Do you want me to beg?
He found her at the back table of the Hogwarts library as usual, her books neatly spread around her while she worked diligently at her manuscript. It was a Saturday afternoon on a gorgeous fall day still clinging to the memory of summer. Rather than take advantage of the sun, Hermione chose instead to be here, getting a head start on her Charms assignment that wouldn’t be due for several weeks.
Draco padded on silent feet from behind her, and just as he was about to tap her on the shoulder, she spoke.
“Hello, Draco.” She turned, not even attempting to hide the smile on her face at his consternation.
“How do you always do that? I know I didn’t make a sound.”
“Perhaps consider the limitations of muffliato.”
Try as hard as he might, he couldn’t think of an example. The charm was all-encompassing the way he cast it, covering any possible sound his body might make. “You obviously have eyes hiding underneath that bushy hair.”
“No, I can smell you,” she scoffed, before returning to her writing.
“Are you saying I stink?”
“If by ‘stink’ you mean smell of mint and apples, then by all means.”
“…so you like the way I smell?” He leaned over her from behind, bracing his hands on the table. He grinned down as she leaned back to look up at him.
“They just might be up there among my favorites.”
Their kiss was gentle, a brushing of lips, a brief dip. She tasted like the honey and lemon she always included in her tea.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Come watch my game tonight.” He brushed her hair aside as he nipped his way up her jaw.
“Must I?”
Draco knew Hermione didn’t exactly enjoy quidditch. There wasn’t a game he remembered seeing her at where she didn’t spend most of it behind a book. The rare instances he remembered her paying any attention at all were whenever Harry or Ron did something particularly dangerous. He was certain he could do better at holding her gaze.
“I don’t think I can play at my best without my girl there to cheer me on.”
“I hardly think you need me to win when you do perfectly well at your practices.”
“Do you want me to beg?”
Her breath caught as he practically hugged her from behind, his hands sliding down to rest on her thighs just underneath her skirt.
“Draco, someone might see,” she breathed.
“So? I don’t care if they find out because they don’t matter. Do you care?” Now his thumbs caressed her inner thighs while he sucked at the skin at the crook of her neck.
“No, unless it’s Madam Pince and we’re barred permanently from the library…ah!”
“Shhhh, you don’t want her to hear.”
“I’ll go, I’ll go, just please…”
“Now who’s begging?”
She protested with a quiet moan as he pulled away from her, pivoting to lean against the table as he adjusted himself. One pale eyebrow jumped up in question as she darted a hand into his bag. With a crow of triumph, she emerged with his scarf.
“Now there will be no question which side I’m cheering for,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “And I have just the jersey to go with it.”
This time it was Draco who groaned at the thought of her in the stands wearing his scarf and his name on her back for everyone to see and know that Hermione Granger was there in support of Draco Malfoy.
“If you win, I’ll reward you in your team showers later.”
The fire was lit, and Draco was a winner these days.