Quidditch Distraction
The wintry, morning air bellows into my face. The realisation gurgles sickeningly in the pit of my stomach, as sleep deteriorates from myself. I hate Quidditch jitters; they always make me feel unstable, inhibiting that lack of control to other parts of my brain until I'm nothing but a panicky mess.
It's fucking frustrating because I'm Draco Malfoy. I'm the one that is always in bloody control; one look into my stone, hard gaze and the younger years melt into their own saliva.
I heave myself out of bed, creasing strands of my messy, bedridden hair. Adjacent from me, lies Blaise, who's still fully possessed by sleep. The stupid git has one leg dangling awkwardly over the side of his bed, and a silvery sheen of saliva is trickling out of the corner of his mouth.
Only Blaise can manage to make sleep look idiotic. Such a shame I now have to wake his ugly arse up.
Without any merciful thought, I grab my wand from my bedside and begin to wingardium leviosa his body off the bed. I am truly a delightful friend.
I entertain the sight in pure amusement as Blaise's limp arms collapse to his sides, still not even a small band away from waking up while he is continuously elevated into the air.
With one swish of my wand, my friend's sleeping figure levitates away from his bed, and towards the centre of our dorm. This is going to be fucking good. Tilting my wand to the side, with another powerful force of my wand, Blaise's body crumbles to the floor with minimal cushioning.
As soon as Blaise's painful groans orchestrate around the room, I secretly wind my wand around my back to avoid suspicion.
Blaise tilts his body to my side, his face blazing with post-traumatic-sleep-disorder while simultaneously massaging his backside. "What the fuck happened to me, and why is my damn arse so sore?"
I swallow a growing smile with a discerning expression. "Looked like you fell off the bed again, Zabini."
My friend leverages his arms as he sits into a somewhat sitting position. He cocks his head behind, where he's at least lying a good few metres away from his bed. Then he hauls his head back in my direction, where his black eyes narrow inconspicuously.
"You fucking levitated me again, didn't you Malfoy?"
I shrug nonchalantly, "I mean, it's Quidditch day. The one day of the year where I feel nervous as hell. I need to distract myself somehow, don't I?" I flicker a smug grin at him. Blaise's frown transcends into borderline frustration.
You're asking for a fight when you decide to piss off a Slytherin. But you're asking for the killing curse right there if you trigger Zabini, since the guy barely gets angry in the first place. Rainbows, unicorns and cupcakes basically flutter out of his arse.
"You know I hate it when you do that," he spits aggressively.
"Yeah, well, I hate it when I walk in on you having sex with Luna Lovegood, but yet, here we are."
A tumultuous storm vaporises his eyes, but as his mouth widens to unleash it, he quickly cuts himself off. His major pet peeve of mine is over indulging myself in the gossip of their grossly romantic relationship. But to be fair, it doesn't help that his roommate has been coerced against his will to see his friend and his girlfriend getting off on each other.
Instead, he breathes out an irritated sigh. "Just stop doing that shit. One day you will successfully manage to break my arse."
"Nah. I think I'll leave that up to Luna."
Blaise rolls his eyes, "You're such an arsehole. I hope the bludger takes you out today."
"Trust me Zabini, that bludger will go running when it comes across these muscles," I flex my definition for additional emphasis.
Blaise picks himself up off the floor. "I don't know about that bludger, but it has managed to work with Hermione Granger."
As soon as the first syllable of her name reverberates against Blaise's lips, my sardonic humour evaporated into steam, quickly enveloping the cold, morning light. I fucking hate that my friend has weaknesses tied up into my own personal noose. He knows that with one brief mention of her name, chaos arises.
And Blaise eats off my reaction. Like right now, he's grinning like the gloating motherfucker he is. This is one of the many reasons why I hated bloody relationships, too much fucking drama.
So as heavy as my heart is, I remain cool and unaffected, "Don't speak that name to me again."
While I walk out of the room, the pain doesn't shed from my heart.
*****************************************************************
I can no longer resort to Blaise as my main form of distraction. Each step to the Great Hall, the stronger the nausea swirls in the pit of my stomach. I loathe being swayed by pathetic nervousness; it makes me feel fucking weak.
Vulnerability is man's true enemy, Draco. If you want to be respected, don't cry like the middle some fool you are.
I flinch as my dad's cruel, brutal voice echoes in the torture chamber that is my head. I don't know why he's lingering in there; the only place where that miserable old bastard deserved to be is in the ground, desecrating away, where insects can have their way with him.
I stopped trusting that arsehole long ago. Then why the fuck is he still haunting your thoughts?
I force myself back into reality, needing to escape the chains of my own head.
Blaise and I swiftly walk along the Slytherin table, meeting Pansy, Millicent and Theo. But as soon as I haul my arse down, regret instantly becomes the bane of my existence. Because inconveniently, I'm directly adjacent to Hermione fucking Grange, chatting briskly and laughing away towards Potter.
Suddenly, Quidditch is no longer the rapid cause of my curdling queasiness.
I was perfectly content with my life right up until bloody Blaise had to utter her name out loud. Now, she's all I can think and look at; every minor movement and singular detail I'm addicted - something I vowed I'd never be again.
Even from afar, I can still clearly see the sprinkle of freckles feathered across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. It's the one place where I used to kiss her the most.
Until of course, Ronald fucking Weasley came along and swept off her feet before I had the courage of doing so.
Fucking Yule Ball.
I had made the perfect arrangements. Four weeks prior, through Owl transportation, I was writing letters to my mum - back and forth - advice regarding how to romantically appease Granger while considering one of the many conversations we had during that year.
Through my mom's connections, I managed to retrieve a long, silky and Violet coloured dress, glistening with rare, beguiling diamonds. It was only fair I put much effort since I always thought she was a diamond.
With a bouquet of her favourite flowers - Mayflowers - in one hand and the golden gift box containing her dress in the other, I was all set, heart soaked in the precious that was Hermione Granger.
I was walking to the Gryffindor common room, with my happiness ricocheting in such a way that I never knew I was capable of feeling.
And of course, that's where it all turned to absolute shit.
Near the skyscraper of moving staircases, the happiness eradicated from me, reckoned by such arctic atrocities, I thought I had just experienced a dementor's kiss.
Actually, a dementor's kiss would have been more bearable; at least then I would be a lifeless soul numb to all emotion.
While I held Hermione's dress and flowers, against my better will, I observed in petrified horror as she snogged fucking Weasley.
It wasn't just one kiss; it was a whole heap of them. She was engorged into him, the way she was with me only the day before.
Yeah, admittedly, I wasn't innocent either considering of the foul names I teased her with during the earlier years. But that's why I tried to redeem myself with the dress and flowers.
In spite of all the kisses we shared beforehand, taking her to the Yule Ball would've been our first official date, or I would have asked at her dorm.
Instead, all was exchanged was a universal slap to the face and shattered heart.
I barely stood there for long before I cowered away, more pathetically than my large ego willingly allows to confess. I ran off to the astronomy tower, and I can recall in explicit detail the blindingly hot, red rage that screamed out of me as I aggressively hauled the flowers and the dress over the railing.
After being a silent spectator to the toxic behaviours of my parents marriage, naturally I grew up with a negative bias of relationships.
But I thought Hermione was an anomaly out of her female peers. She wasn't stuck up or dumb. She was strong, very damn smart and studious, not to mention she has a great punch on her. (I know from previous experience as I mistakenly pushed her too far in third year) Fuck, her looks used to make me wild down there. She was everything I never thought I would be able to love in a girl.
You know, since the Malfoy family were strict on continuing the enriched succession of pure bloods, which, now that I'm older and wiser, is nothing but a load of bullocks and discrimination.
At least that unrequited relationship did teach me one valuable lesson. Redemption is never given to the villain; no matter how misunderstood or powerless they are.
What on earth are you blabbering about? Hermione was your past, you dumb git. And by the way, don't you have a Quidditch game to worry about?
Fuck. I'm so wrapped up in the past, I nearly quickly lost sight of the present. And of fucking course, Blaise is the first person out of our friends who observes my evident distance. "You good there, Draco?"
No. Thanks to his petty arse, the frizzy haired, freckled girl has eclipsed all Quidditch thought and now is dominating the unhealed, cob webbed pieces of my unloveable heart once more.
I distantly dangle my form over my untouched bacon and eggs. Again, thanks to Blaise, his question has managed to disrupt all other conversation in the group, centring me as the peak of attention.
"Yeah, now that Blaise has mentioned it, you have been pretty detached since you joined us, Draco." Pansy's eyes discern me apprehensively. "Is everything okay?"
I have never been that guy who utilises his friends as his certified therapists. They don't need to know about the emotional fuckup that is Draco Malfoy. All they will get is a chill, nonchalant man whose mere presence terrifies other students.
So monotonously, I quickly pull to my feet, "Yeah. Just nervous for the game, I guess. I'm going out there to get some practice."
When I walk off, I barely miss the disconcerted gaze that unnerves my neck hairs from a certain Gryffindor.
*******************************************************************
I couldn't fucking focus on the game. As the team's seeker, the snitch was practically taunting me, knowing that my mind was such in a conflicted state. Because we were facing Gryffindor, I was up against Potter.
It seemed that he was more drawn into the game than I was. While he actively chased the snitch, I was merely speeding behind Potter, unable to fully intercept him.
Come on you pathetic bastard, are you seriously going to let Gryffindor win again because you're still pathetically wrapped up in Potter's best friend?
Yet even my intrusive thoughts failed to empower me. I can't get my head into the game. Because I chase Potter, I feel like I'm indirectly chasing Hermione. Bloody hell.
The game feels timeless, and so do my ambivalent attempts to haul towards the golden snitch. I'm not only failing myself, but I'm failing the fans and my own fucking team over some ex fling.
Eventually, after another round of countless failed attempts of swerving across Potter to retrieve the snitch, it's he who succeeds in catching it and like many times previously, history repeats itself and Gryffindor are deemed the reigning champions.
While their victorious screams holler with celebration, I dejectedly fly off the field. As I enter the change rooms, my frustrations freely bleed out of me; I aggressively kick my foot against the nearest lockers, whilst lugging my bloody broom across the room.
"Fuck!" I prop my body upon one of the benches, and collapse my head into my hands. Leading up to this game, I spent every spare moment psyching myself up, training to distance all mental and physical disturbance that I may be plagued with. I committed to a strict disciplined regime and all for what? To throw it off the astronomy tower as some random girl paraded and invaded my personal thoughts.
And look what fucking happened, Potter had to just steal the glory of people's attention once again. As if surviving the killing curse twice and defeating the Dark Lord wasn't enough.
Don't blame Potter. It's not his fault that his best friend was at the brink of your thoughts for most of the match.
I have never resented myself in such a treacherous way before; of course, excluding the times where I willingly allowed my treacherous father to wield me like a bloody puppet for his evil transgressions. I'm too much of a fucking coward to face the rest of the team.
All I want to do now is shower the stench of failure from my body and pour down the remaining sorrows with fire whiskey and my illegal stash of Snakeweed.
With abrupt roughness I commence to strip off my Quidditch garments. The more I sit in them, the more of a screwup I truly feel like. I bloody loathe the wretched ruins of failure. I'm in the dull process of heaving off my Slytherin turtleneck, when an unexpected silhouette dances along the nearest wall.
I immediately stiffen when my gaze approaches in the opposite direction. My garments liquefy through my frozen, petrified fingertips as my eyes swirl over the pretty little Gryffindor in whom is awkwardly shadowing the doorway.
Wintry redness careen her freckled face, magnifying a nice, cute glow to her cheeks. Her eyes are as still brown, bulbous and curious as was the last time I was at the centre of them.
But why the fuck she is here out of all times. the reason alludes me. Hermione tucks a few strands of wild hair into her violet beanie. "Hi, Draco. It's been a while, isn't it?"
I wonder whose fault that is, I think bitterly to myself.
"What are you doing here?" I ask plainly, ensuring that all emotion that is bursting from my heart doesn't meet my voice. I absolutely refuse to unveil the vicious pain she tormented me with.
She quickly deviates between my face and the floor; her big, delicious chestnut eyes pool with sincere discomfort and concealed guilt. Hermione's fingers roughly fidget with the buttons of her coat.
"You seemed pretty disheartened when Gryffindor won, wanted to make sure you were okay," she utters unconvincingly.
Pretty odd timing to ask me such a bloody question.
"Didn't know you cared," I respond dryly, "Anyway, shouldn't you be celebrating Gryffindor's win with Potter and Weasley?" I discreetly arch Ron's name with a further tinge of disdain in order to make mu disgust truly evident to Mione.
The forgotten pieces of our relationship haunt in her agitated, remorseful face. Her jaw stiffens and she once again deviates to the attention of the floor. "Actually, um, him and I aren't on speaking terms at the moment." She ices her hand over her wrist, caressing it anxiously.
Ah, isn't that a bloody shocker. This time, I barely bother to drown out the bitterness. "And you're coming to me with this information because-?"
Hermione breathes out a defeated sigh, "I know you hate me."
That's the fucking thing. In spite of the internal heartache her kiss with Weasel conjured, no matter the efforts I tried to plough those romantic feelings into hatred, it only deflected back into my face. Hermione is the type of girl you could never hate.
I trickle my fingers through my hair, "I could never hate you, Granger. Trust me, I've tried. A lot." It's an impossibility to toss aside what seemed to be the happiest year of my life. Her presence alone instilled goodness in me that I never knew I had. But she also taught me how badly a heart can hurt when it's shattered into a million pieces.
Hermione cocks her head at me - her cute, gorgeous face flushed with a concoction of pink and flustered red. "Really? Because I'd hate me too."
"When I saw you with that Weasel," the bloodcurdling memory saunters back into my mind, which is equivalent to the times where my dad used the cruciatus curse on me whenever I disobeyed him, I was heartbroken. Even though we weren't together, I thought we had something special."
I cringe by the sweet, ignorant youth of my words. Before Hermione, and even after, I vowed I'd never be the sappy, romantic bloke. Then she waltzed around with her brown, fuzzy hair and smart, limitless and beautiful mind and suddenly, I was enslaved purely by nothing but my lovestruck heart.
Hermione's bottom lip trembles equivocally. "I know you were. You had every right to be. But just so you know," she paces inches closer to me. I only realise I'm shirtless until the heat of her presence strikes my chest clean. "After Ron kissed me that day in 4th year, I saw your figure retreating."
A spontaneous tsunami of embarrassment simmers upon my face. As if my dignity wasn't annihilated enough by that very unpleasant interaction, she just had to add that minor input.
"Ron kissed me out of the ordinary, Draco. He confessed his feelings and wanted to take me to the Yule ball." I can't contain the exaggerated eye roll that occurs shortly after the comment. "I didn't reciprocate the kiss, not properly anyway. Even though I went to the Yule ball with him, my night ended up on the school's stairs, crying. Wishing it was you."
A glistening sheen of innocent sincerity amplifies the truth in her words. This only clenches my cob webbed and lonely heart. Since Hermione, I have built an impenetrable fortress of solitude around it to avoid feeling that type of aggressive pain again.
"Why didn't you come for me? To explain this sooner?" I inquire thickly, mentally unprepared.
Mournful sadness possesses her remorseful demeanour. "Because you barely looked at me after that. And when you did, it was an expression I recognised in the old you - hatred and pity."
Fuck. Here I was, sheltering away in the dark, formidable depths of my heart, thinking it was for my own good, too ignorant to notice I was copying behaviours similar to the old me.
The older version of myself was an immature, sadistic bully and an envious coward; a pitiful image of his father.
Hermione steps closer. I don't take a step back. The magnetic pull is there, alive and awaiting my presence. "I never stopped caring about you, Malfoy. And Ron saw that in me. That's why we're on bad terms now."
In a funny twist of fate, that seemingly improved my downtrodden mood. I never truly had an issue with the Weasley family. What I felt for them previously was all influenced by my father's insecure prejudices. It was just Ron, and his childhood infatuation with Hermione that bothered me.
I saw the look in that fucker's eyes; always ogling at Hermione more like a prized possession, than the soulful, beautiful and intelligent witch that she is. Moreover, why I was absolutely enraged when I intervened into what is now just a lucky misunderstanding
I treated Hermione poorly in the earlier years, but I wanted to prove to her that I could be her partner, in every possible way.
Courageously, I take a small step forward. "Is there any chance of reconciliation with him?"
Hermione's face lightly raises, "Not currently. As long as my heart remains with you, there's no chance of mending the friendship we once had."
There comes the rigorous, uneven heart beats; overfilling with emotions I never thought I'd relive again. It feels nice to know I have a heart beating with some form of purpose, other than transporting blood around my body.
There are still so many smaller, unanswered questions I'm urging myself to ask her. But the biggest bulk of them have settled into the quiet within my mind. For now, that is good enough.
I loosely tuck a stray curl from her cheek. With Hermione's eyes intensely stapled to mine, she distantly whips her wand out and mutters "Colloportus". The entrance door shuts and locks behind, awakening a stirring pit of hunger in my core.
A minute barely ticks by before I contradict every boundary I've set for myself. My hands passionately cup her face and my mouth crashes upon hers, kissing so rapidly and irrevocably, like the ocean tides may wash us away.
Hermione wracks her arms around my bare torso, knotting her cosy body to me. Our tongues fall in rhythm with each other, like the times in fourth year where we'd sneak out after dark and make out under the astronomy tower.
Pure, superfluous bliss bursts alive in my bloodstream. It reckons me with such sharp velocity I could easily plough my fists through students if I wanted to.
My hands wander everywhere, quickly unbuttoning and tossing Hermione's coat aside.
"Fuck, Granger. I've nearly forgotten about the crazy bloody things you do to me." From the tip of her jawline, I kiss along the base of her throat, scaling along her neurotic pulse. I rapidly guide us to the nearest bench, and my cock resurrects from its long, restless slumber as I plaster Hermione's thighs over my waist.
Sweet buzzing electricity is palpable between the both of us. A cyclone of her lustrous, magnetic perfume thickens the blood in my groin until a prominent tent sits uncomfortably in my trousers. "I want you, Draco," she moans, with her voice initiating a cacophony of arousal and impatience.
The immediacy in her fact, sloppy tongue movements barely leaves me with contemplation. One of my hands venture under her woollen, Gryffindor sweater, and cup hold of her warm, desirable breasts over her bra. Hermione's fingers gnaw into the base of my neck, lips senselessly tracing along my jawline while reverberating with moans as I caress her erect, pink nipples between my fingertips.
I shove the sweater up further until I'm burying my face into my absolute weak spot. My mouth aggressively sucks upon each of her pink breasts, kissing and vacuuming along every nub and sexy crevice. Hermione's body seizes up with fervent yet aroused shivers, grinding her crotch harder over my bulge.
I need to get inside this girl right now. Too much time has been wasted.
"I want to have sex with you," I bite roughly into her hot mouth. She nods with glistening enthusiasm. Without exchanging verbal words, Hermione unzips her jeans, low enough to expose her hot pink panties. Fucking hell.
My hand loosely slides into her pants and cup her soaked panties greatly. My cock strains harder against its imprisonment, hungering for a taste of Hermione. She commences to rock herself against my hand, and as she does, her freckled cheeks inflame with sexual energy and her brown, dilated eyes are orgasmically intoxicated.
"Please Draco," she whimpers desperately, "I want you inside of me."
I heighten my neck in order to gain access to her ear. Eat shit, Weasley. "If you want to fuck me, take your jeans off so I can see that pretty little pussy of yours."
Hermione obliges immediately like the good girl she is. In a timespan of ten seconds, both her panties and jeans are tossed to the floor, leaving her soaking, hot clit in my satisfying view. After admiring the natural beauty in her nakedness, I follow shortly. I undo my trousers, pushing them and my boxers down until they wrap around my ankles.
My erection proudly displays itself and so do I, eyeing Hermione in such an addicted way that I know for sure I'll never look at another girl in that exact way.
Hermione settles herself upon my legs again, her entrances inches away from the impending collision with my cock. As I kiss her slowly yet sensually, her muscles turn rigid around me as I abruptly stick two fingers inside. I swirl them round, absorbing and appreciating her physical attraction to me.
Her thighs tremble on either side of me. I angle them out, only to reinsert them again, conjuring a euphoric eye roll into the brain as I delve deeper into her entrance. With my free hand, I carve my fingers into her arse cheek. I press a soft kiss to her jawline, "Don't come for me yet, Granger. Wait till I fuck you."
The sexual turmoil storms her face. I'm not surprised; I'm not exactly untouchable right now either. My cock is so hard, I'm frightened it may detach itself from the rest of me. "Please, Draco. Please," she breathes achingly.
Pitying her dissatisfaction, I restlessly remove my fingers from her pussy before filling that cold, empty hole with my cock. Hermione tilts her neck back, with a haul of hair temporarily blinding and tickling my face while her body commences to move in and out.
My tongue continues to lightly bite each of her nipples as Hermione adjusts to my impressive length. Once she does, her thrusts bolt my mind into blissful oblivion, annihilating all useless thought.
Because of that, the words tear themselves from the powerful emotions that set myself alight. "I have really missed you, Hermione."
When our eyes connect, time and reality distorts so it no longer feels like our insides are merged together. Her sweet, peach lips exhibit such a graceful, beautiful smile which paints a perfect picture of who she is. Upon the orgasmic glow in Hermione's infatuating eyes, they too also smile graciously. "I don't care what is the reason, never give that bloody Weasel another chance to kiss you again," then our lips touch and the world discombobulates.
Hermione tightens her hold upon my rippling back, anchoring a mixed sensation of pleasure and pain as her fingernails pierce my skin. Good. I'll be able to cherish the marks as a momento in the approaching future.
The more she thrusts, the quicker her breasts bounce, and the hotter the sight is.
I gently plunge one of my fingers into her arse, twisting it around enough to scrape her immense screams to the surface. "Oh god, yes Draco. Harder!" I further my finger inside her, all the while my lips are plastered over the delicious flesh of her neck. Hermione's voice levels up a few octaves.
A sheen of sweat layers her chest yet it only compliments her orgasmic look. She gnaws her teeth over my shoulders, allowing me to take the pain with the pleasure - with my trembling cock inside her pussy and my finger submerged into her arse. "I'm so close, baby," I grind breathlessly.
The pressure amplifies into an orgasmic crescendo with both of us panting, sore and seductive messes. In her high, Hermione faces the ceiling, thrusting even quicker than before - at this point, her breasts are jelly attached to her chest, wobbling so quickly and freely.
"Ahhhh, I'm coming, Draco..." her moans merge into high pitched gasps. Shortly, warm, thick liquid oozes out of her, trickling sweetly down my thigh. I follow immediately, contracting and plaguing her entrance with my come.
Both of us hold onto each other, neither daring to break first. Instead we enjoy the simplicity of our hearty, restless pants and the returned warmth and love of each other.
"I love you, Draco," Hermione confesses lazily, with her bushy hair snuggled up into my chest.
I run my fingers through her forest of hair. The words ooze away the protective barriers I've spent my entire life hiding in. Who knew such little words would crack the stone that was Draco Malfoy. "Not as much as I always loved and always will love you, Hermione."