Summary:
An accidental encounter in the quiet corners of the Hogwarts library, where Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy find themselves drawn together by a force neither of them quite understands. What starts as a secret, purely physical relationship—hidden from prying eyes and fueled by stolen glances and heated moments—quickly evolves into something far more complicated and dangerous.
As tensions rise and the wizarding world hurtles toward war, Hermione and Draco must navigate a labyrinth of conflicting loyalties, personal vendettas, and their own tumultuous emotions. Caught between duty and desire, they both grapple with the reality of what their secret connection could mean for them—and for everyone they care about. Will they remain enemies tangled in a web of forbidden attraction, or will they risk everything for a chance at something real?
Chapter 1: lightning in a bottle
Notes:
lightning in a bottle
1. (idiomatic) That which one seeks in attempting a difficult or challenging feat.
2. (idiomatic) A very difficult, unlikely or lucky achievement or period of success.
3. (idiomatic) Ephemeral state or atmosphere.
The timing of Dumbledore's expulsion from Hogwarts couldn't have been worse for Hermione. The school was now in the all-too-incapable hands of the pink-plated ministry plant, Delores Umbridge.
It wasn't just their education that was on the line—it was their lives, too, with Voldemort's return—no matter how much the ministry wanted to cover it up and deny it.
Both Harry and Dumbledore faced public opinion and scrutiny. Thus, media coverage and personal attacks forced Hermione back into that perilous domain.
The media, however, was something she could deal with after the events with the Triwizard Tournament in her Fourth Year. A smile touched her lips as she recalled her pet beetle. And how she'd shake its container when upset.
Hermione could also balance helping Harry with his ever-increasing paranoia and outbursts. His scar hurt more than ever. He had seen a classmate killed in front of him, and the wizard who killed his family and attempted to kill him on more than one occasion was on the loose again.
Hermione could even ignore the fact that the murderous psychopath had devoted followers. She knew being Muggleborn made her a bigger target. She could ignore that.
However, Hermione absolutely could not abide by someone interfering with her education.
If Hermione could get away with it, she'd hex Umbridge into the next century.
The pink and lace-covered toad that referred to herself as a headmistress directly impeded her ability to get Outstanding on all of her O.W.L.s due to her fucked up new curriculum. If one could even call it that.
Thus, Hermione's free time dwindled as the school year wore on. Hermione spent any free time between classes, after dinner, before DA meetings, and any time not needed to help Harry and Ron, escaping to the sanctuary of the library.
When she opened the large, double-wide doors for entry, the smell of ancient texts and melting candle wax hit Hermione. Exhaling deeply, she closed her eyes, letting the feeling wash over her. Her shoulders sagged, and she adjusted the strap on her bag. Whispers and parchment rustled, a lullaby guiding her toward the far wall and the spiral staircase.
Once she ascended the staircase, she went to the far back corner. She found this spot, always quietest, in the least travelled part of the library. The corner, furthest from entry, housed outdated periodicals: trade agreements, magical economics, and arithmetic texts.
Safe to say, most students stayed away.
The area was so distant that the fireplaces, meant to warm students, didn't reach. More than once, Hermione needed to use a warming charm to keep her fingers from getting frostbite.
Other than the noted lack of students, the large, arched window overlooking the lake was the highlight of her favourite spot. That and its solitude made it a sanctuary for Hermione when she desperately needed it.
Hermione strode towards her spot, reviewing her study list for the day. When she turned the corner towards the table, she mentally added the need for subtropical herbs for—"Oh!" she exclaimed, her hand rising to her chest in alarm.
Someone was in her spot.
By Draco Malfoy, of all people.
He sat on the right of the two-person table, her preferred seat, with books, parchment, and quills in front of him. He balanced precariously on the chair's back two legs. His head rested in his hand, his arm perched on the ledge as he stared out the window.
At Hermione's cry of alarm, he turned towards her.
The moonlight refracted from the windowpane, casting his white-blond hair in a luminescent glow. His pale eyes matched the moonlight, pinching and nearly glaring at her. His face curled into a familiar sneer.
How disappointing. Beautiful exterior, and a rotten core.
Hermione scolded herself for that thought before glaring back at her nemesis.
She crossed her arms over her chest. "You're in my spot."
Malfoy raised a petulant eyebrow, resting his chair on all four legs. "I didn't realize that the library assigned seating."
Hermione huffed out, flabbergasted at his gall, but not entirely surprised. Malfoy always exuded an air of arrogance, likely from being born with a silver spoon in his mouth and being fed supremacist propaganda once he could eat solids.
"I always sit here to study," Hermione insisted, clenching her fists and jaw.
It felt like she was a wind-up toy whose owner had gone one twist too far. At any moment, the latch could release and propel her into motion.
Malfoy leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as he motioned to the chair opposite him.
"No one's stopping you," he all but dared.
He turned to the window, ignoring her, lost in the moonlit night.
Hermione stood in stunned silence.
He couldn't be serious.
Her mouth fell open. Since she met him, Malfoy acted like he could catch a disease from being in the same room as a Muggleborn. He'd never share a table with one voluntarily.
Especially not her.
"What are you playing at?" She accused, his head turning back towards her lazily. "You can't honestly want me to join you. You hate me."
From the moment he first spoke to her on the Hogwarts Express on their way to school in their first year, Malfoy made it clear he detested her. He always found a way to hurt her with a glare or a cutting remark.
No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
Eleanor Roosevelt said that, but she'd never faced Draco Malfoy.
With his stupid, sneering face that, as they aged, became less pointed and more defined. His bright, grey eyes held the same intensity as the sky before a storm, even as the sun attempted to pierce through the clouds. She broke his long, straight nose in the third year with a satisfying crunch when he was an enormous part. His light hair, no longer sleeked back as he used to, falling looser and almost into his eyes.
He stared back at Hermione. His face was a mask of cold indifference.
"Hating you would require effort," he said. "As though you would ever cross my fucking mind."
It was a punch in the gut—like he turned and hit her so hard he knocked the breath from her lungs. She pressed her lips together but couldn't stop the well of tears that formed against her will. She blinked quickly, trying to get rid of them—the evidence that though she hated when Malfoy picked on her, being nothing to him felt infinitely worse.
Her face fell. She tried to look away.
She saw something else flicker across his bored face.
Remorse? Guilt? Pity?
Strange how quickly one look can turn hurt into a blinding rage.
Fuck him and his pity.
Hermione slammed her bag down on the other side of the table. He could sit there silently, pretending she didn't exist for all she cared. He wouldn't interrupt and disturb the one thing she had control over this year—her study schedule and habits. Whether he was here accidentally or discovered this spot and chose it to torment her, she didn't care.
Soon enough, he would get bored and move on.
He always did. With everything he touched. A picture of privileged apathy.
Malfoy turned from the window and watched her with a strange calmness as she removed the items from her bag.
He certainly wouldn't stop staring at her now for not thinking about her.
She huffed as she removed all her items, arranging them exactly as needed—quills lined up shortest to largest, parchment to her right, books in front of her and neatly stacked—before tying her hair back in a ribbon.
It only took a little longer than usual, clumsy under his intense scrutiny.
Opening her Advance Charms textbook, Hermione found the chapter she left off and began reading.
Malfoy continued to stare. She tried to ignore it, but her instincts were screaming danger—like prey in the forest, aware of a hidden predator's eyes on them.
Her hand touched her neck, twirling a curl as she reread the same paragraph for the fifth time. When she was unsuccessful, her head snapped up, eyes staring into his. Daring him to do whatever he was intending to do. Finish it so she could move on.
"What?" she accused.
Malfoy startled, surprised to find himself staring back. His eyes widened, and he raised both hands in a silent sign of surrender before he smirked, picked up his quill, and resumed his review.
That fucking smirk. She wanted to punch him. Again.
Instead, she ground her teeth together to bite back another outburst, picked up her quill, and resumed what she hoped would be at least a moderately successful study period.
It was strange how easily they fell into a, if not easy, at least not uncomfortable, silence and routine. Only the sounds of quills scratching away for the next few hours, like a prisoner marking days on a wall, filled the space between them.
Every so often, Hermione would feel his eyes on her again. Each time she looked up, she found Malfoy reading his text.
"The library is closing," Madam Pince said from the end of the aisle, interrupting their terse, tentative truce.
Startled at the sudden noise, Hermione barely saved her inkwell from spilling onto the essay she spent the last hour or so working on. Malfoy huffed out a laugh, and Hermione shot him a death glare.
"I only need half an hour," Hermione said. "Can I just finish? I don't have any other time."
Madam Pince pursed her lips and crossed her arms, staring down both Malfoy and Hermione. "Rules are rules, even for prefects. You'll have to finish up elsewhere."
Hermione thought of the common grounds in Hogwarts, with students divided on Voldemort's return and actively seeking an argument about it—especially with her, Ron, or Harry.
On the off-chance she didn't run into antagonists, there was always the headmistress, whom Hermione was especially wary. If Umbridge had Harry scar himself in detention, Hermione was certain that Muggleborns were receiving punishments just as grisly.
Umbridge always sought someone to punish.
There was the Gryffindor common room, or even her shared dormitory. Students brimming with energy filled the Gryffindor common room and her dormitory, eager to fight with her or ask for help with their homework.
"I have nowhere else to go." Hermione closed her book.
Malfoy's head shot in her direction. Madam Pince uncrossed her arms, a look of pity crossing her face that made Hermione want to scream.
"As you said, Madam Pince, we're both prefects," Malfoy said. "I'm also head of the Inquisitorial Squad. I think you'll find we are perfectly responsible between the two of us. I'll stay here with Granger to ensure everything is above board."
Madam Pince looked between the two, Malfoy's cool confidence and Hermione's glare at him for stepping in on her behalf.
"I suppose so," she relented. "You will tell no one. Do you understand?"
Hermione's jaw dropped, her shock so profound that she could only nod along with Malfoy, a silent testament to her disbelief.
"Excellent. I will lock the doors. When you're ready to leave, they will lock again behind you. No more than an hour. I mean it."
Without waiting for a response, Pince finished her closing duties.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, bringing her hand up to her chest to relieve the anxiety. Then, she picked her quill up and began furiously finishing her essay, steadfastly ignoring the Slytherin across the table.
In record time, Hermione finished the report. She stretched her aching fingers momentarily before standing and putting the books back in her bag.
Malfoy leaned back, hands behind his head. "You're welcome, by the way."
Hermione looked up and scowled at him.
"I didn't need you to stay." She tossed the leftover parchment scroll into her bag.
Malfoy let out a sarcastic hum. "Pince was about to throw you out on your arse."
"Like you wouldn't want to see that," Hermione fumed.
Malfoy scanned her from head to toe and back.
"Granger." His voice was gravelly. "If you weren't so damn insufferable, I'd tell you exactly how I'd like to see your arse."
Hermione inhaled sharply and glanced away from his intense gaze. She could feel the heat of the blush that was blotting her cheeks.
Did he really—?
No, he couldn't have.
The rumours about his conquests were plentiful at school. How, despite dating Pansy Parkinson, he would have trysts with witches that struck his fancy.
Like usual, despite his pretend nonchalance, Malfoy was cruelly teasing her.
She'd had it.
Thrusting the rest of her things into her bag in a disordered mess she would hate herself for later, Hermione shouldered the pack and spun away.
She tried to be the bigger person.
She tried to ignore the hateful trick he'd just played and move on. To turn the other cheek.
But as soon as she heard his deep chuckle behind her, the rage that was building all year exploded.
She whirled towards him in fury and spat, "I'm surprised you've even thought of my arse, considering you said you never think about a filthy Mudblood like me, right?"
The shock on Malfoy's face at Hermione's use of the slur filled her with adrenaline. She smirked and whirled, ready to make a dramatic exit.
She made three strides when pale, slender fingers wrapped around her wrist and tugged her backwards. Hermione spun so forcefully that her bag slipped from her shoulder to the floor, and she nearly collided with Malfoy's chest. He was breathing heavily, glaring down at her while she sneered back at him.
"That's not what I said," he growled. "Don't put words in my fucking mouth."
Their breaths mingled in the narrow space between them. The air carried his scent—cool peppermint, sharp and clean, mingling with the earthy freshness of freshly cut grass like a lawn just mowed after a summer rain. And then there was the parchment—warm and familiar, tinged with something slightly spicy, like ink drying on a newly written letter.
It was intoxicating, a combination that seemed impossibly him. Hermione's head swam as she caught herself leaning in, her pulse racing without permission.
Merlin, why was she reacting to the smell of parchment like this?
Her eyes flew to Malfoy's face, to his lips, rosy against his pale skin. To his eyes, the light thunderclouds darkening into intense storm clouds.
"You've said it before," she retorted, staring him down. "The intent was clear."
He clamped his lips together, the pressure on her wrist intensifying but not yet causing pain. Malfoy scrutinized her features, his gaze lingering on her face, lips, and eyes before seemingly focusing on her nose, tracing the freckles with his eyes.
"Maybe I didn't mean it," he whispered. "Maybe I meant it. Maybe I don't anymore."
Hermione's brow furrowed. What was he trying to say? He was speaking in riddles.
She rolled her eyes at his attempt to—what? Half-apologize?
"Yeah, and maybe I'm the Queen of England," she retorted with a snort.
Hermione was sick of… whatever this was. She turned to leave, but Malfoy pulled her back. She let out an oomph when they collided chest to chest.
His smell was overpowering, his heat intoxicating.
She closed her eyes, brain warring with her body for control.
Malfoy's finger and thumb grasped her chin, tilting her face towards his. She blinked her eyes open as he stared.
"I didn't mean it. I don't mean it," he confessed like a dying sinner. "I lied before when I said I don't think about you. Salazar, Granger, you're all I fucking think about day in and day out."
Hermione's eyes widened as she gasped.
Malfoy leaned forward like a lover leaning in for a kiss.
She closed her eyes in anticipation. Merlin, did she even want this?
Hermione recalled her brief fling with Viktor Krum the previous year. They snogged a lot; she even slept with him once in a painfully short and underwhelming tryst. Since then, she had foregone anything sexual and focused on school and saving the wizarding world.
But she needn't have worried prematurely as Malfoy pressed their foreheads together, noses skimming each other. Somehow, it was not sexual, but the most sensual thing she had experienced.
Malfoy took a deep breath, either to steady himself or to inhale her essence, before releasing her wrist and taking a step backward.
She had a huge decision, with little time to decide.
Godric, she hadn't wanted him to pull away.
She hadn't felt another body against hers in ages. And although Viktor had been less than stellar, the lead-up was phenomenal. Hermione knew their lack of skill stemmed from inexperience.
But this was Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy.
The boy who teased her for years. The boy who haunted her dreams and her nightmares.
Tonight, she discovered a boy in the moonlit, ancient library who resembled an angel.
Was it wrong for her to be selfish just once before everything changed forever?
Was she allowed this one fraction of girlhood—doing something bad with someone you know is?
Would she regret it? Regret not doing it?
Fuck it.
"What do you think about?" She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Malfoy's eyes shot to her mouth in an instant. "When you think about me every day?"
Malfoy's eyebrows arched in surprise at her forwardness, a confused grin tugging at his mouth — like he couldn't believe she had played along.
"Most of it can't be uttered in polite society."
"Hm." Hermione made a noise similar to the one Viktor always liked as she stepped closer to Malfoy, closing the distance between them. "In that case, I wonder if you should show me?"
Malfoy's jaw slackened as he stared like Hermione was possessed. Someone had swapped out the timid bookworm for something… not the same at all.
Hermione raised her eyebrows in response, daring him to make a move.
His hand snagged her ponytail, yanking her head back to meet his gaze. He'd grown over the summer, now towering over her. His other hand snuck to her waist, keeping her flush against him. Heat ran through her body, warming her core and making her taut.
"You sure?" He asked, searching her face.
Her body felt like molten lava, and he hadn't even kissed her yet.
Yes, yes, yes.
Malfoy's pupils were so blown that his irises were almost entirely black when Hermione realized she had replied aloud.
His lips found hers before she drew her next breath. Melted together, bodies pressed close, time itself seemed to pause.
Every touch sent sparks coursing through Hermione's veins, igniting a fire she never knew existed. Lost in the heat of the moment, she responded with equal fervour, her fingers tangling in Malfoy's white-blond hair as she pulled him closer.
He moaned, turning them and pushing her up against the bookshelf. His hands roamed down her body, untucking her shirt from her skirt as his lips moved from hers, trailing kisses down her neck, nipping at her collarbone.
Hermione moaned, back arching. Her senses reeled as Malfoy's hands roamed over her, igniting a trail of fire wherever they touched.
With a daring move, Hermione's leg instinctively wrapped around his waist, drawing him impossibly closer.
Malfoy cursed.
With a hunger that consumed him, he claimed her lips once more; his kiss filled with a raw intensity that sent shivers down Hermione's spine. His hands trailed a path downward to her bare thigh. The warmth of one of his hands as they caressed the soft, sensitive flesh just before her core had her breaking out in goosebumps, shuddering in anticipation.
"Yes?" he breathed out, his fingers brushing the band of her underwear.
"Merlin, yes," Hermione pleaded.
"That's not the name I want to hear from you," Malfoy teased just as he drew aside her knickers and ran a finger through her sopping core. "You're this wet from being ravished in a library? By someone you detest?"
Hermione cursed and threw her head back as he slid one of his digits inside her.
It had been so long. She wanted this. She needed this.
Malfoy resumed kissing her neck, leaving long, wet marks as his finger continued its ministration. His other free hand found her breast, squeezing and teasing it as he added another finger. Hermione held tightly to his shoulders as she could feel the pressure building, her body tightening like a spring. Her breathing increased to short, rapid breaths as she gripped his shoulders and rode his fingers.
Malfoy let out a moan.
She was on the edge. The precipice.
When Malfoy's fingers slid from her, Hermione let out a sharp breath. The suddenness left her breathless, and her gaze darted in bewilderment.
Malfoy smirked and brought his soaked fingers to his mouth, licking them clean. The pure, domineering sensuality of it almost made her come right there.
"The first time you come, I'm going to be inside of you," Malfoy avowed, a familiar smirk on his lips, shimmering with her slick. "Turn around."
Hermione swallowed hard, but did as he demanded. She turned her back to him, using her hands to brace herself on the ancient bookshelf against the wall. Malfoy's hum of approval sent another warm gush straight to her core. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the sensations.
Hermione heard his trousers open and dropped to the floor. Her hands tightened their hold on the shelf, breathing increasing as he moved closer. Malfoy pushed her skirt up and, with the strength of an athlete, ripped her knickers off. The sudden cold air on her exposed sex made her gasp.
Malfoy ran a hand down her spine, her body arching into him of its own accord. "I want to ruin you."
The head of his member lined up with her, rubbing through her slit and brushing her clit. She couldn't take it anymore. She needed this, needed him like she needed air.
"Then do it."
Malfoy cursed and took her in one powerful thrust. Hermione cried out; he was much larger than she had imagined. It was the most excruciating bliss.
Malfoy's hand came around, covering her mouth.
"We don't want to attract ghosts, do we?" He leaned over and whispered in her ear. Hermione shook her head, and he chuckled, pulling out of her slowly and plunging in again.
His hand captured her moans as he continued, his pace steady and relentless as Hermione felt the pressure growing in her again, the sides of her vision blurring.
"Remember, quiet," Malfoy warned and released her mouth. Using the same hand, he removed one of her arms from the shelf, twisting it behind her and using it as leverage to get deeper and go harder.
"I'm so close," Hermione whimpered, her spine arching as he hit the right spot. "Don't stop."
Malfoy growled, increasing his pace. His free hand came around and pinched one of her nipples through her bra in a shot of pleasure before it reached down and pressed on the bundle of nerves between her legs.
Hermione exploded, legs twitching as she experienced the best orgasm of her life. She may have screamed; it was a blur of passion and pleasure. Malfoy rode her through the orgasm, reaching his completion when she had finished.
"Fuck," he whispered in what felt like a prayer.
A moment of fulfilled silence took hold while they caught their breath, Malfoy still twitching inside her.
He withdrew, leaving Hermione feeling aching, dripping, and empty. She heard him pull up his trousers. Hermione turned back against the bookcase as she adjusted her skirt, studying Malfoy. He braced one arm far above her, breathing hard as he looked down at her. His face flushed, his eyes wide and dark as he gazed at her in awe. His hair was in disarray.
He looked freshly fucked.
Hermione swallowed hard and looked away. "We should get going. Our extra time is almost up."
She could feel Malfoy's eyes scanning her face, but she ducked under his arm and picked up her bag.
"So that's that then?" Malfoy droned, turning and leaning against the shelf. "We had a good romp and got it out of our systems? Reduced some stress from O.W.L. prep?"
"What more could it be?" Hermione jibbed back, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "You're Draco Malfoy, and I'm Hermione Granger."
Malfoy's face turned dark, and he closed the distance between them. Hermione didn't falter as he took her chin in his fingers, tilting her face to look at him. "You're right. I am Draco Malfoy. And I always get what I want."
Hermione's heart sped up again as Malfoy glanced down at her lips, still swollen from their kisses, then back up to her eyes. His lips pursed, and he stepped back, allowing her to breathe again.
He pulled his shoulders back and adopted an air of nonchalance.
"Well, if you ever want help with whatever extra credit work you'll inevitably be working on, let me know." He smirked at her and reached down, grabbing her ruined knickers and pocketing them. "I'll be happy to lend a hand or two."
Flushed, Hermione spat out. "You're a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. You get extra credit for being a snitch and a massive pain in the arse."
"I could deduct house points for you talking to me like that."
"Go ahead, I'll earn more, anyway." Hermione stormed from the library, the remains of what they had done sticky on her legs.
Hermione watched Malfoy from the corner of her eye, pretending to be engrossed in the book splayed open on her lap. Seated across from her, Malfoy maintained his impeccable posture, as always. He wore his familiar mask of cool indifference. Still, she could see the tension simmering beneath the surface—the way his fingers tapped on the arm of the chair, the muscle twitching in his jaw as he struggled to keep his composure.
She smiled, her gaze dipping back to her book, though she couldn't focus on the words. Her mind was replaying their last encounter, the way he had crumbled under her touch, all that icy control melting away. She could still hear the ragged breaths he'd taken, could still feel the way his body had trembled beneath her hands as if he were unravelling thread by thread.
She wanted to learn how to get under his skin and chip away at the marble exterior he wore like armour until he was nothing but raw, exposed nerves. His arrogance shattered in the space between them. She wanted to know where to touch, where to whisper, how to graze her teeth along the sensitive skin of his neck until his breath hitched, his eyes darkened, and his perfect composure cracked.
And oh, how she loved watching him crack.
She shifted in her chair, slowly crossing her legs, knowing his eyes were on her. His gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary, his hand clenching into a fist, as if fighting to hold back a touch. It thrilled her, knowing she had power over him.
"Something wrong, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice light, innocent, as if she didn't notice the tension coiling in his frame, the way he was staring at her like a man on the edge of losing control.
He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he struggled to maintain that aloofness, that damn pride that always tried to shield him.
"Not at all, Granger." His voice was just a touch strained, just a shade too tight. "Though I'm beginning to wonder if you enjoy putting on a show."
She glanced up, letting her lips curl into a small, knowing smile.
"And if I do?" she murmured, a spark of challenge in her eyes. She could see how his breath hitched, the internal war waging behind his eyes, and she revelled in it.
For all his bravado, his aristocratic coolness, she knew the truth. She knew the carefully constructed facade hid a man at her mercy, undone by the right look, touch, and whisper.
She relished the power her touch or a tilt of her head had over Draco Malfoy.
"You shouldn't play with fire, witch," Malfoy warned, his body poised to pounce.
"You can always sit somewhere else," Hermione offered, motioning towards the rest of the library. "There are plenty of empty seats."
Draco's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile flickering before his eyes hardened again. His gaze stripped her bare, revealing her core.
"Perhaps I like the view." His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees, his posture deceptively casual. "Or perhaps I'm just waiting to see how long you can keep up this little game before you get burned."
Hermione's heart quickened, but she refused to let it show. She met his gaze head-on, her smile widening, her confidence unwavering.
"I think you're the one who's afraid of getting burned, Malfoy," she teased, her voice soft but steady. "Afraid that you won't be able to handle the heat?"
His eyes flashed, lips parting as if to retort, and then he stilled, studying her, trying to understand. His jaw clenched, and she could see his restraint fraying at the edges, see the desire flickering in his stormy gaze.
He seemed to hesitate, almost ready to leave, then moved.
In one swift motion, he rose from his chair and closed the distance between them. Before she could react, he had her backed against the table, his body crowding into her space, his hands braced on either side of her. His breath was hot against her ear, and she could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the raw intensity of his presence overwhelming her senses.
"If I didn't know better," he whispered, his voice a low, velvety growl, "I'd say you enjoy pushing me to my limits, Granger. But let me warn you… I'm not as patient as you seem to think I am."
She felt her pulse quicken as his words sent a thrill through her. She was acutely aware of the proximity of his lips, the way his breath ghosted over her skin, and she knew she was treading dangerous ground. But she also knew she had him right where she wanted him. She looked up. Defiance and something hotter, something deeper, darkened her eyes.
"Maybe I'd like to see you lose control," she whispered back, her voice soft but unwavering, her breath brushing against his lips. She tilted her chin up, closing the gap between them just enough to feel the heat of his mouth. "Maybe I like knowing I can make you lose it."
His breath hitched, and for a moment, there was nothing but the tension between them, thick and palpable, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. Then, with a low growl, Draco's restraint shattered. He closed the distance between them, capturing her mouth in a fierce, desperate kiss, his hands slipping from the table to her waist, pulling her against him.
Hermione responded immediately, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, her body arching into his. She could feel him coming undone under her touch, feel the way his hands trembled as they roamed over her back, pulling her tighter, deeper.
His teeth grazed her bottom lip, making her gasp. His hand moved to the back of her neck, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss, his other hand slipping around her waist, anchoring her to him.
"Careful, Granger," he muttered against her mouth, his voice rough and breathless. "You might just find out what happens when I lose control."
Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, but she wasn't afraid. She thrived on this—on the fire, intensity, and knowing that she could make Draco Malfoy, the proud, arrogant prince of Slytherin, unravel completely. She pressed closer, her body moulded against his, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Then show me," she dared, her lips brushing his, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Show me what happens when you let go.
He didn't need any more encouragement. His lips claimed hers again, this time with a ferocity that left her breathless, his hands roaming over her curves, claiming every inch of her as his. She could feel the heat building between them, could feel the way his body trembled with barely restrained desire, and she knew she'd won. She had pierced his defenses, brought him to the precipice, and there was no turning back.
And as they stood there, tangled together in the hidden corner of the library, lost in each other, Hermione couldn't help the surge of pride that filled her chest.
She had him—this proud, impossible boy—coming undone in her hands.
She refused to let go.
One time was an accident. A careless mistake that they let themselves get swept up by.
Twice, Hermione could even rationalize it as a convenient way to let off steam.
But it kept happening.
Broom cupboards, under the stands of the Quidditch pitch, empty classroomsanywhere they accidentally ran into each other. It was a moment of ravenous chaos, and they found the nearest semi-private space to vent their frustrations using their bodies.
In the blurry hazes before and afterward, they shared secrets and memories while talking for a few moments.
Malfoy loved Quidditch. It wasn't just a competition for him because of Harry. He loved Quidditch since he was old enough to say broomstick. He had one as a toddler, drifting a few feet off the manor's floor, pretending he was far in the sky.
While they waited for Peeves to leave the area once, she'd confided in him that her parents were dentists. Then, she explained the dental profession at length.
They found themselves stuck in a tiny office inside an empty classroom, with plenty of time to spare. Two like-minded Ravenclaws occupied the adjacent classroom and blocked the only exit for an hour. With no other options, they cast Muffliato and began to chat, their voices filling the small space as they exchanged thoughts.
This explains that, in Hermione's mind, it wasn't odd that she found herself in the Slytherin boys' fifth-year dormitory, Malfoy's curtains drawn tight and heavily charmed against opening for anyone other than him.
And a powerful muffliato added.
It's also how she knew he'd be the only one here in about five minutes.
The rest of the fifth-years were going to Hogsmeade. Malfoy let it slip that he wasn't going. Having the room alone was rare, and he wanted to enjoy it.
So, she thought she'd let him enjoy it more.
Harry and Ron didn't question her wanting to stay at the castle. They assumed she'd be studying. She didn't want to think of their reaction if they discovered her true intentions.
Luckily, Theodore Nott, alarmed when Hermione approached him, was loose with the Slytherin password. A few smiles, and she had him eating out of her palm.
The door opened and shut. Hermione smiled to herself, readjusting her position.
On one side of the bed, curtains ripped open. Hermione's smile grew wicked as she caught the look of disbelief on Malfoy's face.
He stared at her briefly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
His brain couldn't marry the Gryffindor Princess lying atop a four-poster bed in only a matching lingerie set. A joke gift from Ginny at Christmas.
Shaking his head, Malfoy's tongue darted out to his lips. "I know I should care about the reason you're naked in my bed, but I don't."
Hermione's smile widened, a playful glint dancing in her eyes as she watched the conflict play out on Malfoy's face. His shock gave way to something darker, sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine.
She arched an eyebrow, her body shifting atop his bed, the soft fabric of the green Slytherin silk sheets brushing against her bare skin.
"Good," she purred, her voice low and teasing, "because I don't intend to explain myself."
Malfoy's eyes darkened as he stepped closer, his gaze devouring every inch of her.
"Merlin, Granger," he muttered, his voice rough with desire. "You are full of surprises."
She bit her bottom lip, her confidence surging as she saw the effect she was having on him. She knew she was stepping into dangerous territory, but was tired of holding back. She wanted him, and for once, she wouldn't pretend otherwise.
"Are you just going to stand there, Malfoy?" she replied, her tone both challenging and inviting.
His lips curled into a slow, wicked grin, and he closed the remaining distance between them, the bed dipping under his weight as he leaned over her. She could feel the heat radiating off him, his presence enveloping her, making her pulse quicken. She reached up, her fingers trailing along his jawline, feeling the tension beneath his skin.
"And here I thought the Golden Girl was all about rules," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "But here you are, breaking into the Slytherin dormitory, half-dressed in my bed. I'd say you're not playing fair, Granger."
Her breath hitched at how he said her name—low and filled with promises of things she'd only dared to imagine. She tilted her head up, her lips brushing his. "I've never played fair. I play to win."
He groaned, his lips capturing hers in a searing kiss, and she melted into it, her hands threading through his hair and pulling him closer. The heat of his lips against hers was electrifying, a spark that ignited something deep inside her. She could feel his hands moving, exploring, one slipping around her waist, the other tangling in her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss.
Their kiss, charged with years of tension, swallowed the world around them. The past, others' opinions, didn't matter right now. All she cared about was this moment, the feel of his body pressing against hers, the way his mouth moved over her like he was trying to memorize every taste, every touch.
Malfoy pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes were heavy-lidded, filled with a raw intensity that made her heart race.
"You're driving me mad, you know that?" His lips brushed hers with every word.
"Good." Hermione's lips curved into a sly smile. "You probably deserve it."
He chuckled, a dark, amused sound that thrilled her. He used his wand to close the drapes, tossing it across the bed when he finished.
"Then I suppose it's only fair I return the favour," he whispered before capturing her lips again, this time slower, deeper, his hands trailing down her sides, igniting a trail of fire everywhere he touched.
She gasped against his mouth, arching into his touch, her body responding to him in a way that felt instinctive. She could feel his weight against her, the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his clothes, and she wanted more.
She wanted everything.
Their kisses grew more fervent, more demanding, and Hermione's hands moved to the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. Malfoy pulled back just enough to let her strip it off him. Heat radiated from his skin under her hands, muscles tense and coiled like a spring. She couldn't help but let her fingers explore, feeling the strength there, the power that came with every flex and shift of his body.
Malfoy's eyes never left hers, his gaze dark with desire and something deeper, something that made her feel exposed in a way she wasn't used to. Vulnerable, yet exhilarated.
"Tell me," he murmured, his lips brushing against her neck, "tell me this isn't a dream."
She shivered at his breath against her skin, her nails digging into his shoulders. "It's not a dream," she whispered.
He groaned, his lips trailing down her throat, his hands slipping beneath the straps of her lingerie and sliding them down her arms.
"Good," he breathed, his voice husky. "Because you're mine now."
Their surrender erased barriers, fears, and doubts, consumed by the powerful immediacy of their need.
Their bodies moved together as if they'd done this a hundred times before, perfectly synchronized like they were made for this—made for each other.
Hermione's face pressed against the cool stone of the abandoned classroom, her breath coming in quick gasps as Malfoy's hand slid down her spine. Sweat and arousal hung heavy in the air, making her head swim and her body ache with want. Her uniform was in disarray, buttons missing, and her bra exposed. Her skirt was pushed up around her hips. But she couldn't bring herself to care as Malfoy's skilful touch sent shivers of pleasure through every inch of her body.
He cursed under his breath as he entered her, and Hermione let out a guttural moan, arching her back as he reached deeper within her. With each powerful thrust, she felt herself teetering closer to the edge, her mind consumed by the overwhelming sensations coursing through her.
His fingers discovered the sweet spot, guiding her to a pulsating climax. She saw stars behind her closed eyelids as she rode out the waves of ecstasy, trembling as Malfoy caught her in his arms. For that moment, she only existed in the bliss that he had given her.
Breathless and whimpering, Hermione was coming down from her high as Malfoy pulled out and reached his release shortly after. They were both flushed and gasping for air as Hermione straightened and turned to face him, adjusting her clothing.
Luckily, she'd worn her woollen vest today. It would hide the gaps in her shirt from the missing buttons.
When the high of their climax faded, reality crept back in. Their time together was brief, a stolen moment in time. With a heavy heart, Hermione knew they would have to go their separate ways, back to their individual lives.
She knew this couldn't last, like all things too good to be true.
Malfoy pulled back, his hand lingering at her waist, his fingers trailing along the fabric of her blouse as if memorizing the feel of her. His eyes, normally so guarded and cold, were softer now, more open. There was a shadow there, too. An awareness that this couldn't go on. They were tempting fate each time they found themselves tangled up in each other.
"We shouldn't keep doing this," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "You know we can't keep meeting like this, Granger."
Hermione's chest tightened at his words. She'd told herself the same thing countless times: that this was madness, that they were playing with fire. He'd reappear each time she considered leaving, flooding her with emotions.
She reached up, brushing a lock of his tousled hair from his face, her fingers lingering at his temple.
"But we keep coming back, don't we?" Her voice tinged with a bittersweet smile.
He closed his eyes, her touch a lifeline he couldn't hold or release.
"Maybe that's the problem," he said.
Hermione's hand stilled against his cheek. She knew he was right. She knew that what they'd been doing—what they were doing—was impossible. They clung to something fleeting, wild, like lightning trapped in a jar.
And now, that light was dimming.
"You think this is a mistake?" Her eyes searched his.
She didn't know what she wanted to hear. She wanted him to take it back but also needed him to confirm it. Confirm what she was too afraid to admit herself.
Malfoy's gaze softened, his hand reaching up to cover hers, pressing it against his cheek.
"I think," he began, his voice rough with emotion, "that I wanted to believe it wasn't."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and thick with everything they'd shared and everything left unsaid. Hermione felt his grip tighten around hers, and the conflict in his eyes mirrored her own.
He didn't want to let go.
She leaned in, pressing her forehead against his, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.
They stayed close, holding onto each other. Hoping time would stop as if they could capture the last flickers of their stolen moments together.
Malfoy pulled away first, his hand slipping from her waist, his touch lingering just a second too long.
"We need to go," he said, his voice steadier now, more resolved. "Before someone finds us. Before we make any more mistakes."
Hermione nodded, biting her lip to keep from saying something she'd regret, like, don't go.
She knew better. She knew they couldn't keep doing this.
"Yeah," she whispered. "I know."
He gave her one last look, his eyes lingering on her face, his expression a mix of everything he couldn't say. He slipped out of the room, footsteps echoing silence.
Hermione watched him go, her heart heavy, her mind spinning with what had just happened. She pressed her back against the wall, closing her eyes, trying to steady herself.
Like all things too wild to be contained, it was gone—slipped through her fingers like sand, leaving her with nothing but the memory of its light.
Standing alone, feeling his warmth disappear, she understood. Some things, some people, were impossible to keep.
Some things had to be let go.