The next day was dull. She was in the throes of her monthly unpleasantness. When Malfoy woke and offered to "help her" - with only the slightest hint of awkwardness - she politely declined. "Let's skip a day. This will be a good test."
Instead, she read while he exercised. They were mostly silent, save for the occasional chatting about things she'd read. He joined in, eventually, but irritated her by looking at books she'd already finished and discarded.
They overheard Harry and Ginny talking while they ate their dinner and Hermione called out to them - checking in, worried. Ginny shouted back assurances that she was feeling quite well, thank you, and also she and Harry had two bottles of wine and a chess kit and so they were going to play tonight and try to get some real sleep before a full day of - the same thing tomorrow. Ginny giggled at that and Hermione heard Harry mutter something that made her laugh again.
Hermione couldn't even fathom being able to giggle right now - and must have shown it on her face because she met Malfoy's eyes and he was studying her very carefully, something thoughtful in his expression.
"What are you doing, Hermione?" asked Ginny. Presumably after swatting Harry's roaming hands away. Or at least, that's how it sounded.
Hermione recalled the moment the monster had come, rushing at them from its dark corner. She'd been consoling Ginny, saying anything that might lure her back to the safety of the fire, to the safety of Harry and Malfoy. But it had attacked, and Hermione had whirled and thrown herself in front of her friend without thinking - fully absorbing the blast of devastating magic it had sent at them. It had been immediate - the despair.
She knew now that the creature had even taken memories. If she tried tried to remember happy times - Christmas mornings with her parents, Mrs. Weasley's hugs, the first time she cast a Patronus - she could see the pictures in her head, fuzzy. But the feelings they evoked were gone. She prayed it was not forever. She was not sure she could survive that.
She was lost in thought when Ginny called again - "Hermione?"
Malfoy covered. "We're doing the same as you. Wine and chess. She's - tired today."
Something in his tone alerted Ginny because she called out, softer this time - "I'm thankful Hermione. I know how much worse I would be if you hadn't borne the brunt."
Hermione cringed. She felt Malfoy staring, knew what his face would be. So she ignored him.
"We're done, goodnight," he yelled, and cast a silencing charm over their room.
He reached forward and grabbed the wine with his strong fingers, pressing it to his lips and swigging about half of it in one go.
"Let me get this straight," he said, wiping his mouth with a thumb and setting the bottle down roughly. His eyes sparkled with rage.
She stuffed bread in her mouth and averted her face.
"You jumped in front of the Ginger, didn't you? You sacrificed yourself for that little red headed Weasel. You're still like this -" he gestured up and down at her dismissively - "because you couldn't be selfish for one fucking second."
She met his eyes then, and shrank back. He was furious, face tight.
"I didn't know this would happen," she said defensively. "I reacted on instinct. Monster appeared, I moved."
He leaned forward, jabbing toward her with his finger. "You little fool. Your bloody hero instincts got us into this mess in the first place. Here we are, doing this, whatever it is-" he gestured between them - "fucking ourselves emotionally and mentally and sexually for who knows how long" - she gasped - "because you couldn't let a Weasley take a hit for once."
"Ginny," she said through her teeth, "has taken plenty of hits. From people just like you." He blinked at that. "And I won't apologize for trying to save a friend. You clearly know me not at all - even after this" - she gestured at her lower half, the same way he had, mocking him - "if you think I'm the type to just stand there and let someone I care about get hurt."
Malfoy shook his head, slowly, disgusted. "That's the problem. You are someone you should care about. You should give yourself just as much protection as you gave Ginny fucking Weasley. What if Potter and I hadn't been here? What if you hadn't been on Malfoy lands? What if you were stuck down here by yourselves, and no one could find you? Or help you?" He didn't sound . . . angry, exactly. But he wasn't happy. She got the distinct impression that he thought she was very frustrating.
Hermione took a deep breath. "I don't want to fight. What's done is done. Water under the bridge. Like I said, I had no idea this would happen. And thankfully, the worst didn't happen, and we did get help." She offered him a fake indulgent smile.
He frowned. "So you have no answers."
"Do you want to play chess?" she asked, desperate to get away from this topic.
A little huff of displeasure. "This isn't over."
"It is for now. I don't feel well," she rubbed her abdomen, "and I would like to get along."
He stared at her for a few moments, lips pursed. "We will finish this discussion later."
"Fine."
Sending her one last look of irritation, Malfoy grabbed his wand and cleared their table and replaced dinner with the chess set.
They played two games - he won both, though she gave him a slight run in the first - passing the wine, and then the second and third bottles, back and forth in near silence. By the time it was over Hermione was thoroughly sloshed.
She stood, uncrossing her legs, and wobbled a bit. Malfoy rose in an instant, extending his hand, and she grabbed it to stay upright.
"Can't hold your liquor?" But he held onto her as she stretched out her unsteady limbs.
"Do you usually get girls drunk before crawling into their beds?" she fired back, and pulled away from him. "I need to pee."
"That's pretty vulgar for you, Granger," he crooned. "And no, usually I'm the one who gets drunk before getting into bed with-" He cut himself off. "Anyway, I'm not crawling into your bed, ever."
She paused and looked back. He was flushed.
Ever? she nearly asked, but stopped herself.
She went and fumbled in the loo, her body banging into the toilet and the sink and the walls, drunker than she'd been in a long time. She managed to clean herself up for bed, face washed and teeth brushed. Her period would probably end tomorrow. She should tell him. But when she came out Malfoy was waiting, pacing belligerently, and he passed her without a glance. She made herself comfortable on the pallet.
She stretched, and her wine-riddled thoughts lingered on what he'd said. Usually he's the one getting drunk before getting into bed with whom? Pansy? Astoria Greengrass? Someone he'd met after school? Or maybe a man? Drunk as she was, it wasn't hard to picture Malfoy with another guy. It was hot, imagining how he'd be directive and confident, dick in hand, muscles rippling. But he'd be that way - he'd been that way - with those Slytherin girls. Which of them? All? He knew about periods and how to make her come within minutes. He was obviously experienced. Of course he is.
Actually, it helped her to assuage her embarrassment at her . . . condition. In this moment, only, thought blurred with wine. Malfoy didn't care that she was needy and dependent. He was surely good at sex, practiced, confident. She was just another woman he'd gotten off. It meant nothing, in the long run. He would forget about this. At best she'd be a notch on his heirloom bedpost. Maybe we'll be friends, an idea through the fog. Maybe someday we'll laugh about this. They'd meet in a bar, maybe at a school reunion. She'd make a private joke about being slow to arrive and he'd hand her a drink and say he was used to it.
She saw him out of the corner of her eye. He was preparing for sleep on the couch. She called out, impulsively, "I think we're past that, Malfoy. If you can tolerate it, you can drag your drunk self in beside me." She patted the blanket. Would he stand by what he'd said? That he'd never crawl into her bed?
He considered her for a long moment, standing in the middle of the room, swaying slightly. "That will be weird in the morning."
"Will it really be weirder than needing your hand between my legs several times a day just to function?"
He made a face and sardonically lay a finger to his lips, considering. "Honestly - yeah. I think sharing a bed - which I'm totally going to do by the way, now that you've offered, it's far superior to that fucking couch - might be weirder than making you come. That's purely medicinal."
He moved forward and flopped down beside her, stretching out his legs and putting his hands behind his head. She studied the lines of his face. Infuriatingly aristocratic. A thousand years of curated breeding - and nary a Hapsburg chin in sight. It was terribly unfair.
He broke the silence first. "Are you drunk?"
"Yes."
"Hmmm." He twiddled his perfect hair in his perfect fingers and bit his perfect lips. Her brain hurt, looking at him.
"Are you?"
"Not enough."
"Why's that?"
"Usually when I've had this much to drink there's an occasion. A club, or a funeral, or a birthday. I'm in that terrible in-between when I would, under usual circumstances, be making the decision to get ridiculous and keep partying, or head home to chug some water and go to sleep."
"How do you make the decision?"
He smiled at the ceiling. "Depends on whom I'm with."
She sniffed. "So you let your baser instincts decide."
He was offended and turned so she could see it in his expression. "What's wrong with that?" He looked open and honest and fit.
She was very drunk - drunk enough that she nearly reached for him. Drunk enough that she wanted.
He saw something on her face. "Scratch that. What's wrong with you?"
She leaned forward.
He shifted away. "Granger? What is it?"
Right. Down girl. "I - I think I'm not used to going a whole day without . . . ."
Malfoy frowned. "Do you want me to wade into the Red Sea?" He pursed his lips knowingly, drawing on some prior experience. "Orgasms help with cramps."
Yes. "No."
"Okay. You just looked -"
"Fuck off." It was harsher than she meant. She did want his help. Her head swam. She wanted him to bury his fingers in her body and spread her blood on her thighs. To bite her. To hold her. To fuck her senseless. There is something wrong with you.
"Should I go back to the couch?"
"No." She said that one too fast.
He nodded. "For the record, I can draw you a bath right now."
Another bath.
Had she been less drunk, her face might have remained impassive.
But he saw that she did want one and rolled away. "Come with me." An order.
She followed - he was already in the bathroom, and the water was running. How will this work? Will you take off your clothes in front of him? It was a very small room, and she was nearly pressed against his body.
"Get in." He turned away, stepping past to close the door and keep the steam inside. Kept his back to her, allowing her privacy.
She did not argue. She ripped her clothes off, dumping them in a heap, and stumbled into the tub. Sank down up to her neck. Covered her breasts clumsily with her hands. Malfoy turned and saw that she was in, and removed his own clothing.
His back rippled while he bent over and she had a charming view of his backside. He kept his briefs on again. Too bad.
He lowered in behind her and she lay her head back, against his shoulder. She liked how his skin felt against hers. "Comfortable?" he asked, gently mocking.
She ignored it. "Very."
He began to move her into position. Her hands were still clasped over her tits, but he reached down, the water rippling, and gripped her thighs. She let them fall open, but that wasn't all he wanted. He pulled them up so that her knees were bent, above the water. She was - completely open.
"Like this," he growled. She'd been so focused on her own drunkenness she'd forgotten he was too. But now she could tell, as he wound his hands around her. He was unrestrained, allowing more contact than usual.
He pressed a palm into her lower abdomen. "You're hurting, aren't you?"
She nodded, using the movement as an excuse to turn her face toward his neck. He tucked his chin over the top of her head.
"You're going to feel much better when I'm done."
His hand pressed into her, fingers flexing. The pressure was soothing. How did he know right where she needed it?
Meanwhile he began to play with her lightly, his hand using the water to swirl against her cunt. She contracted involuntarily, swallowing a moan. "I knew you'd like that." His voice was ragged. "You'll like this too." And he pressed two of his fingers inside, hooking them into her. Combined with the force of his hand on her belly, it was overwhelming. She was going to -
He must have felt it. "Not yet," he commanded. "Wait."
Her internal muscles embraced his fingers, squeezing him in response. "Harder," he said. She did, and he lowered his face to her neck. "You want me to bite you here."
She twisted her head, exposing it to him. How did he know?
"Not until you relax and let those tits loose."
Her hands dropped.
He rewarded her - teeth on her neck, sharp and bruising. It felt so good she never wanted it to stop. She arched into him, pressing her backside into his very hard cock, and he bit down harder.
But then her hands were free, and she reached down to hold onto his legs beneath her. His skin, warm as the water. He was still pressing his fingers inside, and she opened more for him, knees against the sides of the tub.
She was moving against him, and he was nipping her, and pressing her down, and filling her up. Not enough. If he's like this with his fingers, imagine what he'd do with his -
"Come for me."
She did.
He kept at her. An outside observer would have thought they were fucking. Malfoy was moving, his hand on her stomach pulling her to him while his body twisted beneath, and she was gyrating on top of him, her head spinning and her world crashing around her. The water splashed over them.
She could feel the slickness on his fingers and knew some of it was her blood. How does he not care?
But he didn't care. He was focused on telling her she was good and biting and kissing her neck. She could feel his eyes looking down at her chest while he did it.
Hermione came again, and again, and again, each on his orders.
As her final shudders of pleasure dispersed he slowed. Stopped. They just existed there, breathing heavily, the steam swirling. His lips were near her ear.
"Better?"
She nodded. She wanted to see his face, but also didn't. If his eyes weren't sleepy and half-closed like hers it would hurt her feelings.
"I'd be grateful for a review."
"Review?"
"Of how I did."
"Oh." How does one describe this? "That was - very nice."
She bit her lip. Very nice. Four of the best orgasms of her life, on her period, from an enragingly handsome cellmate. But how could she explain the pleasure he gave her?
There was a long pause before he spoke. "If you don't mind, I need some space." Which reminded her that he was still rock hard beneath her bottom.
"Of course." She stood on legs that felt like jelly and moved out of the tub, water sloshing. It was awkward, and she was acutely aware that her arse was right in front of his face. She turned away from him quickly and grabbed a towel as fast as she could. She left the bathroom, dripping puddles, and closed the door.
Very nice rang through her head like a bell. There were so many things she could have said:
You're a fucking artist, Malfoy. You should hire yourself out. Every woman in England deserves to feel this good at least once in her life.
Except surely his head was already big enough. Pompous prat that he was, he didn't need her stroking his ego anymore. Right? But she felt a kernel of guilt. He hadn't sounded pompous when he'd asked for her feedback. He'd sounded - hesitant.
She busied herself with toweling off and dressing in fresh clothes. By the time he came in she was sitting on the edge of the bed.
He didn't look at her as he approached the couch.
"Do you - you can still sleep here."
He unfolded his blanket. "That's alright."
"I insist." She pulled back the covers and scooted to the far side - leaving him space. She gestured at the pillow. "You've earned it."
He chuckled bitterly.
"Malfoy - Draco - please."
His face was in shadow.
But he slowly approached, as if it pained him, and lay down. Carefully not touching her.
Hermione curled up, watching him. He was so close - but very far, staring at the ceiling, avoiding her gaze. They were quiet for a long time.
"Purely?" She had to ask. A harken back to what he'd said, earlier.
A question made possible only due to her drunkenness.
He turned his head and looked at her. "As purely as I can," he said softly.
She closed her eyes to try to make sense of that, and so did he, and they both were lost.