Chapter 21
By the time Easter break was over – Hermione having received a mound of chocolate the size of herself from Mrs Weasley along with a note to ‘make sure she stays away from people who might not have her best interests at heart’ – Hermione was walking again. She was strictly forbidden from participating in any Defence practicals and, since Draco had been forced to reveal their secret, any Essence extractions. She couldn’t deny the relief both of these things brought her.
True to her word, Madame Pomphrey had kept Harry, Ron and Ginny far away from the hospital wing. She knew she couldn’t avoid them forever, though, and not even an hour after she was out, sitting in the Ravenclaw common room organising her bookbag, Ginny cornered her.
“How did you get in here?”
“You do know there’s no password, right? That bird lets in anyone who can answer the riddle.”
“Well, yes but… it’s not polite.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Oh come off it, you’ve seen my common room. You know, this one’s actually much nicer,” she said, leaning back in a plush, midnight blue armchair. “A lot more light.”
She was stalling, and they both knew it. After a few beats of silence, Hermione decided to get it over with. “What did you come here to say, Ginny?”
It took her much too long to answer. “I hate him,” she finally said. “Whether he loves you or not, whether he’s planning to harm you or not, he’s a git. Didn’t you hear what he said to Harry and Ron? And after all Harry did for him at his trial, too.”
“Harry and Ron who dosed him with veritaser-”
“Yes, so we could find out the truth! And if you want to blame anyone, blame me. It was my idea and I put it in the drink.”
Hermione was silent for a second. “I won’t deny it solved a problem, but you can’t do that to people, Gin. He’s not some criminal for you to interrogate.”
“And how were we supposed to know that? How were we supposed to know he hadn’t used your grief over your parents to manipulate you into Merlin knows what? I know you think he’s changed but-”
“He has changed, Ginny! And if you spent as much time talking to him as you did plotting to uncover his hidden motives, you’d see it!” Shoving the last of her books into her bag, Hermione stormed out of the common room.
***
Dear Hermione,
I’m so glad you’re out of the hospital wing! Ron and I are in the field until next week, but we promise we’ll come visit next Saturday. I’ve been thinking about Malfoy, and I still don’t like it. We haven’t managed to find anything about this ‘essence’ thing. What if it’s not safe after all? Malfoy must have been telling the truth from HIS perspective, but you know how he what if he’s wrong? I’m sorry about how poorly everything went. I hope you understand that all we want to do is make sure Mal look out for you. Honestly, it’s kind of sucked not having you here with us. We’ve always been such a good team. And you really were the brains of it. Just PLEASE use those brains, Hermione, and make sure you’re not trusting anyone or anything blindly.
Love,
Harry
P.S. Ron sends his love, and agrees that you should be careful.
***
Inevitably, Hermione started spending more and more time in the Ravenclaw boys’ dormitory. Dean truly was never there, and it was just too good an opportunity to pass up. Hermione slept much better with the sound of Draco’s slow, steady heartbeat under her head and his skin against hers. She also slept better after engaging in the more explicit activities that she was getting rather used to. When she wasn’t too tired or dizzy, anyway.
She was sure her roommates had picked up on her absences, although they were polite enough to say nothing. At least for the first week.
She was sitting across from Padma at breakfast one sunny Tuesday, Sue nibbling on a croissant beside her girlfriend, when Padma broke their pleasant silence with, “You know, I don’t think he’s really that bad.”
Hermione’s spoon stilled over her cornflakes. “Who?” she asked, needing to make sure.
“Malfoy. I know he’s not exactly popular, but… if he makes you happy, well… I trust your judgement.”
Some knot of tension uncoiled in Hermione’s chest. I trust your judgment. Why did that have to be so hard for everyone else?
“Thanks. You’re not… mad or anything?”
Padma cocked her head. “Why would I be mad?”
“Well, weren’t you at Hogwarts when…” Draco’s memories flooded to the surface. Wide, fearful blue eyes. Blood dripping from a child’s hand.
“Oh… that.” Padma’s gaze clouded and Hermione immediately regretted bringing it up. “He… The Carrows brought him in a few times to, y’know… as an example to the rest of us. But they made all of us do that. It was always the older ones on the younger ones…” Padma trailed off, haunted look in her eyes, and Sue put a comforting hand on her thigh.
“I- I’m so sorry…” Hermione didn’t know what else she could say. Ginny had told her how bad things had been last year – she’d even seen it for herself in Draco’s memories – but she still couldn’t imagine living it. Somehow, she hadn’t registered that Padma had been at school through it all.
“You… don’t hate him?”
Padma gave a rue smile. “I don’t exactly have any fond memories of him, but there are better places to direct my hate. If we never look beyond the hand that hurts us, we’ll never see the arm it belongs to. I know what it’s like to be the hand and it’s… Maybe I’m wrong, maybe he is horrible, but I only have my experience to compare his to, I guess.”
Hermione dropped her head into her hands. “Why can’t everyone be as smart as you, Pads?”
“Oh, that would be no fun. There wouldn’t be any food fights in common rooms-”
“That was one time!” Sue said.
“Did you hear any criticism in that statement, dear? Sometimes we need the more intellectually challenged to keep us wise ones young.”
“Hey!”
Hermione grinned as she watched her friends bicker, a sun rising inside her. It was always so easy with them. Where she’d come to expect wildfires, there was only ever a cool breeze. Hermione lifted her face to it.
The fires, however, still raged elsewhere. A week after she’d been freed, she was sitting with Draco, Theo and Daphne at dinner. The only warning Hermione got before Ginny pulled out a chair and plopped firmly into it was a darkening of Draco’s eyes and a raise of Theo’s eyebrow. Daphne simply refused to acknowledge the new arrival.
“Good evening,” Ginny clipped, crossing her arms across her chest and staring straight at an unflinching Draco. “I’ve been informed that your nargle infestation has cleared up.”
“That’s good to know. I can stop taking my gillywater with breakfast every morning, then? Horrid stuff.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t want to risk a relapse.”
Draco and Ginny stared each other down for a solid ten seconds, silence on all sides of them.
“How’s your charms essay going, Malfoy?” Ginny said, uncrossing her arms to pile roast beef onto her plate.
A wave of shock washed over Draco’s face, barely visible before he caught himself. “Well enough, Weasley. Why? Confused ab-” Draco visibly struggled to pull himself together, tone and face forcibly lightened. “Is there anything you’d like to discuss?”
“Only Flitwick’s unfair treatment of the student body in these troubling times. Three feet? Just on locomotor charms?”
And so it began – Ginny’s more subtle interrogation tactic. She would corner Draco every chance she got. Sometimes she would walk into the Great Hall to see them glaring at each other over their plates. Sometimes she would instead see Ginny holding back a smile, or Draco’s eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise. The constant clashing and quipping did spike Hermione’s blood pressure, but over time, the thinly veiled threats fizzled into something more representative of light teasing, and hope grew in Hermione’s heart.
Before she knew it, it was ‘next Saturday’ and Hermione was sitting in McGonagall’s old and unused office with Harry and Ron.
They had both pulled her into a hug when they arrived, but beyond the traditional niceties, Hermione didn’t know what to say.
“So…” Harry said, “Malfoy.”
“Mafloy,” she nodded, meeting his eyes. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Look, Hermione,” said Ron, “We don’t like it. We don’t understand it…”
“If we could just talk to him ag-”
“Absolutely not! I’d rather avoid the property damage that would lead to. Anyway, I think we’ve already sorted out how much you don’t like it. Is there anything else you’d like to say?”
Her friends only stared in confusion. “Anything… else?” Harry said.
“Yes. For example, ‘I’m sorry for charging into a dorm and firing curses at your boyfriend without consulting you at all, leading to your recent two-week hospital stay, Hermione. I will reflect on my actions, and it won’t happen again.’”
Harry looked down at his feet sheepishly.
“To be fair, Hermione-” Ron started.
“To be fair, Ronald, I have every right to report you both for your illegal use of veritaserum.”
Ron paled, ears turning red. “You wouldn’t. Don’t tell me he’s already turned you against us.”
Hermione sighed, feeling a headache coming on. “He didn’t need to. You’re both very capable of turning me against you yourselves. I’m the brains of the operation am I, Harry? Then why are you treating me like I can’t possibly come to any sound conclusions by myself?”
Neither had a response.
“Look, I know you don’t get on with him. I’m not expecting you all to be best mates. But if you really are my friends then you need to stop acting like you can make better decisions about my life than I can. He’s changed, you two. You can hate him all you want but he has changed. You’ve already dosed him with veritaserum, what more do you want?”
“We didn’t get time to ask him about his attitudes towards muggles, though,” Harry said, completely unrepentant.
“He’s doing a Muggle Studies N.E.W.T., Harry…”
“Yes, but why?”
“As back up! Because he’s worried the wizarding world won’t accept him after the war. And look,” she glared pointedly at the two of them in succession, “it doesn’t.”
“Well then it serves him bloody right!” Ron said.
Seeing the expression on Hermione’s face, Harry jumped up to stand between them, arms raised.
“Look, look… maybe we should listen. I am sorry, Hermione. I know I tend to rush into things. I just freaked out that once he’d been discovered he might make his move and then- well, last time I didn’t trust him you didn’t believe me and I was right, wasn’t I?”
Hermione opened her mouth to interrupt but Harry pushed on.
“And I know it was my fault that you got hurt and I feel terrible. So if you’re asking me to trust you, I’ll trust you. I’m not thrilled about it, but if this is what makes you happy…” Harry trailed off, looking remarkably like Draco had when Hermione had accused him of Harry-esque sentiment.
On the other side of Harry’s diplomatic wall, Ron sighed. “I’m not thrilled about it either Hermione. And whether he’s changed or not, he’s still a massive git. But Ginny reckons…” Ron grimaced. “Ginny reckons he might be alright… sort of. Or at least not dangerous.”
There. A tentative thread of hope. “So… you’re ok with it?”
Harry sighed. “If this is what makes you happy, then we haven’t really got a right to stop you. We all make dumb decisions sometimes. I mean, remember Ron and Lavender?”
“Oh Merlin do not remind me!” Ron groaned, slumping in his chair.
“Harry… it’s not a dumb decision. I…” I love him. I feel more at home with him than anyone. I want a whole life with him.
“Look, Hermione. We’re not going to be happy about it, but if it makes you happy, then we can at least be happy for you. Does that make sense?” Harry said.
Hermione nodded.
“Just don’t bring him around for Christmas,” added Ron.
Hermione nodded again, a pinprick hole in the bottom of the pool of hope she’d been watching fill. That was fine. She could mend it.
They spent the rest of the visit chatting about anything and everything. Harry and Rons’ fieldwork, Hermione’s exam preparation, her health. She had missed them, but the air between them now felt so far removed from the ease of their earlier years that she couldn’t help the relief that washed over her when she lay down in a sapphire-blue bed that wasn’t hers and fell asleep to the scratching of Draco’s quill.
It was weeks before Hermione got the go-ahead to participate in Defence practicals again, much to Nettle’s annoyance. It was even longer before Madame Pomphrey and the specialist from St. Mungo’s allowed her to continue with her extractions. Long enough that exams were already upon them.
Draco’s Muggle Studies O.W.L was first, administered in an empty classroom on the third floor. They’d spent the entire day before it revising, and Hermione shouldn’t have been worried, she really shouldn’t have – it had all gone so well so far – but exams always got to her, apparently even when she wasn’t the one taking them.
At three o’clock sharp she was waiting outside the door, wide eyed and probably radiating anxiety. As soon as the handle turned and she saw his flash of blonde hair she blurted out a quick, “How was it?”
Draco smiled, looking as fresh as if he’d just come from a pleasant stroll. “I’m fairly sure I’m about to be the first Malfoy in history to receive a O.W.L. in Muggle Studies.”
Hermione grinned, throwing caution to the wind and surging forward to wrap her arms around him. “I’m proud of you,” she mumbled into his chest.
He laughed, easy and open. “Couldn’t have done it without my brilliant tutor.”
“You’re right. Your cheque’s in the mail.” Draco laughed again, but then the sound of footsteps on stone broke them apart, each hastily fixing their robes.
Their N.E.W.T.s were the same – much stress on Hermione’s part, much less on Draco’s. In a way, it was almost enjoyable, though – the way the whole of Ravenclaw house came together to support each other, study groups popping up left, right and centre. The best in the year in each subject became minor celebrities among the student body, and with the amount of times Hermione had explained the intricacies of non-material transfiguration and rune binding and differential arithmancy, she felt like they would be burned into her brain forever. Sue even taught her about the Feynman method, spaced repetition, active recall… she had been seriously missing out in the realm of innovative study strategies. Even Draco who – Death Eater past be damned – was undoubtably the best at Potions, was approached by a few of the younger Ravenclaws desperate for advice. Eventually, even Ginny had swallowed her pride when Hermione’s notes ran dry and asked him for help.
One night, Draco confided in her about just how solidly against his instincts it was to share information like that, and how he was only now realising how backwards that was. He was happy being able to help, and it shocked him somewhere deep and existential.
Needless to say, neither of them failed anything. But they were left with only a week to finish Hermione’s extractions. Draco was a wreck, performing charm after charm on Hermione to check her magical vitals before he let her anywhere near the potion. But eventually, he had to concede that yes, she was fine. Fighting fit, in fact.
Together, they relived the Gringotts’s dragon, the destruction of the cup, the battle of Hogwarts and the way Hermione had watched her friends rebuild their lives while all she wanted to do was sleep and cry and tell her parents everything. And then she was back at Hogwarts, quietly accepting that she’d never really been the Gryffindor she’d tried to convince herself she was, crying on a floor in front of Draco Malfoy, finding out she was autistic… and from there it was just an embarrassing volume of memories involving Draco.
With only a day to go, the potion turned from its tawny brown to a shining gold, emitting an almost imperceptible hum as it danced in its vial.
“So that’s me?”
“That’s you,” Draco grinned, kissing the top of her head as he finalised the thousandth protective charm on the vial.
“My parents aren’t going to see that last one are they?” The last memory – the only one pivotal enough to make it into this session – was of Draco telling her he loved her. And the rather explicit aftermath.
“No, thank Merlin. They won’t directly see any of the memories. They’ll just know you. Sort of like how we know each other now.” They’d discussed this. Neither were entirely certain that this would be enough to bring Hermione’s parents’ memories back, but it was the only hope Hermione had, and her nails had been digging grooves into it the whole year. She couldn’t afford to lose it now.
They walked back to Ravenclaw tower together, the Essence stored safely in its fortified satchel, no longer bothering with their little dance of secrecy. Their dormitory – because at this point it really was theirs – had taken on that kind of liminal quality that all places do when they’re about to be left forever. A home stripped almost entirely bare of any human element, ready and waiting to welcome the next occupants. The last traces of either of them that remained were the open trunks at the foot of one bed.
Without the promise of the next school year, time stretched out endlessly and aimlessly in front of Hermione. Time that might be spent in Australia, Grimmauld Place, the Burrow… the not-knowing was eating at her. Draco noticed, sitting next to her on the bed and taking her hand silently.
“Do you think you’ll get in?” she asked. Draco had applied for a Potions mastery, involving a year’s direct apprenticeship with Slughorn.
“I’ll get the grades for it. Whether he accepts is up to him.”
“Surely he will. It’s discrimination if he doesn’t.”
“Actually, it’ll probably be a polite ‘This has absolutely nothing to do with your nefarious past, Mr Malfoy, I’m simply so busy and really getting on in years and couldn’t possibly spare the time…’”
“That’s ridiculous. He’ll say yes. He has to.”
“Well, even if he doesn’t, I’ll have an entire Muggle Studies N.E.W.T. come August. There are always muggle jobs. Come on, what do you picture me as? Accountant? Real estate agent? Salesman?”
Hermione wanted it to be funny, she really did, but couldn’t manage anything other than a quiet, “I just want you to be happy.” He wouldn’t be, as a real estate agent, and they both knew it.
Putting his arm around her, Draco asked if she’d given any more thought to McGonagall’s offer. Weeks ago, the headmistress had approached Hermione with a direct offer of employment from the Ministry. The Department of Mysteries. They had offered almost no details, just an enormous salary and a non-disclosure agreement she’d have to sign to receive any information whatsoever. The accompanying letter was heaped with flattery and had strongly hinted at the power she would have to effect positive change in both the magical and muggle worlds if she accepted. They had clearly done their research on her.
She shook her head. “I won’t be able to make any decisions until I know if…”
Draco squeezed her tighter. The sun was setting, and she gazed out over the Hogwarts grounds from the empty dorm, trying to imprint them – awash with soft pinks and oranges – into her memory. Home. Not her only home, but home.
“Is this the view you had in Gryffindor, too?”
Hermione smiled, nostalgia tugging at her bones. “Sort of. We were closer to the lake.”
Draco scoffed. “I’ve got you beat there, I was in the lake.” Hermione laughed.
“I wish I’d been sorted properly, the first time round,” Draco said. “Everything was so… different this year.”
Hermione thought of Padma and Sue and Daphne and how they had accepted her. How no one had called her a swot once this exam period. “Yeah… me too.”
#####
That night, when their trunks were packed and the stars had risen, Hermione brought a hand to Draco’s face and kissed him, softly at first, then letting herself let go, letting herself have what she wanted. He rolled onto his back, Hermione’s desperate momentum pushing her on top of him, knees on either side of his hips.
Draco’s breaths became ragged as his hand found her hair and gripped it. Another hand pressed down against her lower back, and Hermione felt herself heating up as she brushed against the hardness between his legs.
“Draco…” she breathed.
“Mm?”
“This is- we’re leaving tomorrow. There may not be much time to… see each other.” Hermione drew back and looked meaningfully into his eyes.
“We’ll make time. I’m not just going to throw you to the weasels and run,” he said, trying to pull her back down.
“No, I mean… we may not be able to… y’know. So I thought we could…” she was almost throbbing with need. She was so sick of dancing around this. She wanted him in her. “Y’know…” she trailed off uselessly.
Always better with subtext than her, Draco sat them both upright. “Wait- really? Are you sure?”
She forced herself to look into his eyes and nodded. He swallowed.
“Okay… but you have to tell me to stop if-”
She cut him off with a desperate kiss, letting the heat consume her. “I don’t… know why…” she said into the space between breaths, unbuttoning his absurdly fancy silk shirt and kissing all the way down, “you think… I’m so… fragile.”
“I don’t think you’re fragile, I-” he was silenced momentarily by Hermione’s hand on his cock. “I just don’t want to fuck it up.”
“Why would you fuck it up? You’re the one who knows what you’re doing,” Hermione said, building up a steady rhythm.
“Yes but they weren’t- it’s a lot of pressure, y’know- it’s your first time and hopefully your last first time with anyone ever and it has to be worth it…”
Hermione’s heart swelled even as she rolled her eyes. “You absolute nonce, Malfoy. Had you considered that I might disappoint you?”
“Of course not, you could nev-”
“Exactly.”
He paused. “Touché, Granger.”
She grinned as she made to slide down his shorts.
“Oh no you don’t,” Draco said, tackling her and pinning her to the bed underneath him, his mouth a searing heat on hers. It was dizzying, the way he kissed her. There was so much to him, so much fear and passion and longing hidden underneath his icy mask. It burnt somewhere deep and primal, and sent her reeling every time she touched it.
A hand on her thigh sent shocks through her nervous system, and Hermione shivered in anticipation. Draco made quick work of her buttons, and then his face was buried in her stomach, hands on her hips as he nuzzled into her, clutching at her shorts.
“Can I…?” he asked, looking up with those desperate eyes that Hermione still hadn’t gotten used to. Like he needed his mouth on her. She could only nod.
Hermione lifted her hips as Draco pulled down her shorts and underwear in one go. He was on her in a second, actually moaning as his lips touched her. Every time they did this, another slice of Hermione’s apprehension and shame was whittled away and she relaxed more into it. And every time, Draco seemed to have learnt her even better. Every hitch of Hermione’s breath, every time she threw her head back and pressed herself into him was no doubt stored somewhere deep and well-organised in Draco’s mind. He was getting good at this.
“I- you can’t keep, we’re supposed to-” stumbled out after a few more minutes of Draco’s attention.
“Don’t worry” he said, “we will.”
And then his tongue was pressing harder, lower, and Hermione saw stars. Then a finger, pressing at her entrance, and-
Hermione jerked away. Draco stopped immediately.
“What’s wrong? Did that hurt? Are you okay?” Shots fired in quick succession. She could hear the panic rushing in his veins.
“Yeah, yeah… it was just… a lot…” She suddenly felt very exposed, her whole torso bare and cold.
Draco, as always, seemed to know what she needed, and pulled her back to the top of the bed, laying them both down and pulling the duvet over them.
“Sorry…”
“Hermione, for the duration of tonight, you are not allowed to say that word.”
“Sor-” she started reflexively. Draco gave her a mock-glare, stroking her bare side.
“What do you need?” he asked. Wordlessly, she started unbuttoning his shirt. When they were finally both naked, a bit of the exposed feeling had gone. She was just in a warm, fuzzy cave of her and Draco, with nothing to come between them.
“Come here,” he said, and when she dutifully scooted over he turned her around so that her back was pressed against his front. His cock pressed against her butt, and she actually spasmed with the intensity of her want. Why had she panicked?
“Do you wanna try again?”
Hermione nodded – desperate, beyond words. She shivered as Draco’s hand trailed down her side, her waist, until it reached the space between her legs, which opened of their own accord. She leaned back into Draco, barely in control of her body but relishing in the strong, solid heat of his arms around her.
When Draco’s fingers pressed against her clit, Hermione gasped, arching into the feeling. But then Draco was moving his hand lower, pressing hard in the way he knew she liked, until pausing at her entrance. “You okay?”
“Yeah- I just, please…”
So Draco tried again, slipping a fraction of a finger in. Hermione squeaked and jerked involuntarily. That was… a new feeling. The nerves were hypersensitive, and something in the survival part of her brain screamed at her. Draco pulled out immediately.
“I’m sorry, I’m sor-”
“Hermione, relax. And no apologising,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
“But- I… No, I can do it I swear. Let’s go again,” Hermione said, squaring her jaw.
Draco let out a small puff of laughter, seeming just as relaxed as before. “It doesn’t have to be now, Hermione. We have all night, we can take as long as you want. You think I’m going to complain about spending moretime in bed with you? Just relax. We’ll figure it out.”
Hermione breathed in, surprised to hear her inhale shaking. She hadn’t realised how much tension she’d been carrying. Or that a small spec of anxiety had taken root inside her and started saying some horrible, familiar things about how not normal she was and how she was going to ruin everything if she couldn’t fix it.
“Breathe, Hermione. You’re alright…” Draco mumbled into her hair, stroking her thigh. Slowly but surely, she started to relax. “There’s no rush, just breathe…”
“I- I’m sorry.”
“What did I say about that word?”
“I just… It’s a lot and it’s such a weird feeling and it’s not bad or anything, I think, I just don’t know how to process it…”
“That makes sense.”
“It does?”
“Well – and this is absolutely not a criticism, it is an observation – you do not tend to cope well with unfamiliar sensory input.”
Hermione’s heart sank. “That doesn’t mean I can’t-”
“Of course it doesn’t mean you can’t,” said Draco, squeezing her even tighter against his chest, “It just means it might take longer. Which – as discussed – I have zero problems with.”
Hermione felt some of her tension eek out. Still… “I’m sorry I’m so weird-”
Draco cut her off with a light slap to her thigh, and she gasped.
“One more time, Granger, and I’m really going to have to punish you somehow,” he said directly into her ear, low and rumbling through her, all the way down to the space between her thighs. She laughed, breathless.
“Oh, so is that something you’re into?” Her voice came out higher, needier than she’d meant for it to.
“You’re something I’m into,” said Draco, stroking the place he’d just ‘slapped’. Fine, another time, then. Baby steps.
Eventually, Draco took Hermione’s hand in his own and guided it down. This was easier, she found as she pressed down on the muscle below her entrance. She could adjust what she needed to, when she needed to. Hermione let herself fall into the heat of Draco’s length throbbing behind her and his lips sucking desperately at her neck. She pressed and pulled, exploring the sensations as her heat throbbed in waves. Eventually, she pushed in just a fraction of her finger and gasped. That was… not bad. A lot. But not bad. She added a second finger, both only a knuckle deep, and oh God… that was much better.
Draco’s breathing had gotten heavy behind her, his hand resting gently on hers, but letting her lead.
“Are you- okay?” He gasped out, and she felt his cock throb against her.
“Mmhmm…” it was more a moan than anything, and Hermione let a smile grace her face as she pushed further in.
“Fuck-” Draco gasped, feeling her fingers disappear into her. It was… interesting. It certainly didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel as intense as the first part had.
But then Draco was applying a steady rhythm of pressure against the back of her hand, thrusting her fingers slowly in and out of her and oh… This was why people liked this. Hermione moaned as she threw her head back, getting lost in the feeling.
“Fuck- Hermione… Merlin…” Draco voice was straying further from sanity with every one of her exhales, coming out loud and wanton.
“Please, please can I…” he said, hand pawing at hers. Reluctantly, she slid her fingers out of herself, jerking in surprise at the warm, wet feeling.
“Please, please…” Draco said, seemingly unable to form any other word.
“Mm…” Hermione managed, nodding. And then it was his calloused fingers on her instead. He circled her entrance, and she realised that he was copying what she’d done.
She gasped as his fingers – much bigger than hers – found their way in. But she was prepared this time and stayed put. Unthinking, she grabbed his hand and pushed it into her, feeling the not-unpleasant stretch as she adjusted to this new fullness. Soon, she started pushing Draco’s fingers into her in that same slow rhythm. Taking her cue, he took over, and Hermione threw her head back, relaxing into the sensation, letting it build inside her. Draco had found an angle where every thrust of his hand hit her clit as well and she knew that if he kept this up, she wouldn’t last long. She started to sweat, toes curling and hips spasming upwards as she arched back towards Draco and his chorus of “Merlin… fuck… perfect…”
“Oh God, Draco, I- fuck, stop-” He paused immediately, tensing up.
“Are you alr-”
“Yes yes I’m fine!” Hermione managed through her haze of need. “I just- I’m gonna come if you keep doing that and we had plans, remember.”
“Oh, that. Okay- Okay...” Draco said, audibly trying to steady himself.
A few more ‘are you sure?’s later, Draco was carefully pushing another finger into Hermione. It burnt a bit, but she adjusted quickly and soon was almost sobbing from the intensity of the feeling as Draco continued thrusting into her. After two minutes she was begging, after three he was finally leaving his spot at her back and climbing on top of her, performing a quick contraception charm and aligning his cock with her entrance.
He was excruciatingly slow about it, stopping every time she showed a hint of discomfort. It burnt a bit, but nothing like the pain Hermione had imagined. There was no tearing, no blood. Only a strange feeling of fullness and, eventually, the pleasure of being stretched inside. As far in as he could get without hurting her, Draco nearly collapsed, weight barely held up by his forearms. And then, he started to move. Hermione threw her head back, mouth open in a soundless gasp.
“Fuck you’re perfect… I’m so sorry I- I’m not going to last holy shit…”
Hermione didn’t have the words to reply, even to tell him off for his hypocrisy. All that she felt, all that she was, was a steady beat of ecstasy building inside her. She grabbed at Draco’s back, knowing only that she needed to be closer, closer…
She could feel him getting close, could feel the way his cock twitched inside her as his thrusts got more erratic.
Please… she could only think, her mouth preoccupied with trying to gasp oxygen in through her euphoria. Don’t stop.
Draco didn’t. He grabbed her face and forced her unfocused eyes to his, looking at her like he was starving for her, trying to memorise her. Hermione was a mess, eyes rolling back into her head and face screwing up as she felt herself approach the edge. So close, so close… If Draco stopped fucking her she was actually going to die.
And then she was coming, muscles spasming around his cock, which was spilling into her as Draco gasped and buried his face in her neck. Hermione was completely silent until it all came out at once, raw and loud. And then kept going. She threw a hand over her mouth as her body continued to shake and spasm. Draco fucked her through the aftershocks, trembling from exhaustion, before pulling out – another warm, wet sensation – and moving just far enough off her that he could safely collapse, breathing heavily.
#####
He was mumbling something into the pillow. Hermione made out a few nonsense strings of ‘I love you’ and ‘holy shit sweet Merlin’ and ‘perfect’ and wished she could return the sentiment but she was beyond words right now – almost beyond thought. She could only lie there, waiting for the pieces of her world to slide back into place.
Eventually, they both regained coherence.
“I… I thought that would hurt…” Hermione managed to get out.
Draco pulled himself up, groaning with the effort, and wrapped an arm around her naked body. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. I’m never, ever going to hurt you.”
Hermione smiled at the sincerity he seemed to reserve for her alone. She was going to make this work, no matter what anyone else had to say about it.