The Art of War

“From the moment absurdity is recognized, it becomes a passion, the most harrowing of all. But whether or not one can live with one's passions, whether or not one can accept their law, which is to burn the heart they simultaneously exalt - that is the whole question.”
Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays

When Blaise had returned to escort the two ladies to the dining room, he hadn't expected to only have her present. He knew some things, others he'd inferred. It made him nervous. Knowing she was so close, knowing what had happened, and knowing how absolutely livid Draco would be once he returned.

A few times, he had parted his lips to speak but closed them. They weren't school kids anymore. He knew that much. The stakes were higher for one. Instead, he pulled her chair when they reached the long table.

"Theo might join us," he offered. They weren't friends, had never been friends, and yet, was it so bad to have familiar faces?

Hermione eyed Zabini, studying him with a cold and calculating view as she followed him through the manor to the dining room. Each time he tried to speak and then stopped finally had her groan. "If you're going to say something, Zabini, say it. I don't have a wand. And as tempting as it would be to punch you, I'm really not in the mood."

She let him pull out her chair and took a seat, tucking herself in as she pushed her hair from her face. Picking up her glass of water, she took a sip and wrinkled her nose. "Oh, I'm sure I'm Nott's favorite person. How was that wound to his neck?" She crossed one leg over the other.

Blaise looked at her a moment, considering his options. For better or worse, she was a part of this household. Draco had chosen her for whatever reason, but he had to trust his friend and superior. “Nott was the one that fetched Draco your first night out.” It wasn’t scathing, not even remotely mean. “He’s healed just fine,” he added. “You can barely tell he almost had his throat sliced,” he added as if it were the most natural conversation. If those were her topics of choice, so be it.

That surprised her. The slight surprise and shock widened her eyes just a little bit. "Honestly, surprising," she stated with a shake of her head and took a sip of the water again. "Sure, he's glad it healed well then," she murmured. She had no idea what to even say to Zabini. They hadn't been friends in school. He had been just as clustered in Malfoy's group then as he was now.

As food was served, she eyed it carefully, seemingly trying to judge whether or not there was anything in it before she took a bite and let herself enjoy the food. At least there was that.

Blaise served himself a bit of everything. Some roast, potatoes and other root vegetables. As a basket of rolls appeared, he happily took one. Even for him, it wasn’t every night he had a feast at his disposal. The food and the elves treated them well, but not this well.

“Surprising that we aren’t rabid animals?” He shook his head. “It won’t happen again… to anyone,” he added carefully. “Draco’s always made that clear, but every group has its rotten apples.”

Her plate was filled, a bit more than she would have if Malfoy was watching. Though she knew Zabini was likely going to report to Draco anyway. The damn lieutenant to all of this blood shed, power hungry and despicable, was free. Taking a roll, she took a bite and took the chance to pour herself a glass of wine. When was the last time she had wine rather than something harder?

"Not convinced all of you aren't rabid animals," she said bluntly and gave a shrug of her shoulders. "I have no reason to believe that. Any of it. Malfoy doesn't want me dead for whatever reason, so he doesn't want anyone touching me." She took another bite of food, still trying to just casually eat rather than eat as quickly as she might have if she wasn't being watched.

“I can’t speak for everyone,” he didn’t counter her. Crimes had been committed on either side. There was no one left to claim moral superiority. “But considering the time those six spent in the gardens with the peacocks, I promise you there will be no second attempt.”

Blaise, of course, had photographic evidence, but he wasn’t about to say as much. Instead, he drank from his glass of wine.

She actually snorted at that, sounding just a little amused. "Well....hope Petrus got a good amount of time in on Warrington," she sighed and took another bite of food. Though as soon as she said that, she bristled and just glared at Blaise.

“I wouldn’t want anyone touching my witch either,” he looked at the liquid in his glass.

His witch. Was he already claiming that she was his? "Hardly." Nothing had been agreed to and she was not that blond narcissists' anything.

“Denial,” he thought out loud. Cutting a piece of meat and taking a bite. These elves were better than Hogwarts. Hell, they were better than his family’s.

“Better than anger, I suppose…” Blaise looked at her, studying her. Though he couldn’t speak of it, he had been at the same club that night. “Not good for either of your tempers.”

"Not denial. I'm not his, Zabini." Her voice colder, that anger starting to heat. Both of them had tempers. Hers had gotten worse since school, and she had no clue if his had gotten worse or more controlled. Didn't know him better in school to be able to tell.

Stabbing a piece of meat with her fork a little more aggressively, she watched him the entire time. Clearly, his two friends were in on his plans.

“He didn’t tell you,” he watched that anger. That did not appear like a reaction to someone with knowledge the Dark Lord had all but blessed the union of had. Rather than say anything, he summoned the prophet from shortly after her arrival.

"Tell me what, Zabini?" She sounded exasperated and irritated now as the prophet was summoned. However, as she looked at the headline on the paper, she bristled and nearly dropped her fork. Her eyes widened as she read that headline again. And again. Trying to make sense of it.

Unexpected Insurgency Defection:
Dark Lord Announces Courtship of his Lieutenant to Hermione Granger!

There was a growing roaring in her ears as her heart thundered in her chest, what color she had started to regain to her face draining from it.

Blaise knew that look. He’d worn it enough to know the fear that came with being in his master's plans.

“You can call me Blaise. Draco is still one of my best friends, and well, welcome to the fold,” he half-heartedly raised his glass.

"Malfoy's lost his damn mind," she breathed the words before she picked up her glass, not to toast, but to down the entire glass of wine in one long gulp.

Reaching for the Prophet, she read over the article, her hand actually trembling as she read it over. That roaring kept echoing in her ears as she felt the knots slowly forming in her stomach.

“Can’t argue there,” Blaise drank more deeply. “If he asks, you got the paper from Warrington, yeah?” He grinned. His friend might have needed outside help, but that didn’t mean he had to take the brunt of his anger.

“What did that git do again?” Theo demanded, regretting his choice to join them.

"....We actually agree on something," she muttered, pouring herself another glass of wine and filling it more than what would be as socially acceptable. But she could absolutely blame Warrington. The man was a pig and it might allow her to help punish him. Though as Nott came in, she glanced up at him, studying him a moment.

A sigh left her lips and she just put the Prophet on the table with a bit of a scowl before taking another bite of food, letting that paper be the answer.

“Warrington gave Hermione some old copies of the Daily Prophet like an absolute git,” he said towards Nott, magically pulling his chair back to invite him beside him. “Have some wine, you’ll need it.”

Theodore poured himself a half glass and took a seat. “You’re meddling.”

She hadn't even checked the date on the Prophet. That made her look at it again, and she cursed under her breath, closing her eyes to get control of her anger. Blowing up on these two would do nothing. She had no wand. No way out. Her hands still trembled.

"...I don't believe I said you could use my first name, Zabini," she tried to push that distance still. Pointing out without words that she hadn't agreed to a damn thing.

He watched her shake, biting into words. Before he could speak, it was Theo that did.

“It nice to see we’ll get to deal with twice the anger when these sort of articles come out.” It was Theodore’s way of warning this sort of stuff went way above their pay grade.

Blaise shook his head. “Deepest apologies, my lady.” He offered with a most practiced head bow.

Looking over at Nott now, she narrowed her eyes. "Oh, I don't blame either of you for this," she gestured to the Prophet before drinking deeply from her glass of wine.

But she bristled at that as well and shook her head. "No, no, no. Absolutely not. Granger. " She'd cling to her name since apparently the goal seemed to be to erase it.

That Prophet would be coming back with her to Malfoy's wing, along with the books she had with her. She ate a bit more of the food, but it was clear her attention was turning more to the wine than the food.

It was a relief to know she didn’t blame them. And yet, they had a feeling she would be blaming someone.

“Granger,” he said begrudgingly with a sniff. “I’d love to watch you try to out-drink a bottomless bottle, but I will suggest you take it into your chambers before you find some…foolish idea along the way.”

Taking a few more bites of her food, she actually picked up her books, corked the bottle of wine, and picked up her glass carefully. She would have loved to levitate this back to that side of the house, but she had no clue where Malfoy was keeping her wand.

The Prophet got dropped on top of the books at that. "Gladly. Goodnight, Zabini, Nott," she said stiffly before going to walk back to his wing of the manor. The wine helped with her nerves. But it wasn't helping with her anger.

No one stopped her getting back to his wing of the manor and it made her seethe. Rather than go back to her room, she went to his study. She dropped the books on a small side table next to a couch and sat down on it. She heard the loud mrow from her cat as he came darting into the room as well. Damn them all.

The headlines on the prophet made it sound like he had been trying to get her attention for weeks. It was something she would have expected Rita Skeeter to have written and yet there was no name listed. No one wanted to risk someone's wrath, and they all knew it wasn't hers. His? Was he mad about it despite being the one who had proposed such a ludicrous idea? Trying to lower his guard through sex was such a terrible idea.

She looked over the notes she had written down from that tome about how courtship worked between two purebloods. There were rules, blood oaths, and different caveats that were given that the other couldn't do that were agreed upon between the two feelings. So, between the two of them, if she accepted that agreement. Which she wouldn't. Couldn't. This was insane. Yet it even said in the book that he wouldn't be able to harm her. What sorts of things were standard that got put in there?

He'd have to treat her well. While the book described what was expected between them from a physical standpoint, she doubted that would apply. She wasn't a pureblood. He just wanted to prove to the world that he had won her over and swayed her to this side. Could she really sacrifice that much of herself to do it?

With a groan, she slammed that book closed with the parchment hanging out of it before she picked up one of the books on ancient magic and curled up in the corner of the couch. She had the bottle of wine close at hand and took sips of the wine until she was nearly drunk. Perhaps she was drunk. She didn't care. When was the last time she had actually let herself be drunk? Ages. It had been ages.

It was her goal to stay up here until Malfoy returned back to the manor. But as time continued and she went through much of the wine, she fell asleep on the couch, curled into the corner with a book in her lap and Crookshanks curled in against her arm for the time being.

Lengths of silver lights danced across the hardwood floor of Draco’s study. Tucked into the corner, Hermione slept away under a blanket, her book across her chest. On the table the wine bottle seemed untouched save the evidence of her last glass, stained red in its depths. Beside it, a copy of the prophet she had taken from Zabini.

Silence reigned on the Malfoy Manor grounds as his figure apparated a few feet inside the gates. In the wind, his black robes were heavy, barely giving a wet swish behind him as he marched up the stairs and through the front door, delaying his arrival into his wing.

To the side, a large clock chimed three o’clock in the morning. He hoped she was either tucked in her chambers or in the library. It was nearly a prayer on his tongue as he took the stairs two at a time, smears of darkened blood left in his wake as the ends of his robes met marble stairs.

Once in his wing, he slipped past the disgruntled portraits of the deceased Malfoys and Blacks before him. Further still, he reached his study and pressed his back to the doors once they closed. As much as he wanted to scream, he held back, calling on the silencing wards to keep his guest from rousing. At his desk, he pulled his mask off and set it on the polished exotic wood. His gaze met its hollow stare as he drank deep from the firewhiskey bottle he kept on hand, not bothering with a glass.

With the bottle still in reach, he left it to focus on the silver ornate skull—every single carving unique to him, his station, and his unspeakable deeds. Gripping its magical ties, he slammed its face into his desk, chipping away at the wood, denting it with every assault of metal against hardwood. His teeth ground together as the face-covering bit into his desk, every strike reverberating through his arm with bittersweet catharsis.

Hermione had slept on, with Crookshanks curved into the crook of her arm. As soon as the door had opened, he hopped off of the couch, trotting in the direction of Malfoy, before he started slamming the face of the mask into the desk. The cat hissed loudly at the sound and took off to hide underneath a bookshelf. It was the second slam that had Hermione nearly falling off of the couch, the book falling off of her chest and to the floor.

The witch hadn't remembered covering herself with a blanket, but the elves seemed determined to look out for her, which meant it was likely them. As she got up, she ran her fingers through her hair, her cheeks still a little flushed from the lingering buzz from how much wine she had drank. She walked through the study, stopping a few feet away from the desk as he continued to slam the metal against the hardwood.

"....Bad night?" She asked, trying to hold back a yawn. Her shoulders were tense, a bit of fear tendriling through her. She hadn't seen him lose control like this before. She'd seen that same jaw-clenched expression, but not like this.

With his mask in the air, he paused and released the item, letting it fall with an unceremonious clank. Instead, he was closing the gap, gripping her. There was a wildness in his stormy gaze, a darkness even she hadn’t summoned at the height of their encounters.

His nostrils flared as he felt torn. Instead, he sat her on his desk. “You planning to gloat?” he demanded in a growl.

As soon as he grabbed her, she tensed. She was awake now. The tiredness chased from her eyes but her cheeks were still pink from the wine, her hair mussed from sleep. Before she had a chance to respond, she was spun around and sat on his desk. It had her blinking a moment before she arched a brow. "Should I be gloating? I didn't cause your bad night. What do I have to gloat about?"

That growl made her defensive. Tense. Abundantly aware of how unmoored he seemed. That darkness in his eyes making her frown. "...I thought you were rather unflappable...but something happened," she murmured, as if she were trying to puzzle it out.

“Oh, but you so like to remind me of the monster I am…” Those wine-stained lips were close, and like this in front of him, even defensive, there was something so frail about her. Holding her wrists, he kept her hands against the damaged wood. Shakily, he let go to let his robes drop heavily around him, the wetness unmistakable. Though they were quick to disappear, the dark smears of blood remained at his feet. He wasn’t some project. She couldn’t fix him.

Looking up at him she felt her heart hammer in her chest before she looked down his body as the robes dropped. The red there smeared on the ground had her tense a little bit more before she looked back up at him. "And did that bother you?" she asked quietly, not wanting to raise her voice. What had he been doing? What dark and twisted thing did You-Know-Who make him do that left him like this?

“You really think so lowly of me?” He studied her. A part of him wanted her to punish him, to rub it in his face. Mostly, he just wanted to forget. To throw it all aside. Seizing her hand, he set it on his chest. Despite everything, it was steady. He wasn’t a boy anymore. He let go to trace down the side of her leg. The stakes were much higher now. He paused near the edge of her boot. She might have been wandless, but he knew her. With a two-finger pull, he slipped the knife out of place and pulled her hand off him to wrap her fingers around it, not once breaking eye contact.

That had her pause as she studied him, unsure how to even answer that. He could have killed her several times over now. The fact that he wasn't was a little startling. As he pulled her hand to his chest, she paused, spreading out her fingers slowly so her palm rested right over his heart. Steady. It wasn't thundering in his chest like hers was now. "....I don't know...." she murmured, looking at her hand on his chest rather than at his face as she said it. The light touch to her leg had a shiver roll down her spine. The leggings felt so thin with his hand there. And as he drew a knife out of her boot, she almost looked sheepish before he wrapped her fingers around the knife.

Her gaze jumped back up to his, brow furrowing as she watched him. Trying to read through everything she was seeing.

Slowly he guided the point just under his ribs, giving her the right angle. Closing his eyes, he took a breath, pushing against the sharp tip of her blade on inhale.

“Easiest way to a man’s heart,” his gaze dared her. A silent demand that she put him out of his misery. If she couldn’t stomach being with him, then this was the next step.

As he guided the knife right under his ribs and angled it, she tensed. As he pushed in against the knife, she pulled it back a little bit as her gaze jumped between him and where he had angled the knife.

"Your wards wouldn't let me. Said so yourself," she stated off-hand but didn't sound angry or bitter. There was a sense of concern, making her voice a little bit softer. "Malfoy..." Pausing a moment, she let out a slow breath. Hadn't Zabini tried to use her first name to inspire some sort of feeling of comradery or something? It was worth a shot. "Draco. What the hell happened?"

She was pulling back—pity. He didn’t let go of her hand. So long as he held her, his own flesh and blood would override it—not that she needed to know the intricacies of it all. At his last name, he held back a scoff, even more so as she tried his first name.

He stabbed the knife into his desk beside his mask. “We both know I can’t answer that. And even if I could…” He reached for the firewhiskey. She was so close he couldn’t avoid touching her if he tried. At least the bottle kept him from saying something or, worse, trying to fill the gaps between them.

"Even if you could, you wouldn't," she stated simply, a small spark of anger there, but she didn't try to stop him from taking the bottle. Once he took a swig though, she took the bottle from him and took a swig herself. "Yet for some reason, you want me in this with you."

He wouldn't share, but she didn't snap, didn't accuse, just watched him with a slight look of understanding. Something he had done bothered him. Deeply. She had reacted rather badly the first time she'd taken a life. Had gotten violently ill when she was away from everything. it hadn't for a while. But what could he have done that made him this unsettled?

Draco leaned closer, studying her as his warm breath brushed her cheek. "I might be inclined to be more forthcoming if you were in this with me," he deposited the wisp of words in the shell of her ear. "If you committed."

That was what the end game wasn't it? He wanted to pull away, every thought in his mind demanding he pull back, but she was so warm, and her hair was so soft. Not the frazzled mess it had been before. Smooth as silk.

The feeling of his breath on her cheek, along her ear, sent a shiver down her spine, and she had to close her eyes a moment to avoid leaning into him herself. "Might? That doesn't sound very promising," she murmured, almost sounding playful but falling just a little short.

He didn't understand why she wanted to be let in in the first place. Would shielding her be more of a pain? He didn't dote on the thought, much too enraptured by the heat that seemed to roll off her in waves. Or perhaps he was flushed from the whiskey.

Pausing for just a moment, she let her hand move back to his chest, resting where it had been before he put her own knife into her hand. If he was going to fill her personal space, she was going to fill his. "Why is it that pureblood marriages involve so many extra steps?" It was meant as a jab, but it just sounded curious and quiet. Her voice was much softer with him so close to her.

Draco stilled at her touch, closing his eyes as he heeded her words. "Honestly?" he asked, leaning into her hand as if it were the very tether that kept him in the moment. "Protection. Family is hostage to fortune," he recalled his father's words. "Some to protect the parties involved, others to protect the families and what their union would produce..." he continued honestly. "Fidelity clauses, clauses to prevent abuse, not all of it is bad."

Hermione watched as he leaned into her, half tempted to touch his hair. It looked like it wouldn't be soft, but she wasn't sure. Her fingers trailed up from his chest to his shoulder, lightly trailing over his arm for a moment, staying to the outer edges. "That's a terrible way to view it," she murmured in response to his father's words, but she thought about the rest of it carefully.

"It's honest," he admitted. His Dark Mark had been an attack on his family, disguised as their salvation. The things he'd done, the things he'd put himself through. "My mother won't even step foot in the Kingdom if she can avoid it," his words barely a whisper.

"I suppose that side of it isn't bad," she murmured, leaning in closer to him. "And what clauses would you add?" Talking about this, as if she were entertaining the idea, seemed to at least distract him from whatever made his eyes look so dark.

Pulling back, he looked at her. Truly looked at her. The soft touches, the way she spoke. "Definitely one so we couldn't kill each other, not even through a third party," he said honestly. His palm hovered over her cheek. "I'd make sure I couldn't hurt you," he barely allowed the words to escape him.

"...Your mother is even smarter than I thought she was," she murmured. It wasn't something she'd be able to avoid. Not with You-Know-Who providing his blessing for Malfoy to pursue this. There would be no hiding, no avoiding people seeing what she was doing if she did this. And she wasn't sure what she was doing.

Looking back at him, she met his gaze. Her heart was starting to hammer in her chest. "Reassuring. I rather like not being dead," she murmured, trying to put a little bit of humor into this. But as his palm hovered over her cheek, she stayed still as she let her hand trail back up his arm, resting on his shoulder, freezing in a little bit of surprise.

"Not hurting me is good...Any other clauses?" If she dwelled on that her shock and surprise would show far too much on her face.

"A way to communicate," he brushed her lower lip with his thumb. "Perhaps better guard certain secrets," he added. There would be no point if either of them was left vulnerable. Strategy was far easier to focus on than how much he wanted to bring her closer. "What about you? Is there anything you would like?"

"We're communicating now," she murmured, though her lips stayed parted slightly as his thumb brushed her lip. "...I suppose fair play would be making sure I couldn't harm you....the fidelity clause would have to stay. Can't be made a fool of," she murmured, her fingers trailing over his shoulder slowly again. "Still thinking through it. Never thought I might have to figure out clauses to a marriage like a complex contract..."

Draco leaned in before he could stop himself, he claimed her lips. He hadn't dared even consider the fidelity clause. He wouldn't have forced her into a loveless and hopeless marriage. There was nothing tender about the exchange. A firm need that had him pull her legs on either side of him.

Hermione's breath hitched as soon as he kissed her, the taste of his lips on hers making her heartbeat roaring in her ears. Wrapping her arms loosely around him, she kissed him back. The buzz helped. The fact she wanted to feel something helped. Her thighs pressed into his hips as he spread her legs open around him, drawing him closer. This was a terrible idea. But it beat being angry. It beat being scared. And it beat being utterly hopeless.

Why he had avoided her lips that first night with her, he could understand now. It was like her entire body enveloped him. She covered him more than any robe or mask could as they kissed, and he welcomed the abandoned acceptance. Encouraging her legs around his waist, he picked her off his ruined desk without parting from her. Through their heated exchange, he walked her in the opposite direction she normally took and marched them straight to his quarters.

Even in the dark, he knew his way around. Kicking off his boots with a bit of magical assistance on his way to the four-poster bed in the middle of the room. Looming with dark hangings and promising high thread counts beneath the comforter that pulled itself away to expose silk sheets.

If he had kissed her that first night, she would have been lost much more easily. She might not have grabbed that knife for a while. But there was no way to be sure now. As he picked her up, her arms tightened around him just as her legs did, and she kept kissing him. She could hear what Zabini said in her head but she couldn't care at the moment. I wouldn't want someone touching my witch either. The next morning, she might regret this, but that was a problem for morning Hermione.

Without her wand, she had very little control over her magic. But she did manage to get her boots undone if not off as he approached the bed with her.

Settling her down just shy of the mattress, he smoothed down her side to find the hems of her dress, pulling the cream color fabric over her head and onto the floor. There was no point in setting her down if he was just going to spend the foreseeable future prying clothing piece after clothing piece off of her.

As he set her down, she almost stumbled. But the kiss broke as he lifted the cream dress off of her body. She kicked off her boots, her fingers trailing down the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with swift touches. Don't think. Don't pause. If she let herself stop long enough to think, she'd pull away, and things would be even more difficult between them.

The bra she was in was a soft white with lace. And she was slowly starting to fill back out from the consistent food she was eating. Slowly recovering from years of not getting enough to eat.

Before she could second guess herself, her lips pressed to his again with a heated kiss. Finishing on the buttons of his shirt.

He'd barely gotten a glimpse of the lacy number she wore, but he knew it would be seared into his mind. The way her breasts filled the cups almost perfectly. As his tongue demanded way, he took a moment to cup her chest, his thumbs making her nipples pebble with as much demand as their first night together. Doting on her breasts a moment longer, he smoothed trails down her body, moving to push at her leggings before shrugging off the shirt she had freed him of.

Her lips parted for his tongue without hesitation. The taste of him and firewhiskey filled her mouth, and he filled her senses. There was a lingering scent of blood on him, but she didn't care. Not as he cupped her chest and teased her nipples. It caused her to man into the kiss, helping push him out of that shirt before she helped him get her leggings off of her body. Leaving her in that bra and the lace knickers that matched.

Everything in her closet matched. The clothes were soft and warm and fit her like a damn glove for the time being. Though it would all get too tight eventually. Her hands went to his trousers.

Forehead resting against hers, to catch his breath, Draco realized looking down was a mistake. Her hand on his trousers, the matching set she wore, if he'd been lost at the feel of her pillowy soft lips, he knew there was no turning back now. Reaching behind her, he struggled with the small clasps of her bra as he felt his pants fall alongside his trousers. Turning her around, he undid the fabric and slowly slid either strap off her shoulders. His body pressed to her back as he stripped her of the lace.

His lips painted kisses from the tip of her shoulder to her neck, nipping along the side of her neck as he pushed down her knickers.

There were scars that littered his body, and it was tempting to trace them. But that was a level of intimacy that they weren't. This was an escape. A way to feel like a person and help him feel like a person again. They both needed it. Before she could reach for that hard length of him, he turned her around. She pulled her hair over one shoulder, making it easier for him to get the bra off. His lips on her skin had her shiver, pressing back against him as her eyes closed, focusing on just his touch.

She stepped out of her knickers, swiping them aside with her foot. Focusing on him was becoming easier. The world narrowed down to where his body touched her own.

With his leg, he helped nudge her knee on the bed, giving him more leeway to guide his length against her. Using his sensitive tip to pry her folds and tease against them in his need for proximity. She might as well have been the very oxygen in his lungs at that moment.

His free hand explored her. The crook of her side, the length of her clavicle. He explored the extent of her arm and traced invisible lines across her stomach, studying her reactions, finding every sensitive part of her with strategic care.

She moved onto the bed, setting her knees on it as he pressed in against her. As he guided his length to her folds, she gasped softly. Spreading her legs a little further apart, she wanted more of his touch.

Tracing her clavicle had her shiver, almost pressing against him. His fingers along her stomach almost had her tug away, more ticklish than anything more pleasant. Looking over her shoulder at him, her cheeks were more flushed, desire more clear in her eyes.

Draco met her gaze as he aligned himself. A hand smoothing her abdomen, traveling upward to grip her shoulder and keep her back against his chest as he slowly pushed forward. Inch by inch, he filled her. Slowly, keeping himself under control in his abandonment of reason.

As his hand moved up her body, she let her back press into his chest a bit more fully. A soft gasp that turned to a moan left her lips as he filled her slowly. She kept her gaze on him, dropping from his eyes to his lips in an almost silent demand.

At that silent plea, he drew closer, sucking in her very breath as he pulled out just as slowly. A ghost of a smile curved his lips as he gave her a feather-light brush of a kiss. A stark contrast to the firmness of his length spearing through her.

The barely brush of a kiss almost had her whine, her lips brushing his back gently, pressing back into him. Her hips slowly ground back against him, wanting more from him like last time. The memory of it burned into her mind despite herself.

It wasn’t long before his lips met hers again, the demand matching the punishing pace of his hips. Usually, he would have pushed her down by now in abandonment, but even the attempt to keep distance between them was a failure.

Slotted against him, her body felt easy to envelop. Like her height, the bed, the distance between their lips had been measured to fit perfectly. With a hand on her shoulder, he pulled her down as he pushed up into her, his other hand slipping between her thighs to force more delicious sounds that died on his demanding tongue.

Her lips parted as soon as he did, welcoming him into her mouth like she was welcoming him between her legs. It felt like he was consuming her. Enveloping her. Everything other than this was being chased away, and she, for the moment, couldn't remember why she had been so angry at dinner. Her mind turned off in favor of feeling.

The physical chemistry was undeniable as he kept that hand on her shoulder to pull her down as he thrust up. Her moans were swallowed by his kisses, even as they grew louder, and her hips started to move to rock down into him each time he thrust up into her.

Every part of him was overfilled by her. Her scent in his nose, her taste on his tongue. She flooded his senses with the slick heat that engulfed him, her taut, strong shoulder beneath his palm, and that soft hooded flesh he pressed against her heat, feeling their flesh connect every few strokes of it.

One hand came up to grip the back of his head as they kissed. Her moans were becoming soft whimpers as her hips arched into his fingers as he built her. If he kept that up, she wasn't going to last that long with him like this.

When he’d imagined breaking Hermione Granger, it most certainly hadn’t been in this manner. Those soft moans she gave him made him need more. He wanted her to scream for him by the end of this. Wanted to feel those clenches of hers until it was too much. He had a second chance, and he needed to do better.

As he continued to touch between her legs, continued to thrust inside of her, it didn't take too much longer with those focused touches against her clit before she moaned louder into his mouth. It wasn't nearly as intense as it had been the night before. Not at this angle and not with them like this, but she tightened around him as her own hand tightened in his hair.

He rode through her first orgasm, kissing her as he did. He was grateful for it not milking his own climax from him. Despite not wanting to leave her, he parted with her to smooth any lingering tension from her body.

“Get in bed,” he nudged, climbing in behind her. The idea of not touching her was almost distressing. Helping her settle on her back, he latched onto one of her breasts, sucking at her in a near bruising manner as he slipped two fingers into her, finding that firm softness with a come hither motion.

She trembled as he drew out of her body. Half expecting him to kick her out or make a scathing comment. Instead, he nudged her into bed. And she moved, laying back on the smooth sheets with a soft sigh as he climbed in with her.

But as soon as his mouth fastened to her breast, she gasped, arching from the bed before a moan pulled from her lips. Her hand carded through his hair, gripping at him as her eyes fell closed. "Fuck," she gasped, her voice breathy with how sensitive her body still was.

Her curses were music to his ears as he continued his assault. Building her ever faster as he took each breast in turn. Licking, flicking, and nipping. By the end of this, she would have marks to remind her of their night. Every bite, a silent mine, bruised into her flesh.

Those fingers were magic. Far too skilled at finding exactly where she wanted him to touch. Those continued curls of his digits kept her legs spread open for him as she moaned louder, squirming as he nipped harder at her breasts. Her hand tightened in his hair.

The tugs on his short silver white hair kept him going. He reveled in every ounce of pain and every sound that escaped her. Smearing messy kisses and bites on his way to her lips, he brought his thumb up to find that cluster of nerves.

He was careful though, building and slowing a few times. “Don’t you dare come yet,” he warned, shifting to make a descent of kisses down her front, eying her as he did.

As he claimed her lips again, she whimpered into the kiss as she returned it. It was more heated, almost desperate for a moment, as her hips arched up into his hand as he found her clit again. As he built her up and then slowed twice, she gasped, her nails lightly dragged over the back of his neck and down his back.

"Or what?" She gasped a little breathlessly, watching as he kissed down her body, the blush heating, but she didn't dare look away at the moment.

“Then I’ll have to start over to taste it…” He nipped above her pelvic bone, continuing to tease her as he continued that languorous descent. Kiss. Lick. Nip. It was nearly a pattern until he exposed her clit to give a deep heavy breath against it as if debating how best to assault it.

That blunt admittance of how he planned to make her come apart next had her tremble, watching him with desire and pleasure-filled eyes as she tried not to squirm. Those kisses, nips, and licks over her body almost made her arch her hips, but she kept herself still. One hand gripped the sheets beneath her, her breath hitching as his breath hit her clit.

She wanted more. No, needed more. But she lightly bit down on her bottom lip to keep from saying anything else.

She was trying, and it was the hottest thing she could have done. Leaning in, he traced her with his tongue, replacing his fingers so he could explore her depths more thoroughly, remembering some of what had worked back at the club and using the intel against her.

Her head fell back against the pillows as she moaned at that first stroke of his tongue. She felt far too sensitive from that first climax, and how worked up he was making her. Was he always this thorough? Would it really be that terrible to be tied to someone that attentive in bed? As soon as he started focusing on those languid strokes of his tongue like he had at the club, she arched into his mouth with a whimper. "Oh god," she couldn't hold back the words, watching him down between her legs.

Those same words that had given her away before now lit a fire in his eyes. If there was a God, Draco had no reason to believe he existed. But knowing what it represented for Muggles, knowing his tongue could have her calling out to a deity, certainly stroked his ego. Perhaps she’d have him call his name again, maybe even his moniker. He continued steadily, hoping to have her fall apart around his tongue.

Her grip on the bedding beneath her tightened as she tried not to squirm. Tried not to roll her hips into his mouth. But that battle was lost as her hips rose, almost as if she were silently urging him on. Another moan left her lips, the sounds leaving her lips a little more frequently as he continued to build her up, up, up. And crested as she moaned louder, not enough to scream, but her legs almost shook with the strength of her release.

Draco kissed her through that climax, lapping her pleasure with a moan of his own. As her chest rose and fell, he soothed his tongue against her. His pleasure practically hummed against her sensitive core.

Slowly, he climbed back up, leaving his hardened length pressed against her inner thigh. A silent reminder that he was hardly done with her.

“How many more of those delicious orgasms do you have in you?” He asked gently, tracing a nipple before giving it a pinch

The way he kept lapping at her through her climax had her trembling, oversensitive, and whimpering from the contact as he hummed against her. Her hand slowly loosened on the sheets as he climbed back up her body, pressing his length into her inner thigh. He was still so hard and hadn't even finished once.

"I...I don't know...." she breathed, a moan leaving her at that pinch. She squirmed under him, her hand tracing down over his back and then back up again slowly. "...M-most before was three..." she admitted as she blushed.

There was no way she didn’t feel how viscerally he reacted to her gentle touches. The way his length twitched with yearning from just a brush of her fingers against his back of all places.

“Two more then,” he whispered. No need to overachieve. At least not tonight.

Shifting closer, he touched her gently, kissing the side of her neck as his fingers found her core again.

"T-two?" She gasped before she shivered at those kisses to the side of her neck. Those gentle touches and kisses had her relaxing further under him.

Hermione tilted her head so he could keep kissing her neck, her breath hitching on a soft whimper as his fingers found their way back to her core.

Was he that determined to do better than her previous partners? And did she want to think about what the likely reason why was at the moment?

“I don’t think I can withstand more than that on such short notice,” he practically purred against her throat. Just imagining the sensitive mess she would be if he made her fall apart again and again.

The sound and feeling of his lips and voice against her throat had her tremble. She shifted under him, almost moaning as his fingers stroked between her legs. "...on short notice?" Her voice was just a little incredulous. How much could he do?

He slipped his fingers into her more firmly, building her up more confidently as though every encounter had been a measure of her limits.

“Potions, toys,” he said in a circular motion before falling into that steady pace she seemed to enjoy. There are so many ways to extend a night,” he promised sweetly. I’d love to make a mess of you properly sometime,” he admitted.

Those firmer thrusts of his fingers had her moan, her hips rolling to meet those touches of his hand. The circular motion had her arch, her nails digging into his back slightly as she tried not to whimper. Noises fell from her lips easily, though. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was paying attention.

"Love to, huh?" she managed, her voice more breathy before she nipped at his jaw and pressed a few kisses over it and then up to his ear. "...You just want to hear me scream again... or moan your name,' she purred into his ear before nipping it gently.

“Love to,” he echoed, hissing at those delicious nails of hers. She always had been a quick study. “Scream, cry, beg…” he groaned as she nipped him. She had to know how wild she drove him. “You sound and feel so good,” he praised in a velvet tone, mercilessly teasing her towards bliss.

"Think...think you can manage to make me beg, Draco?" She gasped, shivering at his praise. It had her clench on his fingers, reacting to the praise as she tried to hold out a bit longer. Those touches and brushes of his hand having her clutch at him as she moaned again softly. Why did he know how to touch her so well?

“Fuck,” he can barely hold back the curse as those inner walls of hers collapse around his fingers. Trapping them for a moment before he can ease them out.

His fingers move to dig into her hip. “I think deep down you want to be my witch…” he pulled her in closer, nose tip brushing hers as he held back from kissing her. “I’m sure you can beg beautifully…” His breath lingered on that bruised lower lip of hers. “But I had a different idea for right now,” he brought her leg over his hip and shifted to pull her atop him.

“I want to see you take your pleasure from me,” he smoothed up those strong thighs of hers. “No rules, no demands,” he continued.

Catching her breath, she tried not to whimper. She felt so sensitive. None of her previous partners had been this giving or attentive. As he pulled her in closer, their noses brushing, she looked into his eyes. But she hadn't expected the change in position to put her astride him.

No rules or demands. A stark contrast to the club. She took another few moments to catch her breath as her fingers smoothed up his chest, not lingering on the scar there from Harry as she leaned forward, nipping at his bottom lip. "You very clearly want me to be your witch...If I didn't know better...I'd think you were trying to show me how good it could be this way if I agree...."

And it would be one hell of an argument. Her hand moved between them, angling that length of him up, and she slowly lowered herself down onto him with a soft gasp. It almost felt like too much after everything. Straightening up, she rested her hands over his chest, steadying herself as she started to ride him with sure movements of her hips.

“Mmmmm,” he sounded, enjoying the sound of that more than he cared to admit. “I suppose it could be seen that way.” He gave a throaty moan as she speared herself on him. After denying himself for so long, the pressure of it all was nearly too much.

His touch smoothed from her knees to her hips, taking her in without hindering her motions. “You forget a rather important fact,” he rolled his hips up and felt his breath grow ragged.

“I’d be yours.”

A claim the likes the Dark Lord himself couldn’t take away.

The sound of his moans had another shiver roll down her spine. Why did he have to sound as good as he felt? It helped her lose herself with him but it was going to get her in a mess of trouble. As if she wasn't already in trouble.

Increasing the speed of her movements as she rode him, her breath almost caught in her throat at that. Hers. Part of her really liked the sound of that. Her feelings were getting muddied by everything. But she didn't let herself focus on that.

Another moan left her lips as she added a grind every few rocks of her hips. "Keep doing that," she nearly moaned the demand. The feeling of him rolling his hips to meet her built her oversensitive body.

“This?” He posited, giving another rise of his hips to meet her grinds. Everything about this was burned into his mind. He tucked away every expression and savored the sweet song that befell her lips just for him.

She felt so tight around him, threatening to pop him like a warm bottle of champagne with every fall he thrust against. A sweet torture he would surely give into.

“So close,” he warned, giving her control, allowing her to do with it as she will.

"Yes," she gasped, her nails lightly digging into his chest as she increased the power of her hips coming down onto him. Each thrust up, sinking him deeper into her core.

Her body felt so sensitive that it would only take a little more to tip her over the edge again. Hermione nearly trembled. He felt so good filling her up. Nodding in understanding, she adjusted the angle of her hips so he kept hitting that spot inside of her now, too.

Not letting herself scream, she leaned down and claimed his lips as she moaned, muffling her cry of pleasure as she tightened around him again. Rather than still, she kept going through her climax to get him to his as her body trembled with delicious overstimulation.

Every collision with that spot inside her spurred his hips up. His lips parted to moan, only to have the sounds smothered in a kiss. Where her pleasure began and his ended, he couldn’t say.

Every clench pulling his heated pleasure out as his length thrashed inside her. Despite how sensitive she was, she didn’t stop her near-punishing pace to obliterate them both. Eventually, he gripped her hips to still them, keeping himself fully sheathed despite the loss of firmness.

Maintaining that kiss, he rolled them, trapping her beneath him. Pleasure glazed his stormy irises as he pulled back to look at her. There were so many things left unsaid, and he doubted the soon-to-rise sun would allow such things. Instead, he laid his heavy head on her shoulder and closed his eyes.

The kiss was heated and desperate to hide just how pleasurable it all was. Finding pleasure with the man she had been trying to kill until recently was not something she would have expected. Though the startling truth was she didn't hate how he felt inside of her. Touching her. Pleasing her. She stilled at his grip, body shaking with little aftershocks that had a soft whimper left her lips against his.

Pleasure glazed her own chocolate eyes as she looked up at him. Her hair was mussed and tussled against his pillows, cheeks flushed, and lips parted and swollen from kisses. As he laid his head on her shoulder, she slowly closed her own eyes as she caught her breath and relaxed beneath him.

One arm wrapped around him, fingers lightly trailing up and down his back as she started to get pulled back into the abandonment of sleep.

After everything, there was no shifting those strong arms around her. A steady rise and fall of his chest quickly whisked him into the realms of Morpheus. Every so often, his body twitched from exertion. He’d pushed himself into a dreamless sleep. Even if he’d wanted to wake up, to will himself into consciousness, he had nothing left to fall back on, no energy reserves to deplete further.