Shielded

“Let’s drive for one more hour and then find somewhere to pull over,” Granger announced, turning down the music she had been playing. Draco looked at her phone, which he had learned constantly displayed the time in the corner, and seeing it was getting close to 5, nodded his consent. According to Granger, they had recently passed Leeds, and were heading northward now.

Having gotten a response from him, she turned the music back up, and continued singing a song about milkshakes (he remembered learning about the Muggle drinks when he was doing research but somehow he didn’t think this song was about the same thing). She was dancing very distractingly, and Draco had to concentrate hard on the book in his lap to keep himself from staring. In general, he has been having a lot of trouble not overly focusing on her. Ever since this morning, he has been thinking about kissing her. No, not thinking – obsessing.

In fact, he hadn’t even been reading his book for the last half hour at all, and had instead simply been using it as a prop to hide his ruminations. He has, in truth, been fighting a battle inside of himself – namely, was kissing Granger an option?

First of all, would she allow it? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t know how to assess whether she had any interest. Other than some passing compliments and the hug, she hadn’t done anything to indicate that she even might view him as anything other than a friend. And to be frank, even the hug was most likely a sign of friendship, and he was just so pathetically drawn to her that his overactive imagination misinterpreted it. He had tried to review the moment they shared after their showdown with Deacon John the previous night, and while he remembered feeling a feral desire to… do something to her (Touch her? Well, yes, but that seemed like too small a word for his feelings), he had unfortunately been too overwhelmed to fully process if she had reacted similarly before running to… hide in the bathroom. He huffed to himself, racking his mind to review their interactions.

Well, she had mentioned that she had been ogling his forearms, he remembered suddenly, cheering up considerably. She had told him he had nice forearms. And ogling, he reminded himself, was a sign of attraction. Draco knew he was generally considered good looking, but he desperately wanted to be sure she thought so, too. He glanced at her sidelong, watching her bounce and sing obliviously.

If only he hadn’t gotten so self conscious right away, he could’ve paid attention to what Ogling Granger looked like so he’d know to watch for it again. Surreptitiously, he pushed the sleeves of his jumper up to his elbows before holding onto either side of his book. In a moment of sudden inspiration, he grasped the book a bit tighter than was strictly necessary, making his forearms flex, remembering that Granger had been watching him when he was cutting with the knife. Maybe that had added to it.

He watched Granger from his periphery, and felt gratified when he saw her begin to glance at his exposed forearms.

“Are you warm? Should I turn the air up?”

Oh, maybe not.

“Just a bit, but that’s alright, I’m comfortable like this” he said, trying to to sound blase, keeping his head turned down at his book to hide the blush he felt warming his cheeks.

“Okay, well tell me if you change your mind.”

He hummed at this, and Granger went back to her songs. Still feeling a bit flushed, it took him a moment to notice she was still looking at him. He held his breath, trying to make sure it wasn’t too obvious that he was paying attention, and– yes! There! Granger’s eyes were perusing his arms, he was sure of it! He sat up straight, and saw her guiltily look back at the road. Draco suppressed a smirk.

Point Draco, he thought smugly. Not only did he now have verification that she liked at least something about his appearance, he’d make sure to remember the darting looking as being a sign of Granger ogling him. Excellent.

But separate from the issue of whether she’d permit a kiss, he was also wrestling with a personal conundrum – would this be teetering toward breaking his vow of celibacy? When he had made the vow, the spirit of it had been one of abstaining from women overall, but, well… he hadn’t known Granger as well then as he did now. Had he gotten to know her before, he was sure he wouldn’t have been so adamant about swearing off women entirely. He just hadn’t understood the overwhelming pull a woman could have over oneself.

No, he told himself, a kiss would be fine. The vow of celibacy, at its core, was about withholding from procreating. Kissing wouldn’t threaten that. And, he thought as inspiration struck him again, maybe kissing would diminish this fascination he had with Granger. Yes, that made sense. He was sure that it was the novelty of his feelings that was making them more intense than they inherently were. Having not experienced anything like this before, he was bound to be caught on the prospect alone. If he kissed her, he’d see it was nothing special. The curiosity would be addressed, and he’d return to having the control and restraint he’d had throughout the rest of his life.

Now that that was sorted out, he was faced with a new challenge: how does one go about kissing a woman? The mechanics were fortunately straightforward enough, but having never wooed anyone in any capacity, he wasn’t particularly confident about how to get to the point that the mechanics could be employed. Until then, he had always been presented with willing women, and had been the one to turn them down. He’d never had to go and pursue one of them. He tried to wrack his brain about how his friends had managed it.

Though, he conceded to himself, approaching Granger in the current setting would probably be slightly different anyway. She most likely wouldn’t be expecting a request of this sort, so it wasn’t like subtle hints would be likely to give him resounding success. She probably wouldn’t even pick up on them, or if she did, it would be most likely because he’d made such a fool of himself that she couldn’t help but notice it. He couldn’t have that.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the car slowing, and he looked up to see they had pulled in by an inn.

“This look okay?” asked Granger, turning off the car. He glanced outside at the building looming over them.

“Yep, looks good to me.”

With an absent nod, she got out, and together they pulled their luggage out of the boot and walked to reception so Granger could place the reservations.

“How many?” asked the surly teenager chomping on gum at the front desk.

“Two rooms, please,” requested Granger.

Two?? Suddenly, Draco saw a gaping hole in his mission to kiss Granger. He had gotten so accustomed to them being in close proximity from the past two nights that he had completely forgotten that they would be parting ways again now. No, this was unacceptable, he decided, remembering how they had spent all their downtime completely isolated from each other before. His brain frantically tried to come up with a solution as they walked through the lobby and up the stairs.

“So, dinner – should we go somewhere, or do you want to experience takeaway?” She asked, absentmindedly opening his room for him.

Ah, an opportunity! “Let’s do takeaway,” he said, trying to sound casual before adding, “We can eat at yours and then begin researching the things we got at Maeve’s.”

If she found anything strange about this request, she didn’t show it. “Sounds good,” she said. “Any wishes for food? Otherwise I can order something for us.”

“I’m sure I’ll like whatever you choose,” he said honestly. “I’ll need to shower first, but then I’ll come over.”

“Alright, I’ll see you then,” she said, smiling at him briefly before going into her own room, completely unaware of the butterflies she sent coursing through his entire body.

–

After spending way too long deliberating, Hermione ended up ordering Chinese (a classic, and also one of the only three options), which she picked up from down the street 15 minutes after ordering it. She glanced at her watch and saw that Malfoy would be coming over in the next 10-20 minutes, so she left her door unlocked before grabbing some clothes (she was elated to finally have an alternative to the pajamas she’d been wearing so far) and heading to shower as well.

She ended up washing her hair, and therefore wasn’t surprised when, by the time she came out, Malfoy was already there, inspecting the food she had laid out. He looked up when she appeared, and she smiled at him brightly.

“I present to you: Chinese food,” she announced ostentatiously. “Or, well, the British version of it,” she amended, seating herself on the couch so that Malfoy could sit more comfortably on the stool that had been in the corner of her room. Not knowing what Malfoy would like, she had gotten a variety, so she was gratified to see him enthusiastically try some of everything. They turned on the TV in her room, and casually watched a segment of an American crime show before Malfoy said,

“Do they have the cooking channel you watched?”

“Hmm?” she asked, slurping up lo mein noodles.

“You mentioned before that you learned to cook by watching cooking channels. Does this have a cooking channel?”

“Probably,” she admitted, switching channels until she found one. “Here! This is one.”

Surprisingly, Malfoy seemed more invested in this than the crime show, watching with immersion as the contestants competed over who could make the most inventive dishes.

“Wizards need this,” he opined suddenly. “This sort of competitive entertainment. Why don’t wizards have TVs?”

Hermione shrugged. “Probably anti-Muggle sentiments. I’m sure it’ll eventually reach the wizarding community.”

“We should do it!” he said decisively. “Develop a way to make TVs accessible to the magical world! I’m sure with your brains and my money we could come up with something.”

She laughed at this. “As shocking as it might be to hear, I actually don’t know enough about the inner workings of TVs to be able to build one that’s powered by magic, and I don’t think the magical world will be installing electricity in their homes any time soon.”

“Well they would if they saw this!” Malfoy insisted, waving a dumpling at a young girl presenting a pasta dish with candied beetles in it.

Hermione scrunched her nose. “Maybe this can be your new cause to champion, once you’re free from the remnants of your prior one,” she joked, but Malfoy just looked at her thoughtfully, as if considering it.

She huffed a laugh, and having eaten her fill, stood up to go to her vanity, where she sat down to begin brushing her mostly-dry hair. She could feel the weight of Malfoy watching her as she parted it down the middle, getting ready to plait the first side.

“You know I can plait,” he announced suddenly. She saw from the reflection in the mirror that he was putting his food down and wiping his hands.

“Oh?” she said politely, unsure of why he was bringing this up.

He nodded seriously. “I learned when I was studying advanced potion making under house arrest. Some of the more challenging potions required unicorn mane and kelpie strands to be plaited for proper use.”

“Well, if I break my hand and can’t do it myself, you’ll be the first person I’ll call up to help me.” She said it as a joke, but was shocked to see him nod solemnly.

She then saw his reflection hesitate, as if gathering courage to do something big, before he said, “Would you let me try plaiting your hair now?”

Oh. “Sure! Just be prepared, it isn’t quite like unicorn mane and kelpie strands,” she quipped.

“I know,” he responded seriously again, before standing slowly and walking over to her side, his gaze almost reverently locked on her hair. 

He stopped at the side where she had already sectioned the three strands for plaiting, and she saw him hesitate. The predatory look he’d been wearing all day was amplified as he slowly raised one trembling hand to wrap it around one of the strands and run his hand along it. The action stole her breath for some reason. 

In contrast, Malfoy’s chest seemed to be moving almost comically fast. She saw him part his lips to take a steadying breath, chest heaving once, before he raised his other hand beside the first one, assuming a plaiting position.

Once he was ready, he began the plaiting process, but was doing it at a dramatically slow rate, almost savoring each and every time the strands moved between his fingers. He was absorbed, deeply invested in the careful placement of each strand. Where Hermione rushed through the process and ignored mistakes, Malfoy luxuriated in his progress, fixing any imperfections immediately and running his thumb along the length of the forming plait periodically. For her part, Hermione couldn’t look away from his face. She had never felt so… precious before, as she did now under his ministrations. The experience was making her want to squirm, and not in an unpleasant way.

When he finished the first plait, he ran his hand along it one time, and she heard the hiss of his exhale, almost like he was submerging himself in a hot bath after a cold day. He then moved to her other side. 

It was only at that moment that Hermione saw his body in full, and almost let out a gasp when the new angle exposed that the front of Malfoy’s pajama trousers were fully tented. Was he… aroused by this? The subtle bubbly pleasant feeling in her stomach erupted in full, coursing through her and heating her under her skin. She felt a familiar tingling between her legs, and immediately clamped her thighs together.

Malfoy, completely unaware of her inner turmoil, gathered the other side of her hair to part it as well, the motion making his fingers brush the back of her ear. She swallowed down a groan. What was happening??

Like before, he began the arduous process of slowly, painstakingly plaiting her hair, but rather than just being a bit warm, Hermione now felt herself burning up. Every time she calmed a bit, her eyes were drawn to the front of his trousers, and her own arousal flared back up. She began overly focusing on breathing calmly, and glanced at herself in the mirror to the mortifying discovery that she was completely flushed.

It was at that moment that Malfoy, almost reluctantly, tied off the second plait, running his hand against it reverently while letting out a deep exhale. She quietly mirrored it, trying to calm her ardor. He looked up to make eye contact with her in the mirror. His eyes were wild, and seeing them made her feel out of control. They just looked at each other for a moment.

“Hermione?” he said finally, breaking eye contact and stepping back. After a pause, she turned in her seat to look at him.

“Yeah?”

He looked at her. “Could I… could I kiss you?”

She forgot how to breathe. “... Why?”

He flushed at this. “Um, well you had mentioned that kissing… can be different from what I’ve experienced so far–” that wasn’t exactly how she had put it, but she appreciated his careful phrasing “– and I’d like to understand what you meant.”

Ah, so this was for research purposes. She felt her heart drop a bit in disappointment, but she could still understand. She imagined she’d be similar if she were in his position.

“I’d like your experience in showing me what I’m meant to be missing,” he reiterated, almost like he wanted to be doubly sure she hadn’t misunderstood. She felt her breath catch, the familiar strange pleasure at him asking her to teach him something overtaking her. His eyes drifted, looking at her plaits before returning to her eyes, his gaze scorching.

“Yes, of course,” she said before she second guessed herself. She would like to kiss him, after all.

He stopped breathing for a moment, apparently so shocked by her agreement that he forgot his need for air. They looked at each other for a moment.

“So, are you gonna do it?” Hermione had meant to sound challenging, in charge, knowledgeable, but the question came out breathy and seductive.

Nonetheless, it spurred him into action, and he lurched toward her. Knowing he probably wouldn’t enjoy her touch, she stayed seated, hands in her lap, and after a moment, he leaned forward, bracing his arms against the desk behind her from both sides. She felt all the air rush out of her. Although unintentional, the position was one of masculine dominance, and she felt her lust soar in response.

He lowered himself so his face was level with hers, and leaned in, but then paused a short distance away, gazing at her up close now. He seemed to slowly assess her expression, first scanning the blush on her face, then flicking between her eyes, before finally landing on her lips. Her gaze remained fixed on his, mesmerized by the storm within his eyes, very aware of the fact that she was panting and completely unable to control it.

The anticipation built between them. Unable to take it any longer, she tilted up her chin, snapping the tension. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his lips against hers in a chaste, close lipped kiss. Despite it generally being quite reserved, they both groaned into it, and Hermione had to sit on her hands to keep herself from grabbing his face.

Almost reluctantly, he pulled back.

“So that’s what I’m supposed to have been missing?” he huffed. She could tell he was trying to sound unaffected and dismissive, and had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes humorously. Did he think she couldn’t see how dilated his pupils were? How deep his breathing was? The color in his cheeks? She had heard him groan, after all.

“Well…” she said slowly, “it depends a bit on what you wanted to experience. That was more of a kiss that a married couple gives each other in greeting than… than a lover’s kiss of passion. There’s more of an art to that.”

Ugh, why did she sound so formal?? She knew it was the nerves, but it was she who knew what she was doing, dammit. She should be able to manage the situation better. She had the upper hand, not him!

“I want that,” he demanded, sounding almost obstinate, challenging her to deny him. 

She nodded slowly. “We can do that, but to make it… enjoyable, I’ll probably need to touch you. Is that alright?”

He huffed out a breath that almost sounded like a whine, and she squirmed in responses.

“Yes, that alright,” he responded, noticing her expectant expression.

“Okay, get up then.” He righted himself instantly, and she stood up too. “I’ll start it. Just… do whatever feels right,” she said, feeling a bit unqualified to provide instruction.

“What if you don’t like what I do?” he asked, and she was strangely touched by his consideration.

“Then I’ll tell you. And you tell me if I do something you don’t like in return.”

He nodded, his eyes wide and eager. Her heart did an affectionate flip. The slightly nervous air to him gave her the courage she needed to step close to him and, grabbing his face between her hands, pull him down to gently slot their lips against each other. He groaned lightly, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. She kissed him like this a few times before opening her lips a bit more, and granting his bottom lip access between hers. She sucked it, ever so slightly, and ran her tongue along it. He gasped.

“That good?” she breathed against him, making sure he still liked what was happening.

“Again,” he urged her. A rumbling noise emanated from his chest when she bit a bit more firmly and pulled. At the sound, she pounced. 

She slid her tongue into his mouth, feeling the slide of his tongue against hers. He moaned against her so loudly she felt it run through her, and his hands, which had been tentatively resting against her hips, wrapped around her in a passionate embrace, pressing her flush against him. She moaned back, and her hands moved back to run through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling it slightly, and she couldn’t tell if it was the moan or tug, but he responded with overwhelming fervor.

Mouth moving against hers, he mirrored the movements she had shown him, running his own tongue inside her mouth, biting her lip, sucking it. One of his hands moved from her back to her head, laying flush between her two braids and pressing her face hard against his. 

Hermione felt wild, hands running over his chest, his shoulders, his biceps, his stomach, and he shuddered at the contact. Unable to take the lack of friction any longer, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pushed him down into the seat behind her. He whimpered in pleasure, and she followed him down to straddle his lap.

“This okay?” she asked hoarsely.

“Yesss,” he moaned, grabbing her hips to more securely pull her against his ridge, mouth overtaking hers again. Her fingers ran along his forearms, tracing the veins protruding from them with a slight whimper. She moaned and panted, feeling wanton, hands running all over him and hips grinding against his, chasing her own pleasure. 

Suddenly, she gained lucidity long enough to realize what she was doing, and pulled back. 

“Draco,” she panted, leaning her forehead against his, “Draco, we need to stop.”

“Why?” he rasped back, hands gripping her hips hard, urging her to continue her movements.

“I… I’m feeling out of control. And don’t want to do anything you don’t want.”

He looked at her confused. “What do you mean?”

“I’m very wound up right now,” she confessed, “and it’s heading beyond kissing at an alarming rate. I… I propose we pause for the time being, and give ourselves some time to recover.”

She was sure there was a reason she shouldn’t want to progress in this moment, even if she couldn’t remember it just then. She trusted her gut. There was something that had to be discussed first.

He looked at her petulantly.

“We can revisit this later if we want to,” she reassured breathlessly, but if it was more to sate him or her, she wasn’t sure. She inhaled deeply, and then chuckled wryly, trying to dispel the depth of emotion coursing through her. “I told you there was an art to it.”

Deciding they could do with some distance, she lifted herself up off his lap, and he made an involuntary noise of displeasure in his throat, hands briefly squeezing at her hips before letting go and slumping back in the seat, huffing out a breath of air.

“So,” she said, trying to sound conversational instead of aroused, “what did you think?”

He looked at her strangely. “Well, I have nothing to compare it to, obviously, so my sample size is small, but you’re right, definitely different than kissing my great-aunt.”

She inclined her head at this, but before she could respond, he spoke up again,

“And how did I do?”

She looked at him surprised. He wanted her feedback?? She inspected him, and he still had his petulant expression, but when she looked closer, she could see the vulnerability in his eyes. Oh…

“You did very well,” she confirmed, trying to come across as pragmatic. He had been clear that this was for research purposes, and didn’t want to let her own feelings towards him distort her understanding. “You learned quickly, and applied it well. You also leaned on your instincts, which was… appealing. You had a great balance between asserting yourself and granting me control. All in all, you’re a natural, and any woman would be very happy kissing you.” She smiled at him encouragingly at this last statement, but he looked displeased.

“Were you happy kissing me?” he insisted, surprising her.

“Of course,” she said, unsure why he fixated on this. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have been so overwhelmed I would feel the need to stop.”

He nodded at this slowly, intense eyes still boring into her. 

“Is it always like this?” He bit the question out like he was scared to know the answer. For a brief, ridiculous moment, Hermione almost got the impression that he sounded jealous, but being she didn’t even understand the question, had no idea why that would be the case.

“What do you mean?”

“Is kissing always so…” his sentence drifted off, and he used his hands to gesture at his overall rumpled disposition. Inspecting him like this slightly heated her again.

“Well, I can’t speak for everyone obviously, but based on my conversations with friends and such–”

“I meant for you.”

“Oh. Well…” she inhaled deeply, unsure how honest she should be. Figuring that as he was relying on her experience, she owed him the truth. She forged forward, “No. For me it… it isn’t always like this.”

She paused.

“It’s… uh… it’s never been like this, actually,” she admitted, avoiding eye contact and blushing. She added with a murmur, “Like I said, you’re a natural.”

She glanced at him, and he looked inordinately pleased with himself. She rolled her eyes, but smiled at him shyly, and he beamed back at her.

“And you said we can do it again?”

She faltered. “Yes, if you’d like to.” He nodded vigorously, and she blushed, pleased.

“Okay, well, in that case I’ll go to bed so ‘again’ comes sooner,” he announced, and she laughed, shaking her from her strange, self-conscious mood. He stood up and began gathering the forgotten leftovers from their dinner, tossing the empty dishes in the trash and wiping down the table surface. 

She watched, dazed, as he moved around with complete ease. How was it that she was the one too flummoxed to function, and he was the one peacocking around from the fact that he had put her in this state??

Because you have feelings for him that he doesn’t for you, a small, mean voice said in her head. Shut up, she told the voice. She liked kissing him, and she had stopped the situation from escalating to the point that she was taking pleasure from him that he wasn’t looking to give. She was allowed to enjoy herself – she just had to be mindful of the dynamic.

Having finished his fussing, Malfoy turned to look at her once more, and smiled almost conspiratorially, like they shared a secret that he was happy others didn’t know about. She blushed.

He stepped toward her, and after pausing for a moment, leaned down to kiss her cheek chastely. Despite the passionate snogging they had partaken in moments ago (or perhaps because of it), she completely lost her breath at the gesture, and simply gaped at him. He smiled softly, almost as if unaware that he was doing it, and looked at her for a moment before saying,

“Thank you, Granger.”

“Hermione,” she said suddenly, shaking herself of her stupor.

“What?”

“I’d like for you to call me Hermione.” She wasn’t sure where the demand came from, but it felt right.

His smile widened. “Then you should call me Draco.” She nodded her assent. He turned and made his way to the door.

“Good night, Draco.”

“Good night, Hermione,” he responded, looking at her one more time before shutting the door behind him.