Proud To Be His

Hermione- June 1998

‘That’s enough Mr Malfoy!’

Professor McGonagall’s voice cut through the haze Hermione had found herself in yet again as she was crowded up against the wall of the Transfiguration classroom by Draco.

Her eyes snapped open and she pushed him off in a panic, hearing his frustrated exhale into her ear as he reluctantly took a step back, his hands held up by his sides.

‘You leave that poor girl alone.’ McGonagall’s tone was stern, aimed at Draco as if she hadn’t been able to see Hermione’s hands fisted into his hair, pulling him harder against her, her leg brought up and wrapped around his hip.

Draco and Hermione had snuck into class early, Draco pulling Hermione by her hand, his face set, determined to find a few moments alone before their classmates arrived.

He had dragged her in and pushed her back into a dark corner, his lips instantly finding hers, his body covering her completely as his hands roamed over the top of her robes, his fingers doing incredible things to her, even through her clothes.

Their passion was instantly stoked, the delicious scent of him overwhelming Hermione as she was pinned between Draco and the wall, her chest heaving, her knickers instantly wet.

The feel of him, so hard against her hip, made her feel like she was losing control, the knowledge of how badly he wanted her made her want to break all the rules, something she’d never thought she would do.

But the sound of the professor's voice was like a bucket of ice cold water over Hermione’s head, bringing her instantly back to her senses.

‘S- sorry professor,’ she stuttered, trying frantically to smooth her hair down, darting her tongue out to lick the taste of Draco from her lips.

He now stood a foot away, looking positively furious, his jaw clenched, the fire still burning in his eyes.

‘Mr Malfoy?’

McGonagall stood looking at him, her hands on her hips.

Draco’s shirt was untucked, his tie loosened and his hair sticking up from where she had run her fingers through it.

He looked absolutely perfect, Hermione thought.

‘Sorry,’ he ground out and she widened her eyes at him, locking her large brown ones with his molten silver, trying to convey what she couldn’t say out loud.

Draco needed to seem sorry, even if he wasn’t.

‘This is the third time in two weeks that I have found the two of you in flagrante in my classroom,’ the professor continued, coming closer, her blue eyes darting between the two of them.

‘If it happens again I will not be able to turn a blind eye, do you understand?’

‘Yes professor, I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.’
Hermione mumbled, desperately wishing for this embarrassing incident to be over.

‘As much as I have defended your relationship over the years, and as much as I know I cannot control the inevitable, I am still your teacher and you will conduct yourselves properly during school hours, is that clear?’

McGonagall’s voice was like ice. She meant it.

The professor wasn’t even looking at Hermione, she was eyeballing Draco, knowing full well he was the one she needed to bring under control.

He sighed dramatically, bringing a hand down over his face and rubbing hard.
Hermione watched him breathing deeply, forcing himself to calm down.

‘I understand, professor,’ he said and with one last heated glance at Hermione, Draco followed McGonagall’s pointing finger and went to sit at their desk, one hand surreptitiously rearranging himself under the table.

‘Can I trust you to control yourself sitting there today?’ She asked him, and now that Draco was calmer he nodded, his eyes returning to a slightly clearer silver.

‘Of course. Don’t separate us professor, please.’
He said, his voice still clipped but now contrite.

McGonagall looked at him then, her eyes softening as she finally let her fondness for him show through.

‘You know I don’t want to split you up Draco, but you must comply with school rules. You don’t want this getting back to Severus.’

At that Draco positively paled. He nodded and Hermione took her seat next to him, reaching down to squeeze his fingers gently, just as the door banged open and the rest of the class began filing in.

Draco used the distraction as an opportunity to lean over, his voice hoarse in Hermione’s ear as he whispered all the things he wanted to do to her, making her shift uncomfortably in her seat, her mouth going dry, trying not to let the reaction her body was having to his words show.

They spent the whole of the lesson covertly touching each other under the desk, Draco’s fingers edging higher and dangerously higher, the bulge in his trousers growing harder and harder as the hour went on.

Draco sighed and fidgeted next to her, and Hermione struggled to sit still as his fingers rucked her skirt up ever so slightly and she ran her hand up the hard line of his erection through his trousers.

She was desperate for Draco to reach that little bit higher, to finally touch her where she knew he would find her knickers soaked, her nerve endings just waiting to be touched so she could explode around him. She was so ready for him that she felt like one brush of his fingers would be enough.

McGonagall kept her eyes firmly away from them for the entire lesson and Hermione felt that they’d done a good job of hiding what they were doing right up until the end when Blaise and Theo stopped by their table on their way out.

‘Did you come in your pants yet Malfoy?’ Blaise asked, his brown eyes full of mirth.
‘Cause me and Nott have been taking bets on whether you’d last the full lesson or not.’

Hermione let out a squeak of embarrassment and busied herself gathering up her books.

‘Oh fuck off Zabini,’ Draco replied, the small smile on his face betraying his words slightly.
‘You shouldn’t have been looking, you pair of perverts.’

‘It was hard to miss your face glowing like a fucking tomato across the classroom,’ Blaise laughed and then jumped as Draco sent a stinging hex at his ankles under the table.
‘See you in potions, if you can manage to walk there,’ Theo said, and followed Blaise out, leaving Hermione and Draco to calm themselves for a moment.

‘Is my face red?’ Draco asked, and Hermione lied and shook her head, keeping the twitch of a smile off her lips as she looked at him, still flushed even now.
‘I swear to fucking Merlin if I don’t get you on your own soon I’m actually going to die.’ Draco groaned, his voice low as Hermione stood and smoothed down her skirt, trying to ignore the dampness between her legs.

‘I mean it,’ he reiterated. ‘I will just keel over and die.’

‘Don’t die Draco,’ she responded, trying to keep a lightness in her voice, even when her mind went places she didn’t want it to.

‘I actually quite like you, you know.’

‘Will I see you after potions?’ He asked, his fingers twitching out to reach for hers.

It was one of the few classes they had to take separately and one they both dreaded all week.
Hermione found that she often spent the whole lesson thinking about Draco, watching the clock on the wall, counting down the minutes until she was with him again.

‘Of course. I’ll meet you in our spot,’ she said and let him take her pile of books under his arm and walk her to the door of her classroom where they left each other for their separate potions classes.

‘I love you.’ He muttered into her ear as he kissed her briefly, not wanting to get caught by Snape.

‘Wait for me here.’

Hermione nodded, feeling her throat tighten even though she knew she was being ridiculous, it was only an hour.

’I love you Draco.’

She couldn’t stop herself reaching for him again, grasping his jaw and bringing his soft lips to hers, wanting to clutch at him, to hold on to him and not let him walk away.
She forced herself to keep her emotions under control.

Hermione watched Draco walk back down the hallway, easy to spot as he stood half a head taller than everyone else. She watched his shock of blonde hair until he disappeared around the corner and she couldn’t see him any more, then she went into class and sat down moodily next to Harry.

‘Hey Mione,’ he said, giving her shoulders a quick squeeze.

‘Have you done the homework?’

She looked up into Harry’s green eyes, fully prepared to tell him off, but as always, as soon as she looked at him her resolve softened - she never could stay cross with him.

He smiled back at her, ‘I meant to do it, but Malfoy and I had an extra training session and I ran out of time.’

Hermione didn't bother saying that he’d used that excuse last week, or that Draco had managed to find the time to do his. She just flipped open her book and watched as Harry copied her homework quickly, his black hair messy as always, his tongue poking out as he wrote. She noticed that there was a dark purple patch over his one eyebrow.

Slughorn was late as usual and Harry had finished copying before he arrived.

It gave Hermione time to talk to him about Quidditch training and ask him about his notoriously quiet love life. ‘Still no one who has caught your eye?’ She asked, wondering when Harry would cotton on to the fact that he was absolutely infatuated with Ron.

‘No,’ Harry answered, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth, avoiding her eyes.

It was strange to know Harry in this life.

He was still the boy who lived, still the son of the legendary Lily and James Potter, but without the threat of Voldemort, he mostly went under the radar, he wasn’t the center of attention he had been previously.

Harry didn’t know that life.

It put him and Ron on a much more even footing and although Harry was always going to be confident and very slightly arrogant, he was also in awe of his much louder, much funnier friend.

Hermione saw the way they looked at each other, how they were drawn to each other.She had read about the immense connection they had had in their previous life.

She was just waiting for them to see it too.

‘What happened to your eyebrow?’ She asked him, although she already knew exactly what or rather who had done it.

‘Your boyfriend again,’ Harry replied, grinning. ‘We may or may not have disagreed slightly over who caught the snitch during our last training session.’

Hermione smiled behind her hand. It was fascinating to watch the dynamic between Draco and Harry.

They were both so alike, best friends and allies, despite the constant competition between them that they seemed to thrive off.

Harry had no idea of the hatred they’d had for each other in their past life.

He only saw his friend Draco, the snarky blonde he had met on the train on his first day, the member of their friendship group who could always be relied upon to verbally eviscerate anyone who so much as looked at any of them the wrong way.

Draco was the most dominant one of their friends, the protector, the dragon.

Only Hermione and Draco knew that part of his over- defensiveness was as a result of the crippling guilt he felt when he looked at the friends he loved so much.

When they had travelled back in time through Draco’s Penseive memory just over seven years ago, they had both been very different people. Hermione had lived three lives by then, and her journals had recorded the traumatic events of all of them.

She was haunted by the entries that described Draco’s twenty- five year old body as he hung in the Hog’s head, of him at seventeen, his eyes blank and his lips blue after he had jumped in front of a killing curse for her.

She had read about how Harry had looked too as he lay dead on the floor of the astronomy tower, just feet away from Draco- the boy who had been his mortal enemy in that life but was like a brother to him in this one.

For his part, Draco could barely bring himself to read about all of the things he had done in the last life Hermione had given him after she had meddled with the memories he had left her.

A life in which he had been brainwashed by his evil father into imprisoning, torturing, and even murdering many of their school friends and their families as his fathers General.

There were many people that Draco couldn’t quite look in the eye, Ron, Fred and George included.

He had been floored by his guilt the first time he had seen Colin Creevey and he had run and vomited everywhere after his first encounter with Parvati Patil.

They knew that as his fathers General, Draco had been manipulated into using his phenomenal black magic as a weapon and torture device.

It was a power that had been forged within him during his horrific childhood where he had been physically and mentally abused by Lucius in the name of preparing him for greatness.

He had been taken from Hogwarts and Obliviated after Hermione had attempted to change the past and save him from his father. Draco had been isolated at the manor, and hadn’t known that it was his school friends he imprisoned, maimed and killed, doing everything his father asked without question like a trained dog.

Initially, he hadn’t even recognised Hermione, the love of his life and the girl he had fiercely protected until his Obliviation. They had read about how he had almost choked her to death whilst keeping her imprisoned in Azkaban before something within him had stopped him and compelled him to take her and keep her safe.

Draco struggled so much to know that something as seemingly unimportant as Hermione’s hair had thankfully convinced him that she was special to him.

During the first few years of school, he’d often appeared outside the Gryffindor common room in the middle of the night. He would be pacing, demanding to see Hermione after having had nightmares that he had followed through and hurt her, or on his really bad nights, convinced that he’d killed her.

He was usually wild with panic, needing the teachers to come and calm him down as he screamed at the fat lady to let him see her, to check she was alive and unhurt.

It was always Snape or McGonagall they sent- they were the only ones who could calm Draco down.

McGonagall would come into the dorm to gently shake Hermione awake and let her know that Draco was in the hallway again. She would pad out to him in her pyjamas, blinking into the sudden light and he’d grasp at her, his face pale, his eyes wet. He would hold her tightly to him and apologise as he checked her over and over obsessively for injuries, only finally calming down once he had reassured himself that she was okay.

The reason for this was known only to the four of them and eventually, Dumbledore.

Draco and Hermione had gone to their professors a few hours into their first day at school and taken with them the charmed journals containing Hermione’s notes detailing the horrific events of their previous lives.

They were eleven years old, with the mindset and emotional intelligence of eleven year olds, but the journals told of the lives they had lived up to when they were twenty- six years old.

Draco and Hermione had needed help.

Hermione would be forever grateful that their teachers hadn’t laughed them off and had taken them seriously, despite their young age.

McGonagall and Snape had read the journals and had then immediately taken them both back to Dumbledore’s office where they read the journals again.

The teachers had grown progressively paler as they learned of the potential future for themselves, their students and wizarding Britain in general.

Draco and Hermione had both been instantly protected and cared for by the pair, with Snape taking a fatherly interest in Draco, determined to keep him from his potential Death Eater future, knowing how easy it would be for Draco to be dragged back into that life.

For his part, it took a long time for Draco to be able to put his trust in any adult, having been failed so spectacularly thus far.

When their first Christmas holidays had arrived, he had convinced Hermione to run away from Hogwarts with him and hide in case someone tried to force him to go home to the manor.
Hermione had been terrified of losing him and hadn’t needed much encouragement.

They had packed some clothes and their wands and disappeared into the forbidden forest, using their superior knowledge of magic to Disapparate out of Hogwarts and hide out in the Muggle world for several days in a hotel. They had lain together on the bed, only moving to eat and drink occasionally, just holding each other and worrying that Draco’s father would somehow find them. Draco insisted on keeping watch while Hermione slept, his wand drawn, eyes squinting in the darkness, his body tensed for attack.

Eventually McGonagall had tracked them down in her cat form and promised them that if they came back she would ensure that Draco never had to see his parents again, that they would both be kept safe by adults, that he could relax.

She promised.

Mcgonogall and Snape had followed through.

They went against all pureblood politics, and brought Lucius Malfoy’s abuse to the attention of the DMLE and eventually the Wizengamot.

By this time Draco was thirteen.

Hermione had refused to leave his side as he was interviewed by the Aurors, knowing that he would need her there if and when he had a panic attack or struggled with his breathing.

Later, she sat opposite him in the courtroom during the trial with the Wizengamot.

Draco kept his eyes firmly on hers as he sat, calm and still as he recounted his home life, Occluding and concealing what he knew about the rest of his real past, showing them just enough to convince them that Lucius and Narcissa should never have the right to see their son again.

He had done so well, and Hermione had been so incredibly proud of him.

Thinking then of the first version of Draco had almost caused her to buckle as she had imagined how different his life could have been if this had happened for him. But that Draco had no one to save him, he had been so loved, but so alone when he had died.

During the trial Hermione had only been thirteen herself, but she had the knowledge of the carnage of all of their alternative lives and she was so desperate to save their souls this time.

When Draco’s mother had killed his father less than a year later it had been a horrendous shock.

Hermione’s worry that Draco would somehow feel guilty about it had been overwhelming.
She was scared that he was going to slip, that it would be too hard for him to deal with the death of his father and all the emotions that came with it at such a young age, after already going through so much. Although she knew Draco hated his father, he was now only fourteen years old, and the spell Narcissa had used to kill Lucius weighed heavy on them both.

Hermione remembered clearly the look of utter panic on Draco’s face the day they told him what had happened.

She had been on her way to meet him, and was still standing several feet away when McGonagall had approached him in the great hall, asking him to accompany her to Dumbledore’s office. He had stopped dead, standing stock-still where he was, surrounded by all of their friends who were still laughing and joking around, not noticing the interaction at first.

Draco had planted his feet, shaking his head, refusing to move. He had sensed immediately that it was bad news and he didn’t want to know whatever it was, he insisted. Theo and Harry had seen him and immediately gone to stand next to him, one on either side, preparing to back him up as always.

When McGonagall had eventually convinced Draco to go with her, she had allowed Hermione to come. She walked with him, and then sat by his side and comforted and calmed him as he absorbed the news he was given.

The realisation that his mother had found the strength to save herself from Lucius, when they knew she had never found it within her to help her son, was almost too heavy for Draco to carry.

Hermione had wanted to scream with the thought of how different their first life might have been if only she had.

The day of Lucius’s funeral had been a true test of strength for both of them, one of the hardest days they had endured in their new life.

Snape had gone to see Draco, clearing out the Slytherin dorm so that he could sit him down and talk to him. He told him that he didn’t need to go, that no one would judge him if he chose not to.

Draco had told Hermione later that he felt as though Snape were almost trying to convince him not to attend. Draco had insisted that he wanted to, that he needed to.

He needed to know that the bastard really was dead.

Hermione had stood by Draco’s side at the funeral, almost breathless at how handsome he was in his black suit, his hair gelled, shirt collar crisp.

He was as still as stone as he looked down at his fathers coffin as it was lowered into the ground. His eyes were a dull grey, murky and unfocused. She knew her own eyes would look the same. They had both Occluded deep down within themselves, the only way to remain sane as Draco had endured platitude after platitude and the high society of the wizarding world either sneered at her or ignored her completely.

People were sorry for his loss, they said, Lucius had adored Draco and he was doing his father proud by carrying on the great Malfoy legacy.

Hermione had felt like she was going to vomit the entire day.

She clung to Draco tightly, willing him to hold on, to endure, as his anger at how she was being treated reached boiling point in tandem with his patience for the bullshit they spouted about his father.

You’d never have known it to look at him.

He had been poised and elegant, accepting people’s condolences gracefully, his ever tightening grip on Hermione’s hand the only sign of his fraying control.

Theo had been there, Pansy and Blaise too. The five of them had snuck out of the wake after a few hours, taking a bottle of Firewhisky with them.They had sat together on the grass and passed the bottle around as they toasted Lucius Malfoy.

‘May he rot eternally in hell.’ They repeated one after the other, and Hermione had never meant anything more.

During the rest of the wake Draco had watched Theo and his own father carefully, a dark look on his face.
When Nott senior had approached Draco later, Hermione had moved tactfully away, watching at a distance as Draco had silently wrapped his magic around Nott Seniors throat, Nott’s eyes bugging out of his head as Draco had hissed into his ear, warning him, threatening him.

Theo never knew what had transpired that day, but he returned to school after the next Christmas holidays with a lightness Hermione hadn’t seen in him before.

The night of the funeral, they had had their one and only visit with Narcissa.

Draco had looked down at his mothers unconscious, drugged form and finally told her all the things he had always wanted to say, all the things he had whispered to his pillow in the dead of night as a small boy.

Hermione had looked at Narcissa and she hoped the woman felt every dagger of her hate.
She hoped she knew that Hermione would spend her life healing her son for her, breaking the cycle that Narcissa herself had enabled.

After that, although he never wanted to see his mother again, Hermione saw a peace within Draco she had never seen before.

Things finally got easier.

They could both relax knowing that Lucius Malfoy was dead in this life too.

He couldn’t get to Draco, couldn’t get to them.

It had been a horrible, unsettling fear of Hermione’s that he would find a way, even with all the protection that Hogwarts, and their teachers offered.

Snape never told them what had happened when he had gone to Malfoy manor, he never told Draco the extent of his involvement with the Death Eaters. All he told Draco was that he cared for him, that he was worthy of love, and that he was safe.

It was all he had ever needed to know.

Hermione’s parents had accepted Draco into their daughter's life.

They saw how much he loved her, how intelligent he was, how focused he was on his studies and how utterly devoted he was to ensuring Hermione’s happiness.

How could they not love him too?

Hermione took Draco home every school holidays for a family lunch.
She always smiled at how out of place he looked in their Muggle home with his white blonde hair, his expensive robes, formal table manners and even more formal way of speaking with her mum and dad.

Draco usually ended the visits sitting on the sofa with Hermione’s dad, flipping endlessly through their family photo albums, seemingly never getting bored of Hermione’s father’s stories of her as a little girl. Hermione would sit opposite them with her mother, her eyes shining as she watched Draco, her love for him growing even more than she ever thought possible, the invisible string between them knotting tighter and tighter.

So now, here they were, mere months away from finishing at Hogwarts.

Their love for each other had not dimmed over the years, they hadn’t gotten ‘bored’ of each other as predicted by Professor Trelawny.

They were utterly fixated with each other- obsessed some people said.

Over the past six years Draco had rejected more girls than Hermione even wanted to know.
He was a painfully handsome eighteen year old and almost the entire female population of Hogwarts could see it.

They all knew he had a girlfriend but it didn’t stop a few from trying.

Each time, Draco was horrified.

He was relatively polite but unfailingly firm in his rejection. He made sure that they knew that there was not, and never would be, any chance at all.

Astoria Greengrass had been one of the only girls to not immediately take no for an answer.
She had repeatedly tried to get Draco alone, batting her eyelashes at him as she spoke about blood purity and good family breeding

Astoria had mysteriously found herself afflicted with a nasty pimple jinx, one that could not be cured by traditional methods, vexing Madame Pomfrey for weeks.

Hermione couldn't help getting upset every time she saw a girl sidling up to him, flirting with him as he cast his eyes desperately about until they found hers and he relaxed, holding her gaze and smiling at her until they gave up and went away.

He couldn’t see anyone but Hermione.

Although Draco told her every day that she was absolutely beautiful, very few boys had tried the same with Hermione.

They were all secretly (and in some cases not so secretly) terrified of Draco.

He guarded her like she was a precious stone, his eyes always on her, his arm around her shoulders or his fingers linked through hers.

He would wait for her outside the Gryffindor common room every morning, insisting on walking her to breakfast, dinner or their separate classes, even if it made him late for his.

Draco’s possessiveness was well known throughout school and she was so proud to be his. Hermione didn’t even mind when sometimes Draco slightly overreacted.

He had overheard Cormac McLaggen say she had nice tits once.

McLaggen hadn’t even seen the punch coming. His nose had exploded on impact with Draco’s fist.

The ensuing fight had been squarely won by Draco and his friends who had immediately jumped in to back him up.

The fight was over quickly, but the word doing the rounds was that only Theo and Draco had been able to throw a punch. Harry was devastated that people had said he was embarrassing in a fight.

After that he spent hours every week with Blaise who taught him to spar and punch like his idol- Muhammad Ali.

Draco had secretly told Hermione that despite all the training, Harry was still useless, he couldn’t throw a punch for shit.

He would know, she’d thought - he ended up in some sort of physical altercation with Harry practically every week.

Hermione and Draco had now grown up together, maturing and developing both mentally and physically, carefully cultivating a life and experiences that the journals said they wouldn’t remember as soon as they got to the age they were when they had altered the memory.

Barely just twenty six for Draco, and a few months off twenty seven for Hermione.

It was frustrating to know that they would forget everything, but Hermione was fastidious in recording all she could about their life, exactly like the journals the previous version of her had left.

She also took photos at every opportunity so that later on, they could see the pictures and read all about their life in her journals and know how beautiful it had been, how much they loved each other, and how much they loved their friends.

So now they had bodies and minds that were eighteen and almost nineteen, and in this new life Draco currently only really had one problem.

One rather large problem as far as Hermione could remember.

In their past lives they had had sex many, many times.

Hermione and Draco had read about them all.

She had thought about having sex with Draco countless times over the years and she thought about it more and more as she had grown older.

She had read about how good Draco had felt inside her, she knew how he liked it best, what turned him on the most.

Every night now, when Hermione was alone in her dorm, she thought about all the things she wanted Draco to do to her, imagining how his fingers would feel, how soft his mouth would be, his tongue hot on her skin.

And Draco was almost tortured by the thought of having sex with Hermione. He read those pages of the journals so much that they were dog-eared.

He told Hermione that he had thought about it constantly over the years as a teenage boy, and now, with the rush of hormones coursing through his body, he was addicted to it, he turned the details over in his mind, savouring every detail.

They craved each other like a drug.

Draco only needed to look at her for too long and she could sense the change in the atmosphere between them.

His eyes grew dark, his body going still as he locked in on her like an animal stalking its prey.
Hermione would feel the intensity of his gaze and she would stop what she was doing and languish in it, basking in his attentions.

She wanted him to want her.

More and more often Draco’s hands had started wandering. He pushed her harder and harder against the wall, his breath heavy in her ear, her blood thundering through her veins as she felt every inch of him, felt his desire pouring out of him.

He told her how beautiful she was, how much she turned him on, how much he wanted to feel her underneath him. He wanted to know what she tasted like, to remember what she felt like as he moved inside her. He told her all the places he wanted to put his tongue, where he wanted her to put hers.

Any time they were alone for even a moment, they would end up nose to nose, their foreheads pressed together, lips almost touching as they whispered all of their deepest desires, burning fiercely for each other.

Draco was obsessed with finding opportunities to act on the things they said, something which felt almost impossible in a building full of teachers and students.

So, later that day, after Potions had finally finished, Hermione found Draco waiting for her in the corridor.

Her breath caught in her throat as it always did when she saw him for the first time after any sort of forced separation.

He was leaning against the wall, a book held out in front of him, his cuffs rolled up over forearms that flexed as he turned the page, lean and muscular from holding onto his broom.

His green and white striped tie was loosened slightly, his top button undone so she could see the pale hollow of his throat.

Draco’s long legs were crossed casually as he waited, his fringe falling over his forehead, silver eyes flickering back and forth as he read.

The second he sensed her there he dropped the book to his side and looked up before taking a large stride towards her, his handsome face breaking out into a smile.

He took her fingers in his and they walked quickly to their secret place, a small alcove on the lower level of the school, a tiny space where they could fit, concealed behind the stone wall, only just big enough for the two of them.

As soon as they were hidden from view, Hermione gratefully melted into Draco’s arms, breathing in his caramel apple and bonfire scent, tilting her face up to his so that he could kiss her.

She shivered as their lips met, opening her mouth for him immediately so that he could run his tongue over hers. She caught hold of Draco’s tie to pull him closer to her, pressing her lips harder against his.

He groaned and dropped his book with a bang, lacing his fingers with hers and raising her arms up above her head, caging her in against the wall.

Hermione felt his erection almost immediately through his trousers as Draco arched his hips up against hers. His chest pressed hard against her breasts, her nipples stiffening with the friction of their bodies rubbing together.

She gasped into his mouth as Draco licked across her lips and brought a thigh up between her legs. She ground herself down on it, instantly feeling her breathing ramp up, hearing Draco’s do the same.

Within seconds Hermione had forgotten where she was. She was totally consumed by Draco, by the taste of him, the feel of him, the scent of him.
She rode his thigh, desperate to feel the friction of her knickers against the rough material of his school trousers.

She untangled one hand and brought it down to run her palm over his cock through his trousers. Draco pushed against it, his intention instantly apparent.

‘Fuck, Hermione,’ he breathed. ‘Do you think anyone will come down this way now?’

Hermione shook her head slightly, completely caught up in the moment, not particularly caring one way or the other.

Draco released her fingers and brought a hand down to her thigh, repeating the action from Transfiguration earlier and sliding his hand up her leg and under her skirt.

Hermione felt the calluses on his palm from where he held his wand and his broom, rough compared to the softness of his fingers, which brushed against the sensitive skin between her legs, feather light as they skimmed her thigh.
Draco lifted her skirt and tucked it up out of his way then broke their kiss temporarily to look down.

He huffed out a breath at what he saw, rolling his eyes upwards and muttering several curses under his breath.

Hermione had charmed all of her knickers to be a deep Slytherin green. The satin clung to her, doing nothing to hide how much she wanted him. He pressed her hand against his zipper again, kissing her breathlessly before stopping to grind out the words between clenched teeth.

‘Please Hermione, I can’t, I need you to-’

He hissed in a breath as she stroked him through his trousers, practically trembling with his need for her.

His fingers slipped under the damp satin, making them both gasp as he sank them in between her legs and into the warm wetness that pooled there.

‘D- Draco, oh, gods,’ she stuttered as he slid two fingers deep inside her and crooked them, making her squeeze tightly around them, the pad of his thumb providing just the right amount of pressure to her clit to have her screaming silently into his shoulder, making her knees shake.

The muscles of Draco’s thigh were hard between Hermione’s legs as he held her up, his fingers continuing their rhythm as his other hand came up to flex against the wall behind her head.

She fumbled to undo the zipper of his trousers, knowing how desperate he was for her touch.

Draco groaned with relief as the length of him was finally released from the confines of his school trousers. She could feel him then against her hip, rock-hard and straining the thin material of his boxers.

She immediately scooped her hand under his waistband and wrapped her fist around him, her fingers barely meeting as she rubbed the wetness that leaked from the shiny head of his cock over and around his shaft with her thumb.

She squeezed gently and slid her hand up and down, Draco’s hips arching upwards to match her rhythm almost instantly.

He was incapable of words, moaning softly into her ear as he fucked himself into her hand, his own fingers only faltering slightly.

Neither of them really registered the noise of the other students now making their way down the corridors after their classes, the hubbub of their conversation dim beneath the roaring of the blood in their ears and their soft moans of pleasure.

Draco suddenly slipped a third finger inside her, the added pressure making Hermione cry out and almost instantly begin to orgasm around them as his thumb continued circling her clit.
She trembled as her walls clenched and fluttered, her eyes squeezed shut, and she threw her head back against the wall.

Draco had to hold her up completely now as the overwhelming feeling took over her body, one hand grasping at his shoulder, digging her nails in hard, her other hand squeezing his cock tightly, forgetting herself momentarily.

‘Hermione,’ he muttered, ‘I’m close, where can I-‘

She came back to herself gradually, as the waves of her orgasm subsided, opening her eyes to see an almost panic in his, swirling in the murky pools of grey, his pupils blown, his lower lip clenched between his teeth as he fought to keep control of himself.

She paused momentarily, trying to have a coherent thought.

Draco withdrew his fingers and sucked them briefly before hooking his two index fingers into her waistband and pulling her knickers down slightly.

He dropped his gaze from hers to look down between them.

Her hand still pumped his cock which was throbbing, the veins standing out thickly, precum oozing from the shiny tip.

He peeled her knickers down slowly away from where she was still slick and glistening, dragging them down her legs a few inches and looking down at her.

She felt him throb again in her hand.

‘Hermione,’ he groaned, ‘can I come- can I come here-?’ He motioned to her knickers and she nodded, angling her hand downwards, so that as her fist glided up and down, the head of his cock brushed lightly against the soaked satin and slipped between her legs making her close her eyes with the sensation.

‘Oh fuck,’ he muttered. ‘I’m going to come, you’ll be wearing them, feeling me, I- oh, fuckfuckfuck.’

Draco was panting, barely able to form the words he wanted to say. He was thickening further in her hand, the vein on the underside of his shaft pulsing under her fingers.

He was close, she knew.

So close.

Hermione didn’t even notice Ron until she heard his voice, mere inches from them.

‘Hermione?’ He asked, ‘Draco?’

‘FUCK!’ Draco shouted and jerked away from her, she yanked her skirt out of her waistband and pulled it down just as Ron’s face appeared, his blue eyes peering around the wall of the alcove.

‘What are you guys.. oh.’ He stopped dead as he saw them, their faces sweaty, their chests heaving.

‘Oh.’ The realisation hit him and he turned a deep red, almost purple as he handed Draco the book he had picked up from the floor.

‘S- sorry,’ Ron stuttered and he moved away, eyes firmly on the ground as they both made themselves decent.

‘I saw your hair Hermione, puffing out from behind the wall and then Draco’s book, and I didn’t think,- I, I-,’

‘It’s ok Ron. Don’t worry,’ She said, feeling her own cheeks burn.

Draco on the other hand looked positively incredulous. He looked at Ron with completely undisguised rage.

‘What the fuck did you think we were doing behind there Weasley?’ He muttered, smoothing down his hair and tucking in his shirt.

‘I swear to Merlin you’re trying to kill me off.’

Hermione knew that if it had been anyone else he would have been much ruder, but his guilt about Ron forced him to keep much of his anger in check.

Ron apologised again and Draco shook his head, moving out of the alcove and stalking back towards the Slytherin common room.

‘Sorry Hermione,’ he called behind him. ‘I’ve got something I need to deal with- now. I’ll send Spike with a message later.’

Hermione stood with Ron, watching him go.

Theo and Blaise appeared, standing slightly behind Ron, amused smirks on their faces. ‘What’s Malfoy being dramatic about this time?’ Blaise asked.

Theo said nothing, he just let his blue eyes drift over Hermione, and she saw understanding dawn there too. He winced and looked sympathetically at her, then he also shook his head at Ron.

‘I think we’d better let him have some alone time,’ he muttered to Blaise, who grinned broadly as he finally realised what was happening. She tried not to smile back at him. Blaise could make any situation funny and Hermione thoroughly adored him- except when she was the subject of the joke.

Ron turned to her with a pained expression.

‘Sorry again, Hermione.’ He said.

She placed a hand on his arm and smiled at him somewhat reassuringly, before walking away, trying desperately to compose herself as she headed back to the Gryffindor common room.

She could only imagine how Draco was dealing with his frustration right now.
The thought of him made her clench again, an uncomfortable heat forming in her lower belly.

She got to her room, showered and slipped into her silk pyjamas, letting her mind wander as she brushed her hair, thinking again about Draco and how good his fingers had felt inside her.

Later on, she brushed her teeth, then got into bed and waited, knowing that he would follow through on his words as he had left earlier. He’d never let her go to bed without at least a goodnight kiss.

Sure enough, at around midnight she heard the telltale quiet scratching of Spike’s paws on the wooden floor. She opened her eyes and watched the tiny glowing hedgehog Patronus amble across her bedroom towards her bed.

He had brought her a message, hastily scribbled onto a torn piece of parchment in Draco’s looping script.

‘Meet me in the library at 2. Disillusion so we don’t get seen. You don’t need knickers this time.’

Hermione swallowed thickly and smiled. She looked down at Spike, ‘thank you.’ She whispered as she wrote her reply on the parchment, pursing her lips as she noticed that it looked suspiciously like it had been torn from a textbook.

Draco -June 1998

Draco had to get away. He thought he was going to deck Weasley. Either that or hex his cock off.

Speaking of cocks, Draco’s own was excruciatingly painful, tucked hastily back into his trousers, mere seconds away from coming into Hermione’s knickers.

He closed his eyes and swallowed at the thought of them, of her, swollen and flushed, so wet and soft as the head of his cock had slid against her.

Fuck.

He was going to kill Weasley.

No. Don’t say that, don’t even think about that.

He shook his head and stormed into the Slytherin common room, ignoring Crabbe and Goyle’s greetings and heading straight to his dorm.

He got into his bed and magically pulled the curtains of his four poster shut, casting a quick Muffliato at the same time.

He ripped open his trousers, hissing as his achingly hard cock sprung free.

Draco was desperate.

He spat quickly into his palm and closed his eyes, wrapping his long fingers around himself, lamenting the fact that they weren’t Hermione’s small, delicate ones.

His own hand didn’t feel the same, it was too rough, too big.

But- needs must.

Draco closed his eyes and pumped his hand up and down, thinking about Hermione, thinking about her green satin knickers, about coming into them, coming all over her, and then pulling her knickers up and pressing it onto her, making her even wetter…

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It took seconds, barely even half a minute before he was coming into his own hand, feeling the wetness hit his stomach and drip down his knuckles.

He twisted his fist, pushing his hips forward, his muscles tensed as he drained himself thinking of her.

Draco was always thinking of her.

He knew from the journals that the first version of him, that poor bastard - had been obsessed with Hermione too. He had thought that there would never be any chance with her, so he had gone with other girls, letting them use their hands or suck his cock.

He’d put his hands on them.

Draco shuddered at the thought - No girl could ever compare to Hermione.

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and that he ever would see.

Her hair drove him wild- he thought about that almost as much as he fantasised about finally fucking her the way she deserved. He thought about how she’d feel as he pushed himself inside, what noises she’d make, what she’d look like sitting on top of him. Draco wanted to make her feel so good.

He had to stop. He was getting worked up again.

It wasn’t just Hermione’s looks that got to him, it wasn’t just her hair, her eyes, or her soft lips. It wasn’t even her perfect tits, her unbelievably round ass, or her long legs.

Hermione’s mind turned him on too.

She was so fucking intelligent.
She knew so much, her copious reading and phenomenal memory making her magic so powerful. It made Draco hard just watching her cast intricate spells with ease, or put her hand up to answer the most obscure of questions, full of confidence and knowledge.

She really was incredible.

He’d always had the right idea.

When they were kids and they’d first come back, he had been horrified reading the journals. Part of him wanted to not believe it. Some of the things he’d done, some of the things that had been done tohim were almost too much to bear.

Fuck, he knew his father was a sick, sick bastard, but he was so horrified by the thought of how his life had been once.

He had been so alone, so unloved.

In this life, Draco trusted Severus Snape implicitly, he’d had to. He was the closest thing to a father that Draco would ever know.

He was so grateful every day for the time Snape had enabled him to spend at Hogwarts with Hermione, and with his friends.

The love he had for them could never come close to how he felt for Hermione, but shit, he’d kill for any of them too.

Draco lay on his bed afterwards, listening to the low murmur of conversation in the common room.

He needed to see Hermione. He felt bad for the way he’d left her. He’d been blinded by his need to get off, too close to coming to not get the release he’d needed. But now he was calmer and he could think clearly again.

He got up and cast a quick Scourgify, sorting himself out so that he was decent before he went into the common room.

Theo was sitting on the Sofa with Pansy.

They both looked at him with their eyebrows raised but didn’t say anything. Draco cleared his throat. ‘Alright?’ He asked, looking back at them. Theo’s blue eyes met his with an understanding smile.

‘We are. Are you alright now, more's the point?’

Draco nodded with a grimace. ‘I’ll do.’ He said.

‘Weasley is an arse.’

‘Don’t be mean,’ said Pansy, a disapproving look on her face. ‘Ron didn’t know. He’s panicking that you’re still angry with him.’

Draco felt bad then.

‘I’m not angry,’ he said. ‘Just sick of getting cock-blocked all the time.’

Theo let out a breath, looking at Pansy.

‘I feel your pain.’ He muttered then laughed as Pansy slapped at him.

‘Patience, patience boys!’ She tittered and crossed her legs over Theo’s lap.

Draco said nothing. He felt like he had been patient for so long. He was getting desperate.

‘We’ve got the common room party in a few days’ she said. ‘I’m sure there will be plenty of dark corners you can hide Hermione in and plenty of empty rooms just waiting to be used.’

Draco nodded, feeling a rush of heat flow through his body. He couldn't wait that long.

He left them in the common room and went back to the dorm, laying on his bed and pulling out his wand.

He thought of Hermione for a moment as he aimed his wand.

‘Expecto Patronum,’ he muttered and immediately his hedgehog Patronus sprung from the end of his wand.

He grinned. He loved Spike.

He quickly ripped a page from the book next to his bed making a mental note to make sure Hermione never saw the torn page and scribbled a note onto it.

Then, with a flick of his wand he sent Spike to Hermione’s room.

He needed her. He couldn’t wait a week.

Draco waited a few moments until he saw the telltale glow as Spike returned.

He read her reply message and grinned.

Fuck he loved her.