black as he watched.
'You'll be the death of me,' he breathed, leaning in for a brief, hard kiss before she was ducking under his arm. He watched her walk away, her hips swaying noticeably, and he was reminded again of how well and truly fucked he was.
There were things other than the mind-blowing sex that were making him realise this. Little things, things that were getting under his skin.
Like watching her rub absent-mindedly at her neck, her arm, her side, trying to ease the ache there, and his hands would twitch at the need to apply the healing magic, to take away her pain. He still hadn't found a spell to repair her scarring, and he was growing desperate as he had nearly exhausted the material on healing in the Hogwarts library. Twice, he had started to write to his mother, asking her to send him some of the books from the Mansion library, but he'd screwed up the letter both times when he couldn't come up with an explaintion for why he needed them.
Another little thing was the way that they spent almost all of their time together now. When they weren't locked in a firey embrace, they were cuddling in bed, talking about their hopes for the future, or sitting together on her sofa, a book apiece in one hand, their other hands twined together between them. He found himself jealous and restless when she chose to spend her weekend afternoons with the Weasley girl, watching her practice for Quidditch or visiting Hogsmeade or Gods knew what else they were getting up to. His heart was always instantly soothed the moment she returned to him, when she would step straight into his arms without even taking off her coat first, when he could press his nose to her hair and breathe her in.
Little things like how she laughed. Or how she walked. Or how she breathed. Yes, he really was absolutely, completely, royally fucked.
Hermione was also struggling to come to terms with the hold that Draco Malfoy seemed to have on her. She would find her mind wandering in class, when the throbbing at her core reminded her of their activities from the night before. She would look down at her work, pretending to concentrate as his dirty words played back in her mind.
'Such a good pussy, always so wet and needy for me ... '
'You look so good with your holes stuffed, Princess ... '
'You're being such a good girl, Granger, just a little longer and I'll paint you with my cum. You always look so pretty with your face and chest covered in my cum ... '
But it wasn't just his words. It was his actions. Sure, she was addicted to his commanding voice and quivered at his instructions, but it was more than that.
It was the way he held her after sex, always so gentle. It was the way she'd be sat reading at a funny angle and would feel his hands pressing warmth into her skin, knowing before she did that she would be in pain when she straightened. It was the look on his face of patient interest as she explained her career and life plan and where she hoped it would take her. It was the way he held her tight when they had been separated and breathed her in so deeply, as if he hadn't breathed at all since they parted.
The insatiable need to be close to him grew every day, until at last Hermione had to admit that, despite everything, she was falling hard for Draco Malfoy.
