Hermione wondered when the change had happened. When the loneliness had finally become too much.
Perhaps it had been sometime at night, when she'd woken up with her heart pounding too fast, her fingers gripped with a too tight hold on the sensible quilt. Maybe she'd looked out at the window one too many times, to find only the stillness of the night and the rhythmic swell of waves, glinting silver in the distance. Or it could have been in the morning, when she defiantly took her tea on the couch, gazing into the unlit fireplace and pretending that he wasn't moving about behind her, readying himself for another one of his long walks away from the cottage.
The hatred was still there of course. It burned in her, took shape in ugly words and scowls from across the room; in cabinets slammed and doors shut, and hasty movements whenever she felt his eyes on her. But there was something else now too. And even with all her bewilderment, she couldn't discover just why or how it had gotten there. It was pointless anyways. It was there, and undeniably so.
It was there in the way her breath became short when she felt the heat of his body hovering over her, angrily correcting the would-be fire that she was sure had been just fine before he'd decided she'd done it wrong. It was there in her lingering gaze, when he zipped up the black wool jumper he wore every time he went out into the cold, windswept air, the one that clung to his lean frame in a way she'd begun to notice.
And it was there, worst of all, at night. When she jolted awake not just from panic, but from some stunted need that had been growing in her during sleep, forming between her thighs but never finding its way to completion.
She wanted him to touch her. It was wrong, she knew, to want that from someone you hate. But knowing that somehow made it worse. The temptation of what she couldn't have, what she shouldn't have, the knowledge that verged on shame had somehow made her burn brighter. She was becoming taught, like a live wire, electrified and pulled to its limits. And though she adamantly denied it to herself, at some point she'd have to snap.
.
Draco jumped back from the stove with a hiss, the pan clattering loudly to the ground, spilling it's contents onto the kitchen floor. Hermione sucked in a breath of shock, then turned on him, furious.
"Oh you idiot."
She stalked over, and began to scoop up the greasy potatoes with her hands, tossing them angrily into the sink.
"Well maybe if you hadn't been been jeering at me the whole time-" Draco started, his voice rising.
"Jeering? Please!"
Draco reached his arm across her to reach the faucet. "Move over will you? I've just burned my hand on account of you."
"I didn't make you touch the bloody pan."
Draco flicked the tap on, so close to her now that his hip brushed hers. No water came out.
"Fuck, of course. No water." He said, his cheeks flushed with anger.
"Just fucking brilliant. Now I'll have to go check the stupid fucking well. And my thumb is twice its size Granger, cheers."
"Oh stop complaining will you." Hermione said, throwing her hands to her sides, exasperated. She swiveled around to face him, and impulsively grabbed his wrist, wrenching it towards her face.
She didn't even give herself enough time to register his surprise. She simply lifted his thumb to her mouth, blew on it, and the for the briefest of moments, placed her lips around it, giving it a quick swipe of her tongue.
His skin was dry and tasted clean, like soap. She withdrew and quickly let his hand fall limp to his side.
Draco's lips were parted in shock, but no words came from him. Hermione's face began to burn. Unable to look at him she turned abruptly, away from him and the sink.
"I'll look at the bloody well." She said, before fleeing the cottage and letting the door slam behind her.
Outside the wind was cold and salty. It swept up Hermione's hair in a mass of damp tangles, and stung her face with traces of sand. She was glad for the distraction.
She wanted to pretend that she didn't know why she'd done what she'd done back in the small kitchenette. But she knew exactly why. The fact only seemed to increase her embarrassment.
Three months didn't seem that long on paper, and she was angry at herself for having, what seemed to her, very little resolve. But in reality it wasn't just three months. It was over two years of war, and terror. It was about a year of not being touched sexually, and now months of not being touched at all.
Her rash decision to assault Draco's thumb was now added to the small tally of times they'd come into contact with one another, which she felt frustrated with herself for keeping, but unable to stop from noticing. A few times they'd brushed arms accidentally while passing each other in the kitchen, or in the tight hallway that led to the two separate bedrooms. Once or twice she'd intentionally knocked shoulders with him, to show off her anger. He too had touched her several times to prove a point, swatting her hand away when she disapproved of his cooking, or fire making skills, and sought to correct it.
And now there was- whatever that was.
It had been rash, and stupid. She wasn't even sure now how it had happened, how she'd let her body get so ahead of her rational thought.
Hermione moved the damp hair from off her forehead, and let out a shaky breath. Her face still felt too hot. Kicking off her shoes and abandoning her socks in the sand, she made way for the water, seeking out a reprieve that could only be granted from the cold touch of the ocean.
.
It was twilight by the time Hermione made her way back to the cottage. Her jeans were wet up to her shins, and her feet were becoming numb from the cold. But even with these distractions she couldn't help but return to the thought of where Draco would be, and if she would have to speak to him again tonight.
She hoped he'd be in his room by now, saving her the awkwardness of having to see him. But as she approached the little hut she realized quickly that she'd been unlucky. There was a fire blooming out from one of the cottage windows, a burning orange light that stood out against the grey of the seaside.
Any sense of calm she'd felt began to slip away as she approached it. He'd be in there, waiting for her. Who knew what he would say, if he would chastise her, or simply act repulsed if she attempted to go near him again. By the time she'd opened the heavy door and made her way inside, her mind was buzzing with a confusing mix of anticipation and emotion. This was only worsened when she saw him, sitting with a book on one of the old arm chairs, which he'd pushed close to the fire.
Hermione looked at the ground. She refused to stare at him. She placed her shoes next to the door, and then stood up and walked straight to her room without a glance in his direction.
Once her door was closed behind her she let out a heavy breath. She felt safer now, in the comfort of her little room. Still though, the knowledge that he was out there buzzed in the forefront of her mind, and made her movements shakier than they should have been.
She shucked off her wet jeans, and then her shirt, trading them in for the dry warmth of her pyjama pants and a knitted jumper. It was a welcome distraction from her discomfort, and for the first time that day Hermione felt as if she'd peeled it off and left it there, with the damp heap of clothes on her floor.
She laid on her bed, on top of the covers, and let minutes pass where all she did was stare at the wall. She tried to center her mind, to calm her breathing and think of anything else other than Malfoy and the embarrassment she'd brought upon herself.
This proved a fruitless effort. Instead of clearing her mind, she instead replayed the moment over and over again, remembering the way his skin had felt and tasted. She felt a rush of arousal, and then just as quickly, the embarrassment was back. She covered her face with her hands and groaned. How could she have done that? What was she thinking? After several minutes of self-depreciating thoughts, and other confusing ones regarding her illicit gesture, her mind began to turn a new route.
She thought of her wet socks and jeans, of the coldness she felt despite the change of clothes. At first she'd been content to stay in her room, and drift asleep until morning. Now, she suddenly felt the injustice of that. Why should she have to hide all night? To chastise herself for one silly moment? She'd been through war. She'd seen bodies fall limp to the ground, up in an instant and then lifeless the next. She'd ran through the woods knowing that any moment she could die, and become one of them. She'd done things she'd never thought herself capable of doing.
And now she was cowering in her room, too afraid to face Draco Malfoy. She was only angry at herself for one more moment. In the next, she was moving.
.
She'd known her hair would be impossible without even looking into a mirror, so she swept it up into a haphazard bun before marching out of her room. Though, some of her gusto disappeared as the dark little hallway narrowed, and she caught a brief glimpse of Draco's face, lit by the fire.
Without having planned for it she made her way to the stove, and fixed up the tea kettle. Her movements were rigid, and she felt too aware of herself as she grabbed a mug and set it down, the soft clink it made against the counter loud with nothing but the crackle of the fire to fill the silence.
That was until she heard the creak of the chair, and then Draco's steps as he got up and slowly made his way towards her. Hermione tried to focus on the task at hand, fishing in the cupboards for the tea bags. Instead she found herself distracted as Draco came to a stop behind her. Her breathing had become shallow at some point during the course of his journey.
"Make me up one, will you?" He said softly from behind her. Hermione nodded a fraction, but refused to turn and face him. She reached up to open the cabinet once more, retrieving the small white mug that she knew he preferred. The ceramic was cool against her skin, and she felt for a fleeting moment the urge to press it to her face. Instead she turned around, lowering it to the height of her stomach. Draco was closer than she anticipated. Too close, in fact. His broad shoulders were blocking out the light from the fire, and she could practically feel the heat of his body, radiating off of him. Looking at his chest rather than his face, she jutted the mug towards him, within the little space that was left between them.
Draco reached out and took it, but as he did, his fingers brushed softly against her thumb. The touch was intentional, and lingering.
"Strange thing to do, that" He said, finishing with a slight tap of his middle finger to her thumb.
It was impossible to not know what he was referring to. Hermione's cheeks flamed and she opened her mouth, hoping to come up with some sort of excuse. She looked up at him, and the words died on her tongue. Draco's eyes were scanning over the lower half of her face, searching for something, but Hermione had no response to give.
Before she had any more time to think, a strange look came over Draco's face. His eyes settled on her lips and then, with a barely there motion, he leaned his head down as if to kiss her.
Hermione couldn't help it. She flinched away from him, quickly turning her head a fraction to the side. It was enough for Draco to halt completely. He blinked, then stepped away from her. Hermione felt as if she couldn't breath. Had she imagined that? No, surely not. Draco had been about to kiss her. But then he turned and began to walk away, muttering something she couldn't make out as he abandoned the mug on the coffee table and made way for his bedroom.
Hermione's mind caught up to her body in a flurry of thought.
She surged after him and caught him in the dark hallway, just as he was about to reach for his door.
"Malfoy!" She'd said, a little too loud.
He turned to face her, a blank, controlled look on his face, and his hands shoved in his pockets. Hermione's breath stuttered. She hadn't thought this far ahead, and didn't know what to say to the silent blonde.
"I- I need help putting out the fire" was the lame excuse that found its way out of her mouth. Malfoy's eyebrows rose on his face, in a way that was clearly meant to mock her.
"Can't do that on your own, can you?" He stated bluntly.
Hermione's eye twitched. Of course she could do it on her own. It was supposed to be an excuse, to give him another shot at whatever he'd attempted to do in the kitchen. That should have been obvious. It was obvious, but then, why was he thwarting her? Perhaps his ego was bruised.
Before Hermione could come up with something clever to say, Draco shook his head and turned, again making way for his bedroom door. Hermione shot out her hand and took hold of his shirt in a tight fist, pushing roughly against his chest so that he was slammed back against the wall. Malfoy's eyes widened with surprise. Hermione didn't waste time with a second thought; she squeezed her eyes shut, leaned up on her toes, and forced her mouth onto his.
There had been, perhaps, too much force behind it. Their teeth clicked painfully together, and Draco put his hands on her shoulders, wrenching her down with a little "Gah!"
Much to Hermione's supreme embarrassment, there was blood on his lip. Malfoy's eyes shown bright in the shadow of the hallway, and he reached up to touch the cut.
"What the hell Granger-"
"I'm sorry! I-"
"You mauled me."
"I didn't mean to! Maybe if you had just stayed still-"
Malfoy snorted. "You cannot possibly blame that on me."
Hermione drew quiet. Then, with heat flaming her cheeks, she swiveled on her heel and began to march away. Now it was Draco's turn to catch her, flanking her sides with both of his hands, and pulling her back to him by the hips.
"Wait a moment will you?" He said.
Hermione halted, turning to look at him with an agitated huff. "I don't know what you're complaining about." She said, quickly snapping into defensiveness. "It really wasn't that bad."
Malfoy's lips curved up and he let out a surprised laugh.
"Not that bad? I'd almost think you'd never done that before."
Hermione sneered at him. "Of course I've kissed someone before, Malfoy."
"Poor bloke."
"Fuck off."
"Didn't seem like you wanted me to fuck off a moment ago, practically chased me down just to-"
Hermione gave him a shove to the shoulder.
"Fuck off, Malfoy. I mean it."
Draco's eyes darkened, his teasing smile slipping away.
"Oh, sorry, are you embarrassed? Is poor Hermione Granger's pride wounded?"
Hermione barked a laugh. "Me? The one with the wounded pride? You're nothing but pride! And let's not forget how this all started-"
"Oh yeah? And how's that?"
Hermione leaned in as she spoke. "You tried to kiss me."
Draco took a step towards her, backing her into the wall.
"Really?" He said, his voice low. "Is that how this started?"
His eyes were heavy lidded as he reached up, taking her face in his hand. Hermione was taken aback by the contact, and her breath hitched even further as his thumb found her bottom lip, caressing it, and then pulling it down gently.
"I seem to remember something else" he said.
Hermione flushed at his words.
"I- that was- that was different. I wasn't-"
"You licked me, Granger. How was I supposed to take that, hm?"
Before she could respond Malfoy turned her head to the side, and leaned in so that his mouth was near her neck, close enough that she could feel the heavy weight of his breaths.
"And if I did the same to you now, how would you take it?"
She could feel his lips grazing her skin, sending tingles through her body.
"Would you think I was being kind? Considerate? Sweet, sweet Hermione Granger, taking care of my wounds."
He took her hand and guided it to the hem of his shirt, and then beyond, so that she was touching the bare skin just above his hip.
"I've got scars all over me Granger, would you like to heal those too?"
Hermione responded with a shaky, unconfident laugh: "Are you asking me if I'd like to lick you all over, Malfoy?"
Malfoy chuckled against her neck.
"Answer my question first, Granger."
Hermione's hand drifted up his shirt, until she was touching the warm, hard contours of his stomach. Then, still trembling slightly, she reached her other hand up to his shoulder, and pushed him away.
Straightening to his full height, Malfoy appraised her, waiting for her to speak. Hermione swallowed.
"I- I don't like being played with. What I mean is, I need to understand just exactly what you want out of this."
Draco sighed. "How typically Granger. What, you want a detailed report of my intentions?"
"No, I just- I need to know if this is some kind of joke to you or not."
Malfoy blinked once, his lips parting. "It's not a joke."
Hermione's heart was pounding in her chest. Draco's features looked uncharacteristically soft and even earnest in the low light, and despite the cocktail of nerves she felt, there was still that intense and deep rooted feeling of desire which had been growing in her all evening.
"Right. Well, that's, that's good-"
Draco rolled his eyes, sighing loudly in frustration.
"God you talk too much."
"I talk too much?"
"Yes."
"Fuck you!"
"Fuck you too."
"No Malfoy, fuck-"
His lips crashed into hers, cutting her sentence to an abrupt halt. They were warm and demanding, melding to hers and extracting a moan from somewhere deep inside her throat.
He pulled away from her, his breathes heavy. "That's how it's supposed to be done, Granger."
"You're a prat."
He didn't waste time with a response. Instead he was on her again, his mouth desperate, almost feverish against her own. Hermione was surprised by his enthusiasm, the desire that seemed to drive him. Had she missed something crucial these past few months? She was taken aback, and it showed. Malfoy slowed at her lack of response, and then puled away from her, with a questioning look on his face. Hermione didn't want to lose the moment, it was strange, yes, and completely unexpected. But she wanted him, she'd known that much for a while now, and clearly he wanted her. She surged back onto him, reuniting their lips, but making sure to be more cautious then she had the first time.
It didn't take long for Malfoy to catch up, and then some. Flicking his tongue at the entrance of her lips, his hands found her sides, and he began rubbing circles over the bottom of her shirt. It was incredible how this small motion had Hermione panting, and feeling bolder. She reached her hands into his hair, running her fingers through its soft length, tangling themselves behind his neck.
In a brief but confident motion, Draco wound his arms around her thighs and lifted her up, so that she was straddling him with her back against the wall. Hermione made a small yip of surprise, but continued kissing him, chasing the warmth that was in his mouth.
Then, with a snap of his hips Hermione felt the full length of him, hard and shockingly close through the thin layer of her pyjama pants. She couldn't help but groan at the feel of him, so real and ready, more real than anything she'd felt these past few months. She wanted him so badly, she could feel her desire clawing its way up her throat, like the feeling of a good cry that was just barely suppressed. She ground herself against him, and was rewarded by a similar grunt of desire, rumbled low in his chest.
Holding tight to her legs Draco pivoted them, hoisting her up but not breaking contact with her mouth as he moved them to the chair closest to the fireplace, the one he had occupied just minutes before. He set her down rather unceremoniously, and Hermione fought the urge to shoot him a glare. Her mind was quickly relocated though, as he stood up and reached for the hem of his shirt with both hands, swiftly removing it entirely from his body, and discarding it to the floor.
Draco hadn't been lying. There were scars of various shapes and sizes, slashed vertically into his chest, his stomach, and in some places across his arms. They stood out, somehow starker than his already naturally pale skin. This did nothing to attract from his physique. He was broad and lean, chiseled in an elegant fashion that had Hermione's eyes roaming. Seeing it now she realized just how much her mind had wandered in the months they'd spent in the cabin; how many times she'd imagined what those broad shoulders looked like without anything to hide them. It also made the situation much more real.
Draco Malfoy was undressing in front of her. Her mind boggled at the realization, not quite able to grasp it fully. Her hands began to shake at her sides. What if he found her unappealing? What if he began to take off her clothes, and then changed his mind?
The fire had died down a bit but still emitted a warm glow. Behind Draco, it made every feature of his body seem soft, despite the sharp lines that formed his frame. He seemed more welcoming in that moment, than at any other point she'd known him. She tried to push her fears aside and focus solely on her want.
Hermione hadn't realized she'd been staring until Draco crouched down and placed his hands back on her thighs. It was almost surprising to have him touch her again, and she jolted a bit. Draco quirked a smile. His hands continued to move up her thighs, slowly, but then halted altogether. He reached forward and traced the lines on one of her hands.
"Are you nervous?" He asked quietly.
Hermione frowned, unsure of how to respond.
"Aren't you?"
Draco smiled again, this time a soft, knowing smile. "I'm going to make you feel really good Granger, I promise."
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, and nodded.
His hands continued their journey up her thighs, this time stopping at her waistband. With nimble fingers he undid the knot of her tie-string pants, and then, grasping at the sides of the fabric, began to pull them down.
It was impossible for Hermione not to quiver under his touch. It had been a long time since she'd done anything like this, and she'd never done it with someone like him.
Still, she tried not to overthink. Clearly, Malfoy found her appealing enough to get this far. Even if she lacked experience in some areas, she'd had sex before. She could do this. She arched her back and lifted herself up slightly, as to allow the pants to slip easily to the ground.
It was instantly rewarding to watch Draco's eyes flitter to her knickers, and then stay there. She could tell from the movement of his chest that his breathing had gotten heavier, and she watched as his hand drifted unabashedly down, and soothed himself briefly over his jeans with a loose pumping motion. Somehow this eased some of her tension, to see him vulnerable, and so clearly desiring her.
Hermione took his free hand with her own and guided it to her breast. He didn't need much direction beyond that. Positioning himself higher on his knees he gently cupped her breast, and then, more firmly, began to knead it. Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, and her head titled back to release a quiet moan. Draco's touch became more confident, and his other hand moved to steady her with a grip on her thigh as he continued his ministrations.
"Do you like that, Granger?" He asked, his voice low and breathy.
Hermione nodded, shifting her hips to be closer to him. Malfoy was leaning over her now, she could feel the burning heat of his exposed skin. The hand that was on her thigh drifted to her knickers.
Anticipation bubbled in her veins as the tips of his fingers found her center, then began to press gently down. The sensation of it was almost overwhelming. Hermione let out a sound that was embarrassingly close to a whimper, and she quickly moved her hand to her mouth, hoping to stifle it.
Draco slowly swirled circles over her clit, his touch becoming firm and steady. Hermione moaned again, her hips pressing forward to meet the touch. Without stopping, Draco reached up, and pulled her hang away from her face.
"Don't" he said, "I like hearing you."
Hermione nodded and moved her hand down to clutch his shoulder instead, feeling slightly more exposed without it.
But Draco didn't seem to mind. Instead he was pushing aside the fabric of her knickers, and running two fingers up and down her entrance, gliding them through the slick heat.
"And this?" He said, his voice sounding gruffer. "Do you like this?"
Hermione gasped. "Yes" she said, her voice coming out as a moan she wasn't able to stifle.
Emboldened, Draco slowly dipped one finger inside of her, curling upwards in a motion that sent shockwaves through her body. Hermione made a high pitched, whining sound, and bucked forward, wanting him further in her.
Draco made his own, guttural sound. "That's it Granger, good girl" he rasped.
Hermione moved against him, squirming in circles as he began to pump and curl his finger faster. Her nails were digging into his exposed flesh, but perhaps he didn't notice, or care. His head was bent towards hers and his face concentrated as he continued to work her body. Hermione could hear the sounds she made, sliding against him, the wet squelching that bordered on grotesque, of her desire building. She no longer the space of thought to be embarrassed by it, she was chasing her pleasure at a desperate pace, one that Draco was matching perfectly.
"God, you're so warm" he breathed, pumping faster still.
Hermione's grip became even tighter on Draco's shoulder, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she met his thrusts. Her thighs began to constrict as an overwhelming sensation began to bubble up in her core. She called out his name, almost in a panic, like it was a plea for him not to stop.
Sensation exploded over her. It came with a burst of light behind her eyelids, and another loud cry which later she'd feel embarrassed about.
Hermione rode out her orgasm as long as she could, with soft movements of her hips against Malfoy's fingers. Draco, for his part, was patient. He kept his hand steady against her, letting her shudder and collapse around him until her movements came to a slow end.
He withdrew his fingers and then reached up, grasping the sides of her hips. Hermione could feel the wet heat of his hand, burning into her skin. She'd only gotten a few steadying breathes in before he moved her, quickly flipping her over so that her back was turned to him. Hermione yelped in surprise, and steadied herself on the back of the armchair with her arms extended, and her hands gripping into the worn fabric.
Lazily, Draco knocked her legs apart, widening her stance as far as the chair would allow. Then he laced his fingers around the edges of her knickers, and pulled them roughly down her thighs, exposing her to him. Hermione could hear the shifting sounds of his pants being removed. When they were apparently discarded, Draco grabbed her hip with one hand and guided her back. With a sharp intake of air, she felt the tip of his penis, positioned at her entrance.
She released another embarrassingly loud moan as he he guided his tip up and down her folds, his grip still tight on her.
"Are you ready for me Granger?" He asked. His voice was low, a rasp she almost didn't recognize. She nodded her head, her cheeks burning, and let her eyes fall shut as she waited for him.
Then he was pushing inside of her. It was impossible for her not to make a sharp, keening sound at the feeling of being parted, the sublime acceptance of his length. She was especially glad then, that she'd already come. She wasn't sure if she'd been able to handle it otherwise.
Draco groaned as he entered her fully, both hands now gripping her sides, and steadying her below him. Hermione waited, anticipating the start of his thrusts in a way that told her she might finish again. A moment passed, and Draco kneaded at the skin of her hips, but did not move as she'd expected. Frustrated, she leaned forward and then sank back onto him, creating the motion for herself. With another breathy grunt, Draco seized her hips more firmly.
"Granger-" He said, his voice coming from behind, sounding almost as if he were in pain. "I'll need to go slow."
Heat bloomed in Hermione's chest. She felt a strange sort of satisfaction in knowing she had such an effect on him, and that he was worried he wouldn't last long. Unable to shy away from temptation, she repeated the dangerous motion.
"Slower than this?" She asked innocently.
Again, Draco let out an uncontrolled moan, and grasped desperately at her hips. "Fuck" he whispered.
Hermione wanted to see his control slip. In fact, she realized now, that this was the very thing she'd been craving for so long; to see that ice-like wall of his crumble to the ground. She moved against him again, and this time, she could tell she had him.
Snapping his hips forward to meet her, he breathed out a low "Fuck it" before gripping her shoulder and beginning to pound into her. Hermione's breath stuttered at the unexpected rhythm. Every time his skin met with hers a jolt of sublime pleasure rippled through her, and soon she was pushing back on him, meeting him thrust for thrust as his breathing became more ragged.
Her whole body seemed to bounce off him, and she could hear the sound of their skin connecting every-time he pulled her back. She wanted to come again. She could feel the taught sensation growing between her thighs, and wanted another release, as intense as the first one. The only problem was, Draco's speed was becoming more desperate, and she could tell he was nearing the end. Holding herself up with one hand she moved the other between her thighs, and began swirling circles over her clit, matching pace with Draco's thrusts.
Thank god she was close and found her release quickly, as this must have been the undoing action for Draco. Gripping her hard his rhythm became suddenly erratic, until with a breathy cry of his own, Hermione felt him spilling himself inside of her. He pressed her down onto himself, impossibly close, and then with a shuddered breath, pulled away from her.
A woozy, thick sense of pleasure filled her head. For a moment, she collapsed with him, exposed and sticky onto the armchair. Draco's breath lasted on her neck for a few seconds. Then she felt him draw away, and turned to watch him already finishing the clasp on his pants, searching next for his discarded shirt. It was like she suddenly became aware of the fact that she was naked, despite the fact that he'd been inside of her a moment ago. Feeling heat accumulate all over her body, she too began to nervously search for her clothes.
Unfortunately, this proved a more difficult task than she anticipated. She couldn't find her knickers. She rummaged her hands in the creases of the armchair, and peered over its sides to no results. Then she looked up.
Draco plucked the black fabric from off the ground and held it out to her, a wry smile on his face.
"Were you looking for these?" He asked.
Scowling, Hermione stood up and snatched it from his hand.
"Thanks." She grumbled, before bending down and retrieving her pants as well.
When she stood back up she noticed Draco's eyes, trailing her.
Impossibly, heat rose to Hermione's face.
"Right. Well, I- I'm going to bed."
Draco nodded, then pulled his shirt back over his head.
"I'll put out the fire."
Hermione wavered for an awkward moment, then stiffly returned his nod, and fled to her room. She'd think about all the reasons why that had been a mistake in the morning. For now her mind was blissfully, strangely blank.