Song Suggestion: Billie Eilish– "Hostage"
Thank you MyPrivateInsanity for being my ride or die.
A/N: the next update might be delayed by a day or two. So sometime from the 16th-18th. I'll try to get it out on Sunday, but there are no promises.
Collision Course
A day after returning from the ministry, Hermione heard the pop of the floo after breakfast. Investigating the rare noise, she found a tall woman in the front sitting room, wearing cream silk blouse and linen trousers. Her black hair was cut in a jaw-length bob, with a pearl headband that softened her masculine features.
It made such an odd and elegant combination, Hermione barreled to a stop in shock. The woman stood still, scanning her from head to toe.
"Pale yellow looks dreadful on you." She wrinkled her nose. "With your skin undertones, it makes you resemble a walking corpse. I'd suggest that you never wear it again."
Hermione just blinked.
"And who are you?"
The woman glanced at her perfectly manicured pale pink nails and then squinted her eyes, studying her harder.
"Next time, try jewel tones," the woman answered in an acerbic tone. "In fact—"
"Pansy dear," someone said behind her. "What did I say about playing nice?"
Hermione twisted at the familiar voice, finding an old friend leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed on his chest. He flashed a blinding smile.
"Dean!" Hermione ran and threw herself into his arms. He tightened his grip as she reached up and kissed his cheek in joy.
"I was waiting for you to notice me." He pulled back and motioned to the woman. "This is Pansy Parkinson."
Hermione turned to view the woman again, not knowing how to feel about the introduction.
Pansy didn't have any choice in the arrangement either, but until Hermione could corner Dean somewhere private and question him about his treatment, she didn't feel any goodwill toward the woman.
The feeling, it seemed, was mutual. Pansy eyed her like she was a stain on her pristine linen trousers.
They held each other's stare, neither backing down, until Pansy rolled her eyes.
"All right," she said. "I'll attempt to play nice. This is going against my nature, so I hope you appreciate the effort."
Dean snorted behind her.
"You don't have to worry, Pans. I love both of you equally. Honestly, if you tried, I think you could become friends."
Pansy visibly grimaced. "Perhaps on a day when my senses aren't assaulted by that atrocious yellow. It offends my eyes. Now, run along and talk." She shooed her hands, still not looking happy. "I know you've been dying to see her."
"And what will you do?" Dean asked.
"Oh, I spent many days in this manor growing up. I'll find something to fill the time. Is Draco around?"
Hermione shook her head, strangely intimidated by the woman. "He's out at the moment."
Hermione had barely seen him since their confrontation. Not that she'd tell her that.
Pansy sighed and looked her up and down for the last time.
"Then I shall make a list of the correct colours for your wardrobe. It's obvious you're colour blind and desperately require my assistance. Perhaps then you can cease looking like a living infection."
Without a further word, Pansy stuck her nose in the air and glided out the door.
Once she was out of earshot, Hermione turned to Dean.
"She's— um— well, she's—"
"Something."
"Yes, she's definitely something."
Dean grinned.
"Now, show me around your new home." He let his eyes trail around the room, at all the delicate touches she'd grown immune to. "It feels impossible, but this might be grander than Nott manor."
After wandering the grounds, they sat in the shade of one of the hedges. For the first time in weeks, sunshine broke through the grey clouds, but the chill of winter remained. Hermione pulled her cloak closer as she leaned her head on Dean's shoulder.
Dean held a bag of grain given to them by request from Mipsy, and he intermittently threw a handful for the birds to peck at. Crookshanks had followed them out and kept hissing at the peacocks if they wandered too close.
"Why albino peacocks?" Dean asked.
"They needed something as pretentious as Lucius' hair." Hermione grinned. "Finch would love—"
She cut herself off, almost cursing herself for bringing him up again.
Dean reached out and squeezed her hand. He hadn't seen Finch since they'd left, and only got updates from Pansy. From what he knew, Daphne's father remained a staunch pureblood bigot, bitter his line needed to be tainted, and let Finch know it. The abuse seemed emotional in nature instead of physical like his last household.
"A part of me hopes they sell him, though I'd worry he'd go to someone worse." Dean threw some seeds, and the peacock flared out its feathers. Crookshanks seemed to be contemplating murder. "That is if he ever manages to get Daphne pregnant."
After muggleborn boys performed their duty, the purebloods sometimes bought them to manage the estate grounds. Both Dean and Finch had been trained in the logistics of it, just in case.
"Do you really think they'll sell him?"
"No, I think they'll want more than one child. If the Greengrass patriarch has anything to say about it, the poor girl will be pregnant for years to come. But from Pansy's talks with Daphne, I'm not even sure if they've managed to consummate."
A knot twisted her stomach, thinking about it.
"Have you been able— actually, never mind, forget I asked."
Dean smiled and shook his head.
"One time— the most awkward night of my life. After that, we tried other means."
"What other means are there?"
Dean threw a grain toward a peacock that managed to wander close— Al, she believed. It pecked the ground, despite Crookshanks warnings. Her cat lazed near her feet, flicking his tail in agitation, as if he owned the garden.
"We've tried to— ah, well, transfer it." Dean seemed embarrassed. "When that didn't work, Pansy's father found a muggle doctor that used to specialise in infertility. Absolutely no one knows about that part, so it needs to be kept secret."
"Of course." Hermione nodded. "I'm surprised Pansy's father allowed it."
"Parkinson's not so bad," Dean's voice went softer. "Pansy told her father about Finch and me. He knows there are complications, but he says he'd rather not go through the trouble of finding another breeder. Really, I think he enjoys our Sunday fly arounds. Pansy hates the outdoors, so he seems grateful for someone that likes to spend time with him."
By his tone, the affection was mutual. In his old home, Avery never beat him, but no matter what Dean did to impress his old master, the man had remained cold.
Dean let out a breath and closed his eyes.
"We've tried everything. If I don't get her pregnant, they'll start to investigate. And if they find something abnormal—well, I don't want to leave. Pansy is my friend now. And her father— I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm happy." Dean's anxiety rolled off him, but she had no way to soothe his new fear.
Instead, she dug inside a new purse she'd created and extracted a small scroll. With her new access to a full library, it didn't take long to figure out the correct charms this time around.
"What's this?"
"A new invention," she said. "It's similar to the coins, but with this, we can talk as much as we want. After you write a message, the ink will disappear, so there are no worries of leaving it lying around. If you want to see if I left you a message, just tap it once. If you want to see a previous message, you can tap it twice. It will give the name of the sender at the bottom, so if I connect more people, we can all see who the message is from."
"But couldn't anybody see it then?"
She knew he worried about Finch.
"I thought of that too. When you get back to your home, press your thumb to the page. After that, it only responds to you. If anyone else tried to touch it, they'd see an empty scroll. I hope to get one to the others when I can."
She almost faltered on the last line, because getting a scroll into Julie's hands might be dangerous and getting one to Finch just as hard. The thought made her ill. She hadn't told Dean anything about Julie, not wishing to add to his burdens yet, but she believed he suspected something terrible by her silence.
Dean held the parchment like a precious jewel, and his eyes welled up with tears. Leaning over, he placed a quick kiss on her cheek.
"Brilliant! I've missed you so much."
"Perhaps Mr. Greengrass can be convinced to let Finch come over next time."
"Perhaps," he whispered, as if renewed with hope.
It sounded like a dream that might never come true.
A head rolling toward her, making a terrible sound. A spray of blood, splattering across her face. A deafening scream, so loud it hurt her ears. Hermione attempted to get away from the blood, but she had nowhere to go. It rose as a river, until it pulled her under, drowning her. She tried to swim to the top, but the viscous liquid held her in stasis.
A shove to her shoulder, and she gasped awake.
"Granger," a comforting voice said. "It's just a dream."
It took a moment to come to awareness. The sheets curled around her legs, contorted into an odd position. Her whole body shivered, remembering the river of blood, thick and warm, trickling down her throat, into her eyes— so real she wished to shed her skin to rid herself of the feeling.
Her dreams had always plagued her as a child, but this might have been among the worst.
Draco stood next to her, hand still on her shoulder. Chest bare and glowing from the moonlight filtering through the windows, hair mussed. It made her wish to reach up, thread her fingers through the fine stands, and brush them back into place. Pyjama bottoms slung low on his hips, highlighting his sculpted abdomen. Though thinner than Titus, his torso seemed impossibly longer.
Hermione glanced up to his face, devoid of emotion, realising she'd been staring maybe a little too much.
"Do you need dreamless sleep?" He asked.
"No, it doesn't work on me very well." As a child, she overused the potion to the point she became immune to it, no matter the strength of the brew.
"Right, well, here's your cat." Draco bent down below the edge of the bed and emerged with a bundle of orange fur, giving a familiar disgruntled hiss. "Quiet, you beast. I'm just returning you to your mistress." He set the angry feline on the bed with a plop. "Crooks was the one who woke me. Not gently, I must say." He touched his cheek, showing off thin scratches.
She never did ask where Draco spent his nights, but with the multitude of rooms in the manor, she assumed he had plenty of options.
"Thank you."
Draco rubbed the back of his neck.
"Well, if that's all you need—"
"Stay." She didn't know why she asked, but in the moment, the thought of him exiting the room and leaving her alone with her mind was worse than the nightmare. Theo's presence used to soothe the lingering terror, maybe Draco's would too. "Please, it's hard to go back to sleep after."
He froze a moment, and then his whole body loosened.
"Scoot over then."
She did as he asked, shuffling away, and he lifted the sheets and slid in beside her.
They stayed that way for a moment, rigid and staring at the ceiling, but she needed another human. Her heart still pounded hard in chest, and she felt nauseous. From experience, cuddling close to another warm body helped end the terror.
Hermione rolled close. Draco stiffened again under her as she placed her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. He hesitated but wrapped his arm along her back.
"It was only a dream," he said.
"It wasn't just a dream." Her memories conjured the horror, constantly reminding her of things she wished to forget.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
She listened to the thump of his heart.
"Do you want me to talk?"
"Yes."
"Pleasant or serious?"
"Serious." Hermione didn't know if she wanted something happy yet. "About you. Something you've never told anyone else."
"What do you want to know?"
There was a question that plagued her, but she didn't want to pry.
"You don't have to answer, but you said you killed someone when you were thirteen. Who was it?"
With the stillness of his chest, she thought she might have gone too far, but then his arm tightened along her back.
"An Order member responsible for my mum's death— one of the last caught that helped plan the attack." This time she stiffened under his touch. "My father told me to do it. Said I needed the experience to heal. But I wanted to do it regardless. I'd looked forward to the moment for years. Planned out the moment in my head in graphic detail before sleep. I wanted to see him beg and cry, feel as much fear as my mum. But— the man didn't beg. He only looked at me in a strange way."
Hermione didn't ask why Lucius encouraged Draco, still a child, to execute the man. Most predators must teach their young to kill— training for a life where they need to learn the killing bite to survive. Hermione assumed it was the same motive behind Lucius' insistence for Draco to master the skill, preparing his son to thrive in a violent world.
"Did you use the killing curse?"
"No," he whispered into the night, the skin of his chest hot under her cheek. "My father didn't want my soul damaged that first time. Dark magic comes with a cost. Since then, I've used it twice, but I don't plan on making it a habit. There are ways to kill without it."
She knew that too. Titus rarely used an Avada. He once told her he reserved it for his moments of mercy, or if he needed to be quick.
Hermione let her hand rest on his abdomen, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. On impulse, she traced the grooves between the muscles, enjoying the sensation of touching, liking the way he tensed under her fingers.
"You sound like you regret it."
"He killed my mum. I shouldn't regret it."
"But you do?"
"No, Granger, I don't." He studied the ceiling. "But I never did forget the way he looked at me. As if I was the one on death row instead of him."
They fell into a long silence, contemplating what he'd just said. It comforted her, knowing Draco might understand her nightmares. They'd both killed people at a young age. They'd both grown up motherless. Theo helped her, but Draco might have been right in the glade; maybe seeing the death of a parent bonded them in an irreparable way. Blood for blood, a continuous orbit around the same sun. They had always meant to collide.
"Will you use the curse on Blaise?"
"Absolutely not. He won't receive anything fast or merciful."
Hermione tapped her fingers on his chest with anxious energy, knowing she couldn't ignore the conversation forever.
"I've been wanting to say—"
"There's no need," he stopped her. "I know why you did it. Whether you want to apologise or explain, it doesn't change the fact of what happened. She's your friend— and I can't expect for you not to react. That's part of your nature." He gave a hard sigh. "You've been banned from the parties, by the way. At least, for a while."
She didn't know if that relieved her or disappointed her, because it meant she wouldn't have any access to Julie now.
"How will you kill him?" She needed to know.
His hand played with the ends of her curls, twirling the strands on his finger.
"No more secrets until you're better at occlumency." He gave a soft tug to her hair. "The biggest hurdle is motive. All the fingers would point to us right now. Until that changes, we have to wait. I'm attempting to create a motive for someone else, but it might take time."
The idea of waiting made her stomach tumble, and now she regretted the turn in conversation, worried over Julie.
Worried that she'd made everything worse in her quest to help. The guilt threatened to paralyse her.
"Tell me something pleasant," she asked.
She could swear he smirked against her hair.
"I used to sleep with your letters under my pillow."
Her breath caught, but he didn't explain any further.
"Go to sleep, Granger."
It took longer than she wanted to go to sleep after that revelation, but eventually she drifted off with her head on his chest and his arm curled along her back.
Much later in the night, Crookshanks settled on Draco's chest next to her hand— a temporary ceasefire.
The next morning, he walked into her room just as she woke, already dressed.
"How can you sleep so late?" He asked in slight disgust.
Hermione groaned and shoved her head into a pillow. "Ugh, you're a morning person." She made sure to emphasise the title like it was a disease.
"As enticing as you look in my bed, you need to wake up." He glanced at his watch. "It's time to go."
"Go where?"
"You'll only find out when you're ready. I'll let your curiosity motivate you."
After he exited the room, Hermione rubbed her eyes and wished to curl back into her sheets, but this was the first time she'd gotten to spend with him in days, and she wasn't about to waste the opportunity.
A few hours later, she met him in the front sitting room. He sat on a silk yellow couch, reading a book and rolled his eyes when he noticed her.
"Remind me to give you a two hour head start each time."
"Have you seen my hair? These curls don't look this magnificent by accident." She wore a long, flowy dress. It fit her like a glove up top and flared out around her hips, and she resisted the desire to twirl in it like a little kid. "So where are we going?"
"To your new job." Draco put his book down and stood abruptly, walking past her toward the floo. She stared after him, probably looking stupid, mouth opening and closing like a fish. But she couldn't have heard him correctly.
"I'm sorry— what?"
"Your new job," he said again, much slower.
"But it's Christmas Eve."
"Of course. This is an early present. Now hurry up, the shops will only be open until the afternoon."
"This isn't funny." The hope physically hurt. She'd dreamed of this for so long.
"I don't back down from my promises." A small grin broke through his occlumency. It was enough of a slip that it made it seem real.
She wished he'd stop occluding around her. Still, she wasn't about to question good fortune.
"Oh Merlin." Hermione placed a hand toward her curls. "Maybe I should have worn something else. Is this okay? And my hair— do I need it up or down—"
Draco placed a hand on her wrist.
"I know this might be an impossible request, but do try and not overthink this."
"Wait," Hermione demanded, still confused. "Don't I need shackles?"
She walked around the manor without them, able to do magic as she pleased, but she didn't think Draco could keep her free outside of the grounds. Not after Dolohov ordered for them to stay on.
Draco reached up on the mantle, where the obsidian shackles already waited, and she realised he had planned to put them on all along.
"It's just for today. On other days, we'll get around the rules."
Hermione held her wrists out, and he clipped them on each wrist. The buzz under her skin vanished. But it didn't upset her, knowing they'd be off again soon.
"How would you do that?"
Draco focused on the shackles, brow furrowing.
"The good thing about being a potion master is that I have an infinite supply of any type I'd like, including those that can camouflage identity."
"Polyjuice?" She surmised.
He nodded and reached into his pocket, taking out a rolled up white handkerchief. Inside was a thick bundle of dark hair, tied carefully in red string. He contemplated a moment and took out one dark strand to show her. "I think this woman was a similar size to you, so you wouldn't need a new wardrobe."
"Who is this?"
Draco shrugged.
"My father always has some secret identities on hand, just in case. Your fake name will be Sofia Romano. We have all the required papers. Though, if I were you, I wouldn't dig too deep into the question. You might not like the answer."
Hermione didn't know if she liked wearing the anonymous skin, obtained unethically, but it might be the only way to get out of the house without her magic smothered. "So—hypothetically—I could walk around Diagon Alley all by myself."
"Hypothetically, yes. If you always keep polyjuice with you. Not today though. There's no need for the potion until next Monday."
The energy of the thought zipped through her body, and for the first time in ages, pure joy burst through her, as if experiencing Diagon Alley for the first time.
"Let's go right now!"
"I was the one that was waiting on you."
She nearly danced to the floo, and he gave a small pat on her arse as they barreled through to the Leaky.
Malfoy's Apothecary and Medicinals, the sign read.
"It's yours?" she asked.
"Yes, and I needed help at the till, so I happened to hire a foreign girl. She's much too bouncy, but she'll have to do."
Hermione ignored his teasing and entered the store with reverence. She walked over to the register, touching the till and the tall wooden counter, where she would soon stand behind. And then she inspected the potion ingredients. The more expensive rare ones had buzzing wards protecting them. When she arrived at the silver toad slime displayed behind the counter, she sensed him at her back.
"What do you think?"
"It's wonderful." She glanced around as a thought came to her. "Did you buy this store for me?"
His job required him to travel to procure potions. Though he mostly stayed in the country, sometimes the ministry approved for him to visit France. He worked with various apothecaries and spent most of his time in potion creation and production.
But he didn't need an actual store front. Not for the money it would bring in, and not for its use. Even with his level of wealth, buying property on Diagon Alley must have been expensive.
He seemed to hesitate. "If it's not to your liking, I could try and get you a job in the ministry or at Gringotts, or something else entirely— though those options might be dangerous."
A warmth knocked against her chest. It invaded without her consent and laid siege to something hidden inside her. As he waited for her answer, her natural resistance cracked, letting the sensation seep past her defences.
Hermione didn't bother denying her impulse.
She lunged forward and kissed him.
A brief brush of softness. A sharp intake of breath.
Draco grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back. He examined her face, and she wondered what he found, what he searched for.
"Granger— I told you I don't want your grat—"
She closed her eyes and pressed forward again. His hands on her shoulders didn't provide much resistance, as her lips connected to his again,
He remained like stone, unyielding to her gentle caress, fingers digging into her skin.
Was he going to reject her again? She tried to hide her mortification by pulling back slightly.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have—"
"Fuck it."
He tugged her into a bruising kiss. Stone turned to fire as he groaned against her mouth. She opened for him, trembling at his taste— icy mint and warmth. The juxtaposition made her ravenous.
It was a frantic consumption. Lips roamed— first to her cheek, then her neck, then her throat. Hands brushed along her body, tracing her curves and hips.
He attempted to pull her legs up, but instead, they both sank to the floor on their knees.
Wishing to feel his skin, she tugged on the lapels of his shirt and untucked the bottom.
"Granger," he groaned against her neck, as her hand slipped down, gently touching the hard bulge in his trousers.
Perhaps they were going too fast. Was he warning or encouraging? She didn't care. For the first time since the Trial, true desire bloomed inside her, spreading along her nerves. It ached as intensely as when she'd consumed the potion. She needed to touch him, needed him to explore her.
"This doesn't mean anything," she said, wishing to set some boundaries. "It's just fun."
"Stop lying." He lightly bit the curve of her neck, and her mind short-circuited. She struggled to get out her thoughts.
"I– I'm not ready for sex."
"I'll take whatever you give me."
His mouth dipped further down, closing gently on her breast over her dress, and she let her head tilt back in pure ecstasy.
It was all the permission she needed— a promise to stop when she wished.
"I can't do it," he said, sounding desperate, detangling them, though she tried to pull him back. "Not like this."
Before the act could hurt her feelings, he dug in his pocket, fingers fumbling, and extracted the metal circle— the key. The metal clicked against one shackle and then the other. They both snapped open, and he threw them aside without care.
"Now," he said, cupping her cheek, giving her a soft kiss. "Where were we?"
Hermione gathered her courage and rested the tips of her fingers on his belt buckle.
He froze, and then grinned against her lips, eyes intent on her. "Tell me what you want to do."
She wasn't quite sure herself.
"I want to unbuckle your belt." Her fingers pulled and tugged until it broke free from its restraint. "And then I want to undo your trousers."
The button released easier than she expected. Her heart beat so hard she felt it throb along her body, travelling lower between her thighs. She needed him to touch her too, but his hands now rested on her hips, just waiting for her to make the first move.
"And then?" he asked, voice gruff and low.
"And then I want to do this."
His dress shirt felt smooth under her fingers as she placed her hand low on his stomach. Slowly, she brushed down and slipped her hand inside his trunks. His cock throbbed warm and hard in her hand, and she manoeuvred it until she could pull it over his trunks. He helped by sliding his trousers down just enough. When she wrapped her hand around the rigid length, she kept her eyes locked on his, wishing to watch his expressions.
"Granger," he whispered again as she started giving soft tugs. With a press to her shoulders, he guided her to the floor right behind the counter, shifting her legs up and open so he settled between them. His fingers trailed along the edges of her thighs, scrunching up the material of her dress.
The ding of a bell interrupted them.
Someone entered, shoes hitting the hardwood floor.
"Hello," a man's voice asked. "Anyone here?"
"Stay down," Draco hissed at her, before straightening his clothes, tugging his trousers back into place haphazardly. His shirt remained rumpled, along with his hair. "I'm here," he called out. "I was just— rearranging some things. Perhaps you didn't notice, but the Apothecary isn't open yet."
Hermione smoothed her clothes and scooted under the till as quietly as possible. Her shackles rested just out of reach, which meant she couldn't risk being seen.
"I desperately need a few items," the man said. "My wife is ill."
Hermione glanced up, seeing Draco's face twist in displeasure. He seemed like he might deny the request.
"Make it quick."
As Draco once again became a statue, she noticed that in his hurry to dress, he didn't tuck himself in completely. Fortunately, the counter height covered it from prying eyes, but not from her view.
As she listened to the shoes wandering the store, she continued staring at him. Something had been morphing inside her all morning. A low flutter in her belly. Every time she thought about all the work and thought it took just to let her out of the house, without obsidian shackles, free to come and go as she pleased, it increased.
A job, like he promised. Even a ministry job, if she wished. The ability to go anywhere she wanted at any time. She'd never in her life anticipated such freedom.
Titus claimed he loved her, but he'd never done anything like this.
She wasn't ready for sex or love or anything serious, but she wished to release the pent up tension in their bodies. Wished to continue what she'd started.
Hermione let her courage peek through, forming a plan in her mind. For the first time in months, her curiosity and thirst for life outweighed her trauma.
The customer still walked around the store, and Draco stood in front of the till as if he were the only person in the room.
Hermione placed her hand on Draco's thigh, and he jolted slightly, but gave no other indication he felt her as her hands wandered up his trousers.
His empty expression only caused her body to ache with want.
"What are you doing?" He whispered, eyes forward, as her fingers loosened what he'd flung together. Though the customer couldn't see her, the threat of discovery only spurred her on more.
Just as she once again freed his cock, his hand went out and touched the top of her head, possibly to warn her.
"Do you want me to stop?" Hermione whispered back.
"Did you say something?" The customer asked.
A moment of silence, as he contemplated both questions.
"No." Malfoy's head bent up for a second, as if asking the universe for help. "Carry on."
Draco unthreaded his fingers from her hair and braced them on the wooden counter in front of him. She wrapped her hands along the length of him, about to continue what she began on the store floor.
And that was when she had another idea. Being under the till brought back the memory of her being huddled under a desk, horrified and aroused.
The only time she'd witnessed the act was when the whore did it. Since that time, in the quiet of the night, she'd imagined trying it. Wondered what he would taste like. Wondered how it would feel to have him release on her tongue.
Remembering how the woman began, she placed her tongue toward the bottom of his shaft and licked upward.
Caught off guard, Draco made a strangled noise and bent forward, as if unable to stand upright.
She did it a second time, loving the reactions she forced from him.
"Fucking hell," he whispered in a ragged voice. "The customer is still here."
She shrugged and placed the tip of his cock in her mouth, not really knowing what she was doing, running off instinct. A bead of cum was at the top, and she sucked it slowly. The taste was salty, and she didn't like it too much. But the way his eyes rolled up for just a second, made her body shudder.
"Do you need directions?" Draco asked the man.
"I'm just browsing."
"Take your time." His tone suggested the man should absolutely not take his time.
Hermione continued, unsure how to do it right. After giving a firmer suck, she opened wider, allowing more of the firm skin to slide past her lips.
Draco slammed a fist against the wooden counter.
"Are you alright?" The customer asked in alarm.
"Splinter."
The customer tutted in sympathy.
Hermione took him in deeper, and he hissed low. Lifting one hand off the counter, he placed it back into her curls and pressed forward.
It went further than she was used to, and she gagged, quickly covering up the sound. As if alarmed he went too far, he pulled back, but she rolled her eyes. If the muggle woman could do it, then so could she. Hermione planned to exceed expectations, despite the learning curve.
Draco tightened one hand into her hair in warning for her to stop as the customer placed his potion ingredients on the counter.
"Do you know when you'll get beetle dung in? I can't seem to find it anywhere, and I must have it."
Draco tensed, attempting to occlude, but he struggled.
Maybe it was cruelty. Maybe it was absolute pleasure. But the thought of breaking his iron composure caused all the hair along her body to stand on end. She wanted nothing more in the world than to see him shatter.
Knowing the customer hovered right above them, and feeling bold, Hermione allowed his cock as far into her mouth as she could.
Draco shuddered, ringing up the purchases with fumbling fingers, trying to answer the man as she licked the tip again with her tongue.
"Did you hear me?" the customer asked again
"W– we should get— the fourth. Come back the fourth!"
"Merlin, are you okay?" The man dropped some galleons on the counter. "You sound ill, and you're flushed. Maybe you should see a healer."
"If you don't get out of this fucking store right this moment, I'm going to curse you with boils."
"Why I never! I should tell your father about this horrid treatment."
"I dare you to."
The man made a noise of complaint, and she assumed his face twisted in horrified outrage, but he gathered his purchases quickly and headed to the door.
When the bell jingled overhead, signalling the man left, Draco locked the door with a spell and glared down at her.
"You evil little witch." He took a moment to admire the sight of her on her knees, with her mouth open, the tip of his cock still resting against her tongue. "Always breaking the rules." He thrust gently into her mouth, digging both hands now into her curls. "Always getting into trouble." She sucked again, and this time he finally broke composure, pressing forward with a loud groan, as if his whole world had fractured apart. He continued the movement in her mouth until he came with his head tipped back. She tried to swallow like the woman had, but a little ran down the side of her mouth when he slid out.
"Merry Christmas," she whispered, giving a cheeky grin, though her jaw ached.
Draco shivered in the aftermath, and he released her hair, leaning against the counter. He placed his head in his hands, catching his breath, as if holding his composure for that long took everything out of him.
And then he laughed. The movement shook his whole body.
"Bloody hell, life with you is never boring."
After wiping her mouth, she gave a small laugh too—at the ridiculousness of the situation, at the thrill of it.
"Did it feel good?"
"Did it feel good?" He mocked her tone and reached down, dragging her up by her shoulders. She stood up, finding her knees ached a little from being in the same spot for so long.
On her feet, he lifted her up by her waist, sitting her on the edge of the counter.
And then he fired another spell at the door.
"So they can't see in," he explained. "Though based on what just happened maybe you like being watched."
"What are you doing?" she asked.
He tugged on the underside of her knees, laying her back against the wood, leaving her staring at the ceiling. She gave no resistance as his hands wandered up her dress, pushing the voluminous fabric aside, and then he tugged off her knickers, sliding them down her legs.
He stared at her bare skin afterward and licked his lips.
"I'm returning the favour." He leaned down, tongue almost pressed against the soft flesh of her cunt, and stared up at her. "Tell me exactly what you want and please be loud about it."
He hovered mere centimetres above her clit, until she realised he was waiting for permission. She anticipated that her body would seize in discomfort, that her instinct would demand she push him away. But she loosened her legs, pulling them up just a little, showing he could start when he wished.
When his mouth touched the parts of her that ached for him, she almost lifted off the counter, but his hands kept her hips in place.
Just like he promised, he followed her directions, licking her, sucking her.
"Right there," she gasped. Draco wasn't as skilled as Titus, but he learned fast, and after a few corrections and experiments, it wasn't long before she writhed under him, whimpering in low cries of pleasure.
When she finally climaxed, legs pressing together, fingers gripping his hair, he continued to give lazy flicks of his tongue until she pushed on him to stop.
After lifting his head, he gave her a wicked smirk, gazing at her between her trembling thighs— as if everything had worked out exactly like he'd planned.
"Merry Christmas, Granger."
