Note: With all the issues that ffnet has been having lately, I recommend readers check out my fics on AO3. You can find them under "MissiAmphetamine (Kaleidoscope)". I'll continue updating here for now, but going forward with new fics and completing other old fics, I may not post them here until they're finished. I hope to see you on AO3!
42.
"So, where are we going?" Malfoy asked her as they stopped at the disapparition point on her floor of St Mungo's.
"My place," Hermione said, fidgeting with the silver band she wore on her right ring finger. Harry had brought in a change of clothes for her – t-shirt, jeans, ballet flats, and undies – and a ring that was charmed with a locator spell, extra wards, and an emergency alert if she tried to take it off without using the counter-charm first. It had also been impregnated with charms that should make it unnoticeable to others; not invisible as such, simply not memorable. Overlooked.
"I need to pack. Then I guess, to my dad's. Seeing as everyone seems to think I should." Hermione said the last slightly tartly; Malfoy and Harry had ganged up on her to insist that she stay with her father for at least the next few days. Hermione had caved under the weight of their combined concern, although she still thought it unnecessary. Her pain was gone, and her knee out of the splint and in waterproof support bandaging instead. She had to take some daily potions and eat bland foods for another three days, but otherwise Hermione was back to normal. She was perfectly fine.
Malfoy shot her an unapologetic look. "You'll survive a short stay at your father's, Granger. It's not like we're shipping you off to stay with my father."
He achieved his goal; she smiled despite herself. "Fair."
It was weird, popping into existence into her garage, with Malfoy side-along. This was the second time he'd been to her house, and the last time it had been to pack before she went to her father's as well. Everything looked normal in the tiny, poky garage that barely fit the car, but for some reason Hermione couldn't bring herself to open the door to the house. She just froze on the spot in front of it. Her hand felt sweaty around her wand. Her pulse was fast and erratic, and the air felt too hot, too close. Suffocating.
"Hey. Hey, Granger. Eyes on me now," Malfoy was saying, and his hands were on her shoulders as he bent to meet her gaze. His eyes were dark in the dim garage; stormcloud grey and heavy, filled with worry, intent on her. Spots danced in her vision, and everything looked weird; sparkly, and dark around the edges. Malfoy's hands cradled her face, sliding large and warm along her jaw. "Breathe. Breathe, Granger," he ordered her, and automatically she did as she was told. She took a deep, gasping breath, and only then did she realise she'd been holding it. She blinked up at Malfoy, her hand coming up to cover his left one, still at his jaw.
"S-sorry. I just..." Embarrassment stained her cheeks. She hadn't even gotten into the house, and already Harry and Malfoy had been proved right. Shit.
"I know. I know. It's fine," he said quickly, soothing her, not rubbing it in even a little. Instead he drew her close, hand smoothing over her back as she buried her face against his chest. His waistcoat was faintly rough against her cheek and he smelt like crushed pine needles; fresh and woody, with a hint of spices. His aftershave, Hermione assumed and she slid her arms around him. "You're safe, Granger." She clung to him for a moment; he was warm and hard, his heart a steady beat against her ear.
"I'm an idiot." Hermione pulled back from him and took a deep breath, steeling her spine as she met his eyes, determined not to fall apart again. "I couldn't even get inside without having a moment."
"You're entitled to a moment," Malfoy said calmly, shrugging a shoulder. "Maybe even two." He ran his thumb very gently over her bruised cheek; only a yellowed stain left on her skin now. "Don't be so hard on yourself."
But Hermione firmed her mouth and drew away, moving to open the door. Her panic was ridiculous. Everything looked normal inside too. The dent she knew she'd left in the plaster at the end of the stairs was gone. All traces of any scuffle were erased. It was nearly eerie. She toed off her shoes by the stairs and picked her phone up off the end table. It was low on charge, but undamaged. There was a missed call from her dad, and one from her cousin, and a few texts from a couple of Hugo's Muggle friends' parents, asking about playdates during the Christmas holidays.
Malfoy accompanied her, a silent, reassuring presence, as Hermione checked the downstairs – trying to look more casual and less nervous than she felt as she wandered through the kitchen, popped her head into the dining room, pushed the downstairs loo door open, and checked the utility room and back door. She was fairly certain she didn't fool him, but he didn't say a word, just loitered in the kitchen pretending to examine all the photos and detritus attached to the fridge, half an eye on her. His fridge was a blank slate; hers was covered in photos, postcards, reminders, phone numbers, old drawings of Hugo's, and a sun-faded Honeywell Junior certificate.
"Come on. I better go pack." Hermione forced a smile at Malfoy who watched her with badly hidden concern, his return smile only a faint echo of hers. She trotted up the stairs unable to avoid thinking about how the last time she'd crested them, a figure – who had turned out to be Ciaran – had blasted her back into the wall, breaking her ribs and her knee. She fidgeted with the ring on her finger as she checked the bedrooms and the bathroom as she walked past each door, pushing them open and glancing in briefly as if to check they were in order but really, stupidly, looking to see no one was lurking there. When she got to her bedroom, she just stood there in the middle of the room, turning in a circle and examining it, still feeling unaccountably uneasy.
"Homenum revelio," Malfoy said from the doorway with a flourish, shooting her a wry look. No one was there but them, and knowing that sent a wave of relief through her. She could've kissed him for doing it, because she would've been too proud and embarrassed. His expression was filled with a quiet kind of empathy. "You don't have to pretend to be okay, Granger." He sheathed his wand in his arm holster, frock-coat folded over his arm. "I'm not judging you."
She sighed and looked at him helplessly, running a hand through her wild hair and setting her wand aside on her dresser. "I just feel so stupid. I was so convinced I'd be fine, and now I'm here I feel...unsafe. Uneasy. It doesn't feel like home." Hermione bit her lip, looking down. "Maybe it's a good thing I'm thinking about selling," she mumbled to herself, and then sighed, pulling her jersey off over her head, tossing it to the floor.
"Selling?" Malfoy asked, sauntering into the room a little uncomfortably – this was her and Ron's bedroom after all – and Hermione reached out to him. Took his hands, and then slid her arms around his waist, her ear to his chest as he held her, his hands spread warm over her back, and his lips pressed to her head. They stood in the middle of her bedroom, entwined, and Hermione felt at home, finally. He felt like home.
"Yeah. It makes sense. Ron and I can split the money from the sale, and I can buy somewhere smaller, out of London. Now the children are both older, we don't need to be here anymore, and I don't know what you know about Muggle real estate, but it's expensive."
"I hear Ilkley is nice," he said, a smile in his voice, and Hermione pulled back enough to look up at his face. The way he was looking at her made her stomach flip deliciously, a shiver running down her spine. Liquid heat in her lower abdomen.
"Are you suggesting I buy there, or –"
– suggesting you move in with me?" he finished, fingers playing through her hair, their eyes locked. "Well, I suppose whichever you prefer, Granger," he said smooth and easy, his mouth curled into a smile that was positively sinful, his pupils dilating as she watched, eating his irises. His tongue darted out over his bottom lip and Hermione's breath shuddered.
"Jesus, Malfoy." It was like a thunderbolt slamming through her. "You can't just – just casually ask me to move in like that!"
"Well, technically I didn't ask. I said you could. If you wanted." His eyes were steady on hers, and if he was nervous he was hiding it well, because he seemed perfectly calm. Even vaguely amused at how flustered she was. "Although I'll admit I was thinking of you buying in the area. There are a few houses for sale at the moment that would suit you, within walking distance of my house."
"You – you prat." Indignant, she poked him in the side with a pointy finger, and he snorted and wriggled, and captured her hand.
"Stop that. I'm ticklish."
"Good. You git, you made me think –" she began, embarrassment heating her from forehead to chest.
"I meant it, Granger," he interrupted quickly, capturing Hermione's other hand as she tried to poke his other side. She glared up at him, although her brief annoyance had already passed, her head filling with possibilities and practicalities. "Obviously not now, though, as much as I would love that," he said, and his voice dropped, a little rough now, his eyes turning heated. "We both have a lot to untangle before we can do that, and I know it could take months. But as soon as we're both free, Granger –" his gaze speared through her "– I want you in my bed. Every night."
Oh God. Hermione's breath heaved in audibly as her insides did things at Malfoy's low, demanding tone, her wrists still trapped in his hands, her unease and fear utterly forgotten as a wave of arousal washed over her. She was wet; just a handful of words and a look, and she was slick between her legs and practically panting for him. Mindless and wanting, desire a tsunami ripping through her, obliterating all rational thought in her wake.
"I – I – yes," she said incoherently, pressing her body closer to his, bowing her hips out even as he kept hold of her wrists. A small hiss escaped his lips as she rubbed herself over his erection, hard and jabbing against her belly. She whimpered. Licked her suddenly dry lips. "Yes. Yes, I want that."
"Merlin, Granger," he gritted, letting go of her wrists, one hand going to her hip and the other burying in her hair, his coat falling forgotten to the floor. "What're you trying to do?"
"I – I don't know." Lies. Hermione did know. She wanted him to fuck her, right here. Right now.
Her body was vibrating with the need to have him inside her, stretching her open. Her blood was thrumming, and she felt hot and trembly and desperate as she ground against him, going up on her tiptoes, kissing his lips soft and eager. Malfoy kissed her back hard, fingers tightening in her hair, his tongue licking into her mouth demandingly, like he was taking possession of her, and she surrendered to it with a moan, sucking on his tongue and feeling tingles twist through her core, an anticipatory pleasure darting to her cunt.
Her hand went blindly to Malfoy's erection, like a magnet was dragging her in. Hermione took hold of it clumsily through his trousers and squeezed, and oh , it was hot, and thick, and his trousers were definitely in the way. She pulled her mouth from his, panting, her fingers shaking as she fumbled with his belt, the metallic clatter of the belt buckle loud against the sound of their ragged breaths. Hermione pictured him bending her over the bed, fucking into her from behind and her knees went weak, her urgency intensifying. Finally she got his button open and zip down, and then her hand dove into his jockey shorts, clutching his cock in her hand.
Silky soft and so hot, it felt amazing in Hermione's hand, and Malfoy made a moaning nggh, his hips bumping out and his mouth pressing to her temple as his head fell forward; lips parted, breath warm and ragged. "Granger. Not that I'm not – but what's the plan, here? I mean –" she looked up at him, and their eyes met and he managed a wobbly smirk "– my mother hasn't undressed me since I was about five, so what about your rules?"
"Screw the rules. I nearly died. And at one point all I could think about was how I denied myself you," Hermione said bluntly, fumbling with his stupid waistcoat buttons. "I was sitting there, endlessly waiting for someone to come and kill me, and I spent at least several hours wishing I'd had you fuck me into the bed," she went on crudely, and he made an inarticulate sound and started urgently helping her with his buttons as though his life depended on it. "The rules are officially still suspended until I'm at my father's."
"Fuck," Malfoy said emphatically as he shrugged the waistcoat off and started on his shirt, stepping out of his trousers and shorts as Hermione shoved her jeans down and then ripped her shirt off with haste, standing there in nothing but the flower-patterned cotton knickers Harry had grabbed for her, eyeing him greedily. Impatiently. Her nipples pebbling in the cool air. Merlin, he looked so good; tall and well toned, with that smattering of pale silver scarring slashing across his torso, and his cock hard and flushed between his legs, his balls nestled beneath, his thighs well-muscled and lean, and oh, he was mouthwatering.
"That's the smartest decision you've ever made, Granger," he said as his shirt fell to the floor, and his wand in its holster was tossed on the nearby dresser, and then he was surging forward and kissing her as he shoved her knickers down her thighs. They dropped to her ankles, and then her legs hit the bed and she fell onto it, the room a blur and her stomach swooping with vertigo, and Malfoy's mouth was shockingly hot and wet between her legs.
Oh Merlin.
He was wasting no time; his tongue slicking up her vulva from bottom to top as she lay there and tried to catch her breath through a wavering, squeaking moan. She shut her eyes, forearm across them so she could peek out unseen, feeling self-conscious despite her consuming excitement. Malfoy spread Hermione's thighs wider, lifting her hips as he adjusted her, and a moan juddered from low in his chest. "Fuck, you're dripping," he half groaned, and his thumb slipped between her labia – oh God so sensitive – gliding up to circle her clit in teasing spirals, her thighs trembling with stimulation overload, and oh, he was right. She could feel how slippery-slick she was – juices slowly trickling down to the bed beneath her.
"Mmphph," she said eloquently and took a gasping heave of air before she made a high, breathy sound that turned into a keening moan as Malfoy put his mouth over her clit and gently, so gently suckled on it, his right thumb sliding teasing and probing between her folds, his other hand busy playing with her breasts one at a time. Squeezing them carefully, with soft pinches to her nipples that sent little sparks of pleasure-pain through her nerves and made her squeak and shiver, as his tongue kept moving on her clit, the sensations so intense that the soles of her feet burnt and her legs twitched with tremors, heat flushing through her from toes to scalp.
It was an onslaught. A brutal ravishing, and Hermione lay there with her forearm over her screwed shut eyes, lips parted as she swore, and moaned, and tried to wriggle under Malfoy's ministrations, but he kept his mouth on her. He was merciless – relentless – sending pleasure through her like an electrical current, and again, just like yesterday, she came fast. It was hard and wrenching, nearly too intense, a pained moan ripping out of her throat as her insides clenched on nothing and his tongue made her orgasm ripple through her again and again, like liquid fire.
"Too much! Too muh-uh-uh –" Hermione tried to gasp and he stopped tending to her clit and lapped his way down her vulva. She squirmed as Malfoy's tongue licked its way down, her nerves tingling, aftershocks still seizing her. She didn't mean to, but her body had a mind of its own. And then he took hold of her hips, pressing them to the bed and holding her still as he plunged his tongue into her cunt and she wailed and tried to arch up, not sure if she was trying to get away or push his tongue deeper. She succeeded in the latter and it felt obscene, and amazing, and it was something Ron had never done. She felt as though she was going to burst into flame, she was so hot. And then his tongue was replaced by a finger, slipping in easily with a wet, slick sound, as his tongue returned to her clitoris.
"Oh fuck. Fuck. Malfoy, I can't. I can't come again, I can't –"
"You can," he told her with his mouth against her clitoris, half an order, and his tongue swirled as a second finger joined the first. Malfoy curled and twisted like he had yesterday and Hermione came for him with a wail, her knees clamping on his head and her cunt trying to clench down on his fingers as he pumped them in and out of her with a tactical skill that was wrecking her. And then he slowed, and her legs flopped to the bed splayed ungacefully, sweat rising all over her skin and her chest heaving as she stared at him through dazed, slitted eyes, fingers pushing through his hair with clumsy affection. Wetness drenched the bed beneath her, from her juices and his saliva, and her still-tender abdomen hurt from the muscle spasms.
"Oh my God," Hermione said and her lips felt numb, the words slurring. Maybe she'd had a stroke. Christ. Her vulva felt exquisitely sensitive, her cunt still aching for his cock. "Oh my God, Malfoy."
"Fuck, you're so good. So good. I love your pussy," he said, worshipful and lust-drunk, his fingers just barely dipping into her still-twitching cunt, teasing her. Somehow winding her up again, making her even more desperate to feel his cock inside her. "I love how you come for me, so fast. So hard. And I love how wet you get for me, Granger. Like you just can't wait for me to fuck you."
"I can't wait," she gasped. "I can't, I can't. Oh God, Malfoy, please. Pleeease." The last word was just one long wail, her hands tugging at his hair. He made an annoyed sound and batted her hands away, pulling her upright, sitting swaying and dazed on the edge of the bed.
"I will. I will," he said quickly and frantic. "Don't worry I'll push my cock into your sweet, wet cunt. Just – just –" and then he was pushing it against her lips, and frustrated and impatient, she sucked on it. "Just for a minute," he said – begged. And oh. Oh, this was rather good too, as Malfoy moaned and his fingers twined in her hair, and Hermione took as much of the length of him as she could down her throat, until she was gagging on him, throat convulsing, and he pulled his hips back. Held her still and stopped her as she sought to choke herself on it some more. "Shit. Granger. Careful – careful of your throat. Don't – oh – mmph –"
Hermione stopped trying to force it down and sucked hard instead, tongue swirling around the head of his cock, fingers denting into his flesh at his hips. She pulled back and went light and teasing down the shaft, tilting her head and licking her way down to his balls and then back up. Around the head. Fingers tickling light over his skin. Teasing, teasing him so badly until he growled under his breath, his fingers shaking where he cradled her head but didn't push it down – no matter how desperately he obviously wanted to. His breath came in shaky heaves, his eyes fixed on her. On her mouth, stretched around his cock.
"Oh fuck, H'mione, please," he begged, composure utterly shattered. She grinned against his shaft and then took as much of it as she could in one smooth, slick move, pushing until the head of his cock would go no further and then swallowing, the convulsive movements of her throat massaging it in a way he seemed to like. And then he jerked back quick, out of her reach as he swore under his breath, one fist clenching. "Fuck. If you keep doing that, I'll come."
"Oh. No. No, you can't do that. You have to fuck me first," Hermione said dazedly, and then he looked at her helplessly, frustration crossing his face.
"Shit. Shit, we forgot a contraceptive charm. We could do it after? I don't think I can concentrate enough to cast it right now. I'm not exactly experienced these days." He bit his lip, looking wildly impatient.
"I have a better idea," Hermione said, and scrambled across the bed to Ron's bedside drawer, feeling only a moment of guilt as she rummaged in it and pulled out a condom. They wouldn't need the lube, she thought as she spotted it there, remembering bitterly the last time she'd had sex in this bed. Perfunctory and pleasureless, for her at least. So different from this. Hermione shoved the drawer shut. "Muggle contraceptives," she said aloud, waving the little foil square triumphantly. The issue with a charm was that if you screwed it up you might get terrible side effects – or it might just not work, and you wouldn't know until too late. And it was fairly complicated magic. Hence why she and Ron had always used condoms, or purchased a potion, when she hadn't been on the pill.
Malfoy looked sceptical but he allowed her to roll the condom down over his cock, one brow arched doubtfully. "Do you want to know how it works?" she asked as she rolled it fully down, hoping he wouldn't say yes, and he huffed a laugh.
"No. I don't give a damn. Later. After. Who cares." And then Malfoy slid his arm around her, hefting Hermione up on the bed, and the next minute she was on her back with her legs spread and him between them, the head of his cock prodding blunt against her slick, sensitive vulva.
"Please." One tiny, breathy word, her eyes owl-wide on him, feeling dizzy with arousal, and he grinned at her, a flash of teeth, and pressed his cock just barely inside her. "Oh." It felt incredible. Hermione's body fizzed with pleasure, and desire, and a devouring, consuming anticipation. She wanted the rest of it. She wanted it now. "Please. Please." She begged him, impatient, and Malfoy knew exactly what she wanted and did the opposite. He did what she needed instead; sliding in slowly – so slowly – stretching her open so gradually, her over-sensitised nerves screaming out in the best way.
Hermione panted and whimpered, begging him, and Malfoy silenced her by slanting his mouth over hers, kissing her sweet and slow, suckling on her lower lip, and licking pleasure into her. She lay there, legs pressed to his sides, hands clutching at his shoulders, and his hair, trying clumsily to kiss him back but distracted by the slow slide of his cock. And then, when she least expected it, he slammed home with a snap of his hips.
"Oh – oh God, Draco," she gasped against his lips as his cock bottomed out in her, a delicious, fire-bright pain blooming through her belly, her hands clenching on his shoulders. Too much. Too much and just right. Oh, it hurt so good. A wounded moan shuddered out of her as Malfoy began to move, and he froze, shaking with tension above her, his cheeks flushed and sweat beading on his forehead.
"Is it –? Should I stop? Are you – okay?" he got out, full of concern, and Hermione shook her head.
"N-no. I'm fine. Don't you dare stop," she gasped, and he groaned with relief and moved, and the pleasure-pain eventually gave way to just sheer pleasure as her body relaxed, and adjusted. And then it was just mouths meeting sloppy and desperate, teeth clicking, the deliciously obscene wet sounds as his cock drove into her. He wasn't as quick this time as he'd been the first time; Hermione's voice broke and turned hoarse from her moans, his hips ceaseless, and like the first time, a radiant tenderness began to bloom in her abdomen.
"Please," she moaned then, and he gave a gasp and buried his face in the crook of her neck, a ragged groan leaving him as he fucked into her arrhythmically half a dozen more times and then came, as if he'd been trying to hold out. Hermione felt his orgasm like an echo of her own, her stomach twisting and her skin prickling, pleasure rippling through her, as he held her close, panting into her skin, soreness blossoming through her like a dark, sweet flower. And she felt sated. That mindless, needy urge fulfilled, for now.
It felt like an exorcism. As though the dark horrors of the cave had been cleansed from her by something good; something exquisite, and precious, and visceral. And the last time she'd had sex in this bed – dutiful and unsatisfying, no pleasure in it for her – had been replaced by something that overflowed with it. Malfoy had left her trembling and wrecked, her body a sea of pleasure and faint pain, and Hermione clung to him, arms hooked around his neck. Their naked skin pressed sweat-sticky together as she murmured love in his ear, and he sagged over her, face still buried in her neck, echoing the sentiments back into her skin in a low, rough whisper.