Every time she passes him in those shoes, his dick twitches in his trousers. Brushing by him to get to her seat in lessons, he can smell her hair. Her fingers grip her quill and he remembers how they felt gripping him. Her head dips low over the table and he wonders again if she ever gets ink in her hair. He'd like to wash it for her.
Granger in the bath. Forget the Prefect Bath, the Come and Go Room could work wonders with a wish like that. He'll get his hands all in her hair, fingers scraping across her scalp as he massages in shampoo. He can tilt her head back to kiss her, work his way all the way down her neck while he holds her in place. He can glamour his forearm. He'll have to test that to make sure it's solid.
Zabini elbows him lightly and asks him to pass the doxy eggs, which Draco carefully handles across the table. He looks back at his own concoction, simmering nicely, and checks the timer. Four more minutes to imagine Granger in the bath. Bubbles or no bubbles? He can't decide whether the visual obstruction would make things hotter or -
Zabini elbows him again and Draco feels a stab of annoyance, mimicked by the throb in his pants. "What now?"
"I need that silver knife."
"For what?"
"The next step, you wanker. Pay attention."
Bugger. Draco curses. Meanwhile, Granger's finished her brew - of course, she has, and she steps lightly across the room to deliver her sample to Slughorn's desk. The heels of the shoes clack against the stone floor and his eyes are diverted again. Her toes are peeking out the tip, and he thinks he sees red polish today. He'll look closer later.
"Malfoy, for Salazar's sake," Zabini whispers through gritted teeth. "I thought you wanted top marks this year."
"What's it to you?" he snaps, forgetting to keep quiet, and Pansy and Theo both turn to look at them.
Blaise waves them off, looking irritated. "Forget it, then. Get straight P's or D's on exams, I don't care."
Draco doesn't know why he would anyway, unless he is reporting back to someone. But no one would care about his marks. It's his focus in other areas - one other area - that would necessitate monitoring. He narrows his eyes suddenly, thinking of Snape. Snape keeps offering to help him and Draco keeps shutting it down. Maybe he asked Blaise to keep an eye on him.
That annoys Draco so much he misses Granger make her way back to her seat, heels tapping and painted toes flashing.
What else could he buy for her? She's worn the shoes every day and he could slowly progress to sexier pairs. He's limited by their school uniforms, but he could buy her stockings. It's too warm for scarves, but he thinks she'd wear special knickers for him, too. She's gone without them already, figuring he'd like it. He could provide some options.
Or maybe a necklace. Not jewellery exactly, but something long, dangling far beneath her robes, coming to rest right between her perfect tits. He could watch it bounce there.
"Very nice, Mr Zabini, Mr Malfoy!" Slughorn chortles, and Draco comes back to the present with a jerk. Zabini is handing in two vials of potion, casually bringing Draco's along with his own. Draco hadn't finished his, though, and he rolls his jaw at the knowledge that Blaise must have done it for him. Now he owes Zabini a favour, for fuck's sake. Fucking Slytherins; it's what he would do. He wonders what Blaise is going to want in return and groans internally. He can't leave himself open like that.
"Can I mark you?" he whispers into her neck, relishing the shiver it produces. He gently attaches his lips to her skin, kissing, nibbling a little, and sucking at her lightly. She sighs and leans back into him.
"...Alright," she says, leaning her neck to the side and his cock jumps. She'll let him? She'll really let him put a visible mark on her? His ministrations pick up a bit of urgency and she shudders against his chest.
He's made her come on his fingers once, already. Granger's become a much more active participant. She moves with him and voices things and goes for what she wants. Her knees rise back up now, finding the bench at the side of the tub. "Please, Draco?"
Gods, he loves how she says 'Draco.' He doesn't think she even realises she says it.
('I'd never call you Draco')
He slips one hand back between her legs, matching his movements with his mouth on the side of her neck. She groans and he nearly convulses against her. He has other plans for this bath, though, and it doesn't involve a repeat performance.
When he's confident her neck is well and truly marked, he carefully turns her around to straddle his lap as he sits. Granger looks up at him expectantly, her eyes hooded and dark, her mouth slightly open. She's so gorgeous, so trusting. Her hair is wet, hanging heavy down her back. It brushes over his fingers as he grips her lightly around the waist.
"No matter what I do, this won't feel as smooth in the water," he tells her and she nods, swallowing once. "So you should be in charge of it. You do what you like. Whatever feels good."
Granger rests her hands on his shoulders and positions herself over him. He slips his fingers back in and out a few times, curling against her, and her eyes flutter closed. With his hand, he lines her up right over him and lowers her until she can feel him at her entrance. Then he takes his hands off altogether, clasping them behind his head to watch her.
It takes her time to adjust and she starts out the way he had, their first time. A little at a time, back and forth, until she can accommodate more of him. She's only halfway down when he feels his eyes roll back and his fingers make fists in his hair.
"You feel so fucking good," he breathes, and Granger squeezes automatically. He opens his eyes to find hers watching him, a little tight around the edges as she works herself onto him. Heat sears down his body and his hands cup her face. "Keep watching me. I want to see you."
Another minute of her hips canting against him and Draco feels her come to rest, burying him completely inside her. "How can you do that?" he whispers to her in wonder. "You're so fucking small. You feel perfect."
She starts to move and his hands rest back on her waist. She rocks back and finds a slow rhythm with her hips, never going far, keeping him deep. She takes one of his hands and places it on her breast, giving it a quick squeeze before she drops hers. His heart staggers and Granger tilts her head towards his ear. "Please?"
He palms it, pulling lightly at the nipple, and she angles onto his dick harder than before. Her body stills there, as if she needs a minute.
So does he. "Wait," he tells her, and holding her tightly against him, he sits up straighter. She gasps as that hits a different spot, which he wasn't even trying to do, and he reaches for a bottle of lilac shampoo on the side of the tub. "Can I wash your hair?"
"Now?" she asks breathlessly, looking around as if expecting to be interrupted.
"Now," he confirms with a nod. "Don't move. Stay right where you are."
Granger licks her lower lip, mulling this over. "I want to move, though," she says, in a husky voice that sends bolts of lightning down his body. "I need to."
"Hold off for just a little bit. I promise, it'll be good."
She does her best, Draco can tell, but she can't help herself. As he lathers his hands in her hair, tilting her head back to expose her neck, she slowly shifts her hips back and forth to feel him deep inside. Her desperation for it is wildly erotic and Draco forces himself to think about her hair in his hands. But she's leaning back, pushing her breasts up as her head dips back towards the water, her hips sliding against him.
He groans. "I told you to be still, sweet girl."
She stops at once, almost panting. But she hasn't otherwise moved. She's bent backwards, her head almost touching the water, supported by his hands. The arch of her back, the perk of her nipples, make him visualise all sorts of unhelpful things.
He carries on washing the shampoo out of her hair and she says a bit coyly, "You can't stop with that. It needs conditioner, too."
Little minx. He reaches for a bottle the room conjures up and works it through her hair, but she's growing antsy once more. She's beginning to shift her weight against him again.
"Please, Draco? I need it."
He thinks she might be the death of him. He keeps one hand for her to rest her head on and moves the other back between her legs. She whimpers and tries to stay still.
"You can move, love."
She keeps her weight back, though. Her back relaxes until she's leaning back towards the water, giving his hand in her hair all her weight, and he can feel her clench even before he sees the desire in her eyes. She's losing leverage to move her hips and he makes up the difference, thrusting his upward to scrape along her inner wall.
She actually cries out, a sound that almost makes him come right there. Once more, twice, and she starts to shudder. He wanted to maintain the angle but he can't help gathering her to him instead, clutching her tightly as his hips slam upward. Her knees tighten on either side of his lap and she meets him for each thrust.
"Oh, fuck, Draco!"
The swear from Granger's pretty mouth sends him over the edge. She feels like velvet, a liquid vise coming in waves, and he buries his face in her shoulder as he jerks inside her. "Good girl," he tells her over and over. "You're such a good girl."
The next day, her neck is clear. No mark.
Draco squints from across the Great Hall, then narrows his eyes. She covered it.
And Finchy is talking to her again.
He barely notices Pansy's schoolbag whack him across the back as she stands to leave. "Sorry, Draco," she breezes on her way out and he spares her a single irritated glare. When he looks back, Granger's also gone and he curses internally. So is Finch-Fletchley.
What lesson does she have right now? Nothing with Draco.
He hadn't even had a chance to see if she was wearing the latest pair of shoes he'd bought for her. A heel both slightly higher and thinner, with a single strap around her perfect ankles. It's enough for people to notice the difference and comment on.
Why doesn't he know the rest of her schedule? What an oversight. What NEWT lessons is she taking that aren't with him? Care of Magical Creatures, maybe. Muggle Studies, definitely. She'd told him she thought it would be an easy O, and Draco had made a comment about how he could take care of that for her with a lot less effort. She'd swatted him but turned that delightful shade of red he fucking adores. Only Granger would take an additional NEWT subject because it would be easy, a 'relaxing subject,' rather than just not taking it at all.
He rises from the table, foregoing the rest of breakfast, and ignores Theo shouting something after him. He takes the route that leads past one of the exits, the one that provides a view down to the Care of Magical Creatures class area, and sees nothing in the distance. Nobody there.
Muggle Studies, then. He's nearly certain. Draco ducks into the empty Arithmancy classroom and pens out a quick note.
'C&G room, before Runes'
That allows for an hour between Muggle Studies and their next class together. She'll be sitting in that class smelling like Draco. He folds the parchment, charms it with the same charm the Ministry uses for internal memos, and sends it flying down the hall.
It takes her a while to get there and Draco is growing impatient. His plans begin to slowly shift, reforming a different set of desires.
Granger enters the room and he pounces on her, swooping his mouth onto hers and picking her up with one arm behind her knees. She gives a breathy little gasp against his lips and he feels her fingernails slip into his hair.
The room has conjured their usual pseudo-flat and he collapses with her on the bed, yanking clothing off. He glances down, sees the new shoes, and crooks a smile. Those can stay on.
"What -" she manages, but she's also pulling off clothing and it gets muffled by her top pulling over her head.
"Had to see you," he mumbles, his mouth finding a breast. "Don't have much time, though."
Granger gasps and arches into him, pushing her nipple between his lips. He obliges, giving it a light tug, and rolls his tongue against it. Her skirt is across the room, exactly where he likes it to be, and he takes an appreciative skim up her leg with his hand. She parts her knees and he slips his hand into place, diving a finger deep inside.
"Alright?" he asks a little roughly, breathing hard, and she nods. She lets her head fall back, her mouth open.
Draco can tell she's close without much effort. His urgent need today is affecting her, too. When he leaves her breast to slither down between her legs, her hand replaces him. She squeezes her nipple and he squeezes his eyes shut in return. He cautions himself to take it easy.
Dipping his tongue onto the sensitive nerves just above his fingers, he slows down both. He lets her start to writhe, to move with him, to show him what she wants. He stops and yanks two extra pillows under her head, propping her up. "I want to see your face."
She nods, mouth still slightly parted. Her tongue licks her lower lip and Draco rolls his jaw. His eyes flick up every few seconds to find hers still watching, soaking him in as he licks and sucks at her. He slides in a second finger and sees her suck in a breath. He drops a single kiss on her lips and crawls back up.
"Draco..." she pants. "What -"
"Why did you cover it?" he whispers, tracing his fingers lightly down her neck. "I asked if I could mark you, and you said yes. Why did you cover it?"
She flushes and he knows immediately why. The disappointment fans through him.
"That wasn't very nice of you," he says, letting his voice drop to a lower register. Granger shivers. "I'm going to do it again, and you're going to leave this one. You don't have to tell people who put it there, but you're going to leave it."
He ignores the sharp impulse that he wishes she would tell people who put it there. Instead, his fingers slide back inside her slick heat and she lets out a breathy moan. "Say 'yes, Draco.'"
"Yes, Draco. Please..."
"Are you going to be my good girl?" She clenches so hard on his fingers it's his turn to suck in a breath.
"Yes."
He lets his fingers go to work in time with his mouth, back on her neck, in the same spot. It's a basic glamour, he can tell, but now the spot will be twice as large. Twice as purple. He feels her begin to convulse around his hand, her thighs squeezing, and he smiles into her neck as she comes.
He's not done with her, though. Not even a little.
She's so sensitive, red and swollen. He takes a minute to admire her, breathing cool air onto her overheated flesh. He starts gently, light licks with his tongue, lapping up what remains of her orgasm. She groans and it goes straight to his cock.
Mine, he thinks, dipping his tongue inside her and spreading her apart with his fingers. He goes back to work on her clit, memorising the way she's clenching around thin air.
"Does my perfect, sweet girl want something inside her again?" he asks, coming up for air.
"Yes," she gasps. "Please, Draco. Please."
He loves the way that sounds. And who is he to argue? This previously-untouched goddess has fallen into his lap. He'd like to keep her there.
With his mouth and fingers together, he brings her back to the edge, loving the way she writhes beneath him. He leans back, as if needing to catch his breath, and when her eyes are focussed back on him at last, he asks, "What does Finchy keep wanting?"
"...What?"
"Finch-Fletchley. That twat. What does he want?"
Granger strains to track this and blinks. Draco relishes the flush in her cheeks, the perspiration on her brow. They have class in twenty minutes. "He... we're doing a Muggle Studies essay together. That's all."
Hmm. Draco still doesn't like it but he lets it go for now. He wants to finish her off almost as badly as she wants him to. But he's having a difficult situation himself, now, especially given the close proximity of their Runes class.
He frees himself from his trousers and her eyes widen. "No, not this time. I'm going to take care of you right now." True to his word, he pushes back one thigh with his free hand and buries his face back inside her. He strokes himself with his other. It won't take him long and he's needing to relieve a lot of uncomfortable pressure before he has to sit through Runes, staring at her mussed curls and knowing he put them that way.
Granger helps, pressing her hips into his mouth and he glances up to see her eyes squeezed shut again. "Watch me, love. Eyes down here."
She locks them back on him and he murmurs a 'Good girl' against her core. She shudders, her thighs trying to tighten. He dips his fingers further in, licking up her response, and nips very lightly on her clit. Granger comes violently, calling his name as she stares at him, and with two more pulls alongside her cries of 'Draco', he's right behind her.
He rocks back on his heels and watches as she tries to recover. Seeming slightly dazed, she sits up, looking around for her clothing. Draco grabs one heeled foot and puts it on his shoulder, running his hand up to her knee. She looks at him again, her mouth still parted, breathing hard, red in the face. Gods, she's gorgeous.
"The next time Finchy opens his mouth, I want you to see mine, instead. Every time he talks to you, I want you to see my mouth covered in you."
She runs her eyes over his glistening face and he darts his tongue out to the side of his lip. She flames redder, but not from exertion.
He gradually climbs back up the bed and she doesn't move a muscle. Her shoe is still propped on his shoulder and her knee bends as he moves up her body.
"They don't all need to know you're my good girl, but I want you to know it. Do you know it, Hermione?"
Her breath catches in her throat, her brown eyes wide. She nods silently and he kisses her mouth softly. "Good."
She leaves his mark on her neck. He has no idea what she tells people.
Draco sends her some lacy knickers next, a full-week's array of options.
And some pyjamas. Green ones. He doesn't get to see those, but they're the cosy kind he's sure she'll like to wear on her own. And he likes to think she's wearing them.
Meeting between classes is an ideal compromise for him, really. He has to get back to work on his mission at night, on these blasted vanishing cabinets. He's so close. So close.
This has been such a welcome break from the stress, the anxiety, the dread. He's been loathe to get back to it, back to the reminder of his impending deadline. And even though it didn't seem like it for months and months, the cabinet is fixable and he's extremely close.
But something else is making him hesitate now, making him take his time. Think it through. Once it's done, the castle will be infiltrated. Everyone in it will be at risk. The Slytherins will know to stay put in the dungeons and the Death Eaters won't harm Slytherin children. But everyone else is fair game.
And people like Hermione, his Hermione, will not just be collateral damage. They'll be targeted.
He's no longer sure it's the right thing to do, if he ever was. His father was arrested and while his mother pleaded with him not to take the Mark, he saw it in her eyes that she feared it was the only way to get Lucius home to them again. Draco had a duty to fulfil. His father's only heir, his father's only hope. And his father had always preached the importance of loyalty, of obedience, of being reliable and following through. Everyone needed to know that a Malfoy could and would get the job done.
Now it was Draco's job and he'd taken it upon himself seriously. His mission, his only mission, is to allow the castle's defenses to be penetrated. It's never been done before.
He doesn't know how to reconcile what he must do with what he wants to do. Couldn't it happen over the summer?
What if he gets it fixed and doesn't tell anyone until everybody's left for the summer holidays? Then the Death Eaters could lay whatever plans they wanted and nobody else would be in danger.
Hermione wouldn't be in danger.
Out of nowhere, he finds himself shoved into a broom cupboard. Only the smell of Pansy's perfume keeps him from lashing out in defence. She always was a surprisingly physical witch, but he has no desire to be manhandled by Pansy Parkinson any longer.
"Pansy, I'm flattered, but now isn't -"
"Shut the hell up, Draco. I'm not in here for you. I know you're not paying attention these days, but I'm dating Theo."
Her hissed words land hot on his skin and he's thoroughly confused. "What the bloody hell are we doing in here, then?"
He can't see her, except for a thin sliver of light falling across her cheek from the cupboard door. She tosses her hair back and steps back a smidge. "Because I know the look that's been on your face the last two weeks. I know it very well."
"What look?" He's baffled. He has a look?
"I won't say her name, because we both know it isn't safe."
Draco's blood runs cold. "What are you talking about, Pans?"
"I'm telling you to get your shit together. Some of us are here to help you. Some of us aren't. None of us know exactly what you're doing -" Draco wonders what bit she means, and can't ask - "but we care about you. Your mission matters."
"I know it matters. You don't have to tell me it matters!"
Pansy whacks him across the chest with a closed fist and Draco's glad she didn't have enough room to wind it up first. "You aren't acting like it matters, you bloody idiot. The way you're looking at her, she's all that matters, and you're going to get us all killed."
"I don't know what you're referring to -"
Pansy cuts him off with a near shriek. "Stop it! Just stop it! It's so bloody obvious! You used to look at me like that, you tosser. I know the look. I don't give a toss what you do or with who, but -"
"Is that really true?"
"Which part?" Pansy's breathing hard, but temporarily diverted.
"That you don't care about who she is. Or... what she is?"
Pansy rests a hand on his chest and leans her forehead against his shoulder. It's the most intimate touch they've shared in years. "No, Draco. I don't. Not anymore. What's happening - it's scaring me. You know my dad wants me to take the Mark this summer? Theo's, too. We don't know what we're going to do."
He's stunned. Maybe he hasn't been paying enough attention after all. "Who else feels this way?"
"Blaise does. The three of us are trying to help you, even if we can't help with your... mission. But Greg and Vince can't wait to join up. They're probably keeping their fathers updated on your progress. Daphne and Millicent..." Pansy trails off. "I don't know for sure. It's not something I'm going to stroll up and ask. Millicent - I'd say no, and I wouldn't trust Daphne, either. Her family buys more into the blood status, for one thing, and she really hates your guts. I think she knows about Astoria."
Wait - Pansy knows about Astoria? Draco shakes his head to clear it. Not the time.
"You said my mission 'matters,' and you're trying to help me, but you're also afraid of what's coming next. You don't mind that she's -" he doesn't say it. But he needs more detail, here. Pansy isn't making any sense. These are two completely contradictory motivations.
"I only care about the mission because I care that you don't fail it, wanker. We all know what's on the line. We care about you."
And with that, Pansy steps back and opens the broom cupboard door, straightening her hair and smoothing her skirt. Completely disoriented by the past ten minutes, Draco follows, blinking against the brighter light.
And sees Granger standing at the end of the hall, staring.
