I forbid it
She could feel his stare as she walked across the common room. All their time over the past weeks sneaking around, snogging behind tapestries, feeling one another up and always listening for passerby, and for what? A fleeting high? Self-satisfaction for scratching that itch that was the unobtainable?
Hermione was tired of the secrets. She was tired of the way they pretended and ignored and put up a show for the rest of their classmates, like their feelings mattered more somehow.
Last night had been the last straw, Malfoy pinning her hips against the bookshelf, his head between her thighs, his tongue deep inside her cunt. She’d whimpered and moaned low in her throat, fighting the sounds threatening to erupt into the silence, and he’d dared to stop, to forbid her from making a sound. It wouldn’t be an issue, now would it, if he’d only allowed her to cast a simple silencio, or even a muffliato? But, no. The git got off on her struggles, smiling into her wet centre and working her into a frenzy she was not permitted to express.
Not fifteen minutes later, he walked past her table like she didn’t even exist, laughing with an arm slung over Daphne Greengrass’ shoulders.
So yes, Hermione was over the indignity of it all. She’d had her fun, same as he, and she now wanted more.
Her steps led her right up to Theodore Nott. His brown eyes, shot through with flecks of moss green, were wide as he looked up at her.
Lovely.
Hermione had actually had her eye on Nott long before her “thing” with Malfoy; what better time than now to make good on what she knew was mutual curiosity?
“Nott.”
She tracked the bob of his Adam’s apple in smug satisfaction, how he shifted in his seat as if slightly uncomfortable. He should be. He had several eyes on him, including a set as mercurial as their owner.
“Did you need something, Granger?”
He could try to keep his voice as smooth and steady as he liked; Hermione could tell he was affected. Malfoy wasn’t the only one who liked to toy with his prey. She, too, found rising pleasure in pinpointing a weakness, a desire, and pressing down onto it like a bruise. She knew Theodore would love nothing more than to be sassed around by a bold witch who routinely challenged the leaderboards and knew her way around a cock.
“Do you mind if I sit?” She kept her tone light, shooting her eyes towards the empty spot on the loveseat next to him.
There were plenty of other chairs around the 8th year common room, so it was no surprise that Theo glanced around in speculation before landing his eyes back on her with a knowing grin.
“I wouldn’t mind at all.”
Rather than sit down like any normal person would, Hermione chose to kick off both shoes and extend her legs across his lap. He rewarded her boldness with a sharp inhale, hands rising out of the way then hovering uncertain midair.
“I’m good now. You can rest your hands on top if you’d like. I wouldn’t say no to a massage, either.” She ignored the glare from the nearby armchair.
Theo choked out a laugh before settling his hands atop her knee highs. “As the lady commands.” Then he set to work, fingers kneading in circles up and down her calves.
She couldn’t help but luxuriate in the pleasure of a good massage, closing her eyes and humming in appreciation.
“Can you fucking not?” came the sharp rebuke.
She opened one eye to look over at Malfoy where he sat, hands clenched into fists atop his knees..
“Is there a problem?” she asked, still playing the sweet tone. The chuckle next to her told her she wasn’t alone in her enjoyment of their little scene.
“Yeah, there is.” If he contorted his face any further, maybe it’d get stuck that way. “Nobody wants to see that.”
She obliged him by turning her attention towards Theo’s hands and the way they rose higher up her leg with each sweep of his palms. The two of them shared a look, and she nodded at the questioning tickle of his finger where sock met skin. If she wasn’t enjoying Malfoy’s discomfort so much, she would have been completely distracted by the charming way in which Theodore’s dimples revealed themselves only when his grin stretched past a certain point.
Her socks slid off with his hands in one smooth movement, and this time it was Malfoy who let out a strangled sound that others might misinterpret as shock. Hermione knew better. So did Theo.
“Mmm, that feels much better,” she breathed out, knowing exactly how low and throaty her voice had become. Going off of the hardness on top of which her calves rested, Theo was also affected.
“Shit, Granger,” muttered Theo, hands boldly moving from ankle all the way to thigh with increasing confidence. He leaned closer in her direction with each upward motion.
They yelped at the crash from Malfoy shoving his foot into the coffee table and sending it flying against the wall.
“Get the fuck up, Hermione.”
She blinked at the figure now only inches away from her, eyes tracing up a fit torso, past a clenched jaw, and landing on the prettiest grey eyes as sharp as obsidian glass. His cologne flooded her senses, sweet oranges and coriander. She craved that smell, wanted it etched into her skin like a signature claim.
“Hermione now, is it?”
Oh, he was pissed, eyes flashing like they were, lips curling into a snarl as one hand darted out to wrap around her elbow.
“Oi!” In a flash, Theo was there, having stood up so quickly to grab onto Malfoy’s forearm that Hermione’s legs were tossed helter-skelter to the side.
“Shove off, Theo. This is between Hermione and I.” Malfoy tried to shrug off the hold, but Theo refused to budge.
“Since when is she ‘Hermione’ to you?” Theo scoffed. He glanced down at her and the concern in his kind eyes nearly had her blurting the truth out in one go. “You either ignore her or treat her like shite.”
If the hold on her arm got any tighter, it’d leave visible bruises.
“Let go of her, mate,” he continued to cajole his best friend, pushing more of his body between the two of them. If she wasn’t already completely in love with Malfoy, Hermione could easily see herself falling for Theo.
“I’ll let go when she asks,” Malfoy retorted.
At that, Hermione found herself the focus of both wizards. Theo didn’t say anything, hazel eyes softened in a show of support. Malfoy, on the other hand, wore an expression she’d never seen before.
Was it…desperation? Fear? What could he be afraid of?
“Let go of me, Draco.”
Theo’s eyes sharpened at the name, while the target of her request looked almost stunned dumb. For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse, nails biting into the fabric of her jumper. He let out a long exhale and released her. She spoke again before he could retreat.
“There’s one way you can stop me from leaving.”
So fixated were they on one another, that neither of them acknowledged Theo’s move away from them. It was just him, her, and a vast pool of unspoken desires. This was as far as she was willing to go. If he couldn’t say it, wouldn’t say it, then she’d walk away and never look back.
Her breathing was loud in her ears, and she wondered if it was just as loud to him. One of her curls hung partially in her eyes, tickling her lips with each puff of air. The longer they stared, the less sure she felt. Maybe she’d completely misread him.
It was just as Hermione was tensing her thighs to stand up that he moved.
His hand returned, only this time, it drifted gently towards her face. She froze, entranced at the encroaching brush of skin to skin. Instead, he took her wayward strand and fingered it between dexterous digits.
“I’m a coward, Hermione.” The words were spoken so softly that she thought she might have imagined them. But then he continued. “You deserve much better than me. I’m nothing. No one.”
She made to protest, reassurances bubbling to the surface, but he cut her off. “No, I mean it. Theo is the better wizard, and you’d probably be happier with him, but I can’t, I won’t see him be the one to make you smile. I refuse to let him touch you the way I’ve touched you. You’re mine, but I can’t fucking say it until you claim me as yours first.”
Not once had Hermione ever heard him speak to such lengths in such genuine sincerity, his insecurity and want shining within his gaze as obvious as the sun in the sky and the light on her skin. She felt lifted up on a bubble of euphoria, only this time she wasn’t afraid of her foundation breaking apart and sending her tumbling headfirst to the ground. She rose up and up, her chest filled to bursting with, dare she say it, hope?
“I want you, Draco Malfoy. I, Hermione Granger, want you, and only you.”
The words were said and couldn’t be taken back, not that she ever would. And he, in turn, dropped to his knees to press palms to cheeks, lips to lips, to drink her in like a man on the verge of death. It was all very romantic and dramatic.
“About bloody time.”
Theo’s eyes rolled, but he still smirked at the sight of the daftest people he knew finally coming together like they should have long ago. Maybe in another timeline he would have gleefully played for keeps; Merlin help him, but both of them were fit as fuck and he was always looking for a shag. Still, he didn’t mind the role given to him and had accepted Granger’s proposition before she’d even finished asking. Just as long as she didn’t forget and returned the favour one day–maybe when the two of them were feeling adventurous and interested in a third.
He whistled as he left the room, angling towards the greenhouses and a certain snake slayer due for some deepthroating.