Alone Together
Author’s Note: I only had twenty minutes to write tonight, so apologies for this somewhat short chapter. In the next chapter, Real Live Dramatic Plot continues!
Hermione stared at the ceiling, tears streaming slowly down her cheeks.
“You don’t have to do… we don’t have to do anything,” Draco said. He stood beside the bed, his fingers frozen on the buttons of his white dress shirt. Hermione shook her head and turned her face to him, dusting her fingers over the lace trim on her black bra.
“Please,” she whispered, “please take your clothes off. Maybe I am alone, Draco, but I’m alone with you, aren’t I?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “You’re alone with me.”
He peeled his dress shirt off and use his wand to Banish it to his wardrobe. He unbuttoned the placket of his dark grey trousers, and when he pulled them down with his black underwear, his half-hard cock was revealed. Hermione stared at it, wondering if it was rude to stare at a man’s cock like this.
She watched it grow a bit longer, a bit wider, as Draco kicked his trousers away. He joined her on the bed and settled beside her, rotating her body a little and wrapping one arm around her.
“Someday,” he whispered, kissing the place below her left ear, “I’m going to fuck you from behind. You’ll be on your hands and knees, and I’ll hold your hips so hard there will be bruises, and I’ll fuck you until you scream into the pillow.”
“Draco.” Hermione shut her eyes as he used one hand to unclasp her bra and push it down over her arm. He edged her knickers down and kissed her neck again, very carefully, and he murmured,
“Someday you’ll be on your knees with my cock so far down your throat that you gag. Someday I’ll spank you until your arse is pink. Someday you’ll tie my wrists to the bed and tease me until I come all over my own stomach.”
“Draco… oh…” Hermione was sopping wet all of a sudden, and now that both she and Draco were naked, she wanted nothing more than contact from him. She felt him squeeze her breast, felt his hand trail down her stomach, and then his fingers nestled between her legs and he sighed against her neck. He thrust his erection against the small of her back and told her,
“Someday I’m going to use spells and my mouth and my cock and make you come until you sob and beg me to stop, that it’s too much, that it feels too good.”
“Bloody hell, Draco.” Hermione bucked her hip against his hand, and then she felt him push her between her shoulder blades and edge her hips back, and then all of a sudden there was a ripping, pushing thrust. He had filled her, and he huffed beside her ear as his hand went back to her breast. He started to move, to cycle his hips and enter her slowly, and his thumb tweaked her nipple as he panted,
“Someday we’ll be rough, Hermione. But today I just want to be alone with you, and I want to make love to you; I don’t want to fuck you. And it’s because… oh… oh…”
He quickened his hips, and his hand trailed back down to play with Hermione’s clit again. She shut her eyes and felt her lungs burn with how quickly she was bleeding. She tipped her head back as Draco latched his mouth onto her neck, and her back arched of its own accord.
Swelling, heat, throbbing, whirling. Noise in her ears and delicious, accelerating heartbeats, frantic breaths mingling. Blinding white heat. Clenching, cinching, pulsing. Coming, coming, coming. Hermione cried out so loudly that she was almost embarrassed, until she heard Draco say breathlessly,
“I wanted to make love to you because I’m in love with you, Granger. Oh.”
He came too, then, just as hard as she’d done. He yanked her hips back against his pelvis, and she felt him swell up inside of her. She felt the pumping hot fluid of his pleasure, felt it leak back out between them, felt his puffs of shallow breath moving her hair beside her neck.
“Hermione,” he whispered, a raspy little whine vibrating against her skin. “Hermione, I can’t help it. I can’t…”
“Alone together,” she nodded, reaching back behind her shoulder and feeling that his cheek was as hot as flame. She kept her palm there, letting him stroke his hand up and down her side. Eventually he slipped out of her, his softened cock sliding out and flopping down between their bodies. Hermione was unashamed of any flaw she might have, all of a sudden. She didn’t mind the fact that she had a few little freckles that were really moles, or that her breasts were small, or that she had frizz in her hair.
Suddenly all that mattered was the warmth of the skin pressed behind her. Suddenly all that mattered were the thin fingers drifting over the scar on her left wrist, the quiet voice whispering that she was clever, that she was doing good work, that she was beautiful and that he couldn’t help but love her.
“The chicken will burn,” Hermione mumbled after awhile, Draco sighed and pulled himself from the bed, silently pulling his clothes back on. Hermione did the same, not caring that his seed was in her knickers and drying on the inside of her thighs. She pulled on her denims and her purple flannel shirt, and she told Draco,
“You’re right, you know. I’ll have to shut up about the idea of reconciliation for some time. No one else is ready. But you’re ready. I’m ready. And I do want to tell you, Draco, that… that I…”
She watched him turn round, buttoning up his white shirt as he smirked a little and his pale blue eyes glistened almost sadly. Hermione gulped and whispered,
“I never expected in a million years to fall in love with the likes of you, but here were are.”
“Here were are,” Draco nodded. He licked his lip and tipped his head. “May I offer you some very mediocre dinner?”
“I’d like you to try and get those records,” Draco said an hour later, as they both sat with empty plates before them. Hermione frowned and set down her glass of white wine.
“The records. You mean from Kingsley? About little boys who have died?”
“Male, ages four to eight, past ten years. Died in an accident related to a broomstick. First name Philip.”
“Philip.” Hermione’s eyes watered, and she shook her head as she asked, “How do you know his name, Draco?”
Draco shut his eyes and lowered his face, touching his fingertips to his eyebrows. He sighed and said, “It was my fault; I wasn’t meant to fly the broomstick. I’m so sorry to my Mummy for breaking the rules. Please, someone tell my Mummy that her little Philip is so sorry. So sorry. Please, tell my Mummy I ought to have followed the rules, that Philip is not frightened anymore.”
Hermione pinched her lips and shut her eyes.
“You told me not to seek out the records, Draco. You told me you’d be sacked, that the records aren’t meant to be passed on.”
“I’m not going to pass on the records.” Draco raised his eyes to Hermione, his gaze sharp all of a sudden. “I’m just going to send her an owl, unsigned. Philip says he is sorry about the broomstick and that he is no longer afraid.”
“No.” Hermione shook her head and insisted, “I was wrong to suggest getting those records, Draco. You’ll just torture that poor mother; it isn’t as though she can send a message back.”
“He’s been begging me every damned day for months, Hermione!” Draco slammed his fist on the table, and his breath shook between his lips. He shook his head quickly. “No one else whispers pleas like that, not every day, not so insistently, so desperately. They’re almost never children. I can just record the others and move on. This one… this one’s killing me a little bit, Hermione. Every fucking day I hear this little boy begging me, pleading with me, to tell his mother that he’s sorry, that he’s all right. Every single fucking day, I… I hear him, and I make record after record, and all I’m allowed to do is ignore this little boy. I think… I think that if I pass his message along, he’ll move on. He’ll find peace.”
Hermione blinked a few times. “It’s important to you that this little boy find peace.”
“Well, of course it is.” Draco crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes watering. Hermione didn’t tell him that the old Draco wouldn’t have cared less about a child moving on from the place beyond the Veil. She didn’t tell him that the old Draco wouldn’t have considered risking his position to pass on a dead child’s message to his mother.
“I’ll find out who he is,” Hermione promised. “I think I can do it a little more surreptitiously, too. I have direct access to records, more so than I’d realised.”
A sort of epiphany came over Draco’s face.
“You file records for Squibs and House-Elves,” he noted. “So you can search birth and death records.”
“It’ll risk both our jobs,” Hermione noted, “because I’m not - strictly speaking - meant to go through birth and death records. But I can, if you know what I mean. With these specific parameters, I’ll be able to find the boy’s identity quickly. I’ll Confound other people in the Records offices if I need to.”
“All I want to do is send an owl,” Draco said quietly. “Then, I think, he’ll move on, that little boy. I think he’ll… I think there’s peace somewhere. Most of the whispers only linger a little while, then they go quiet. They move on. This boy… I think his death was recent. Traumatic for him, for his mother. Please, Hermione, I just need a name. I just need someone to send a single owl to. Please.”
“Of course.” Hermione nodded vigorously. “And if we both get sacked?”
Draco smirked a little and shrugged. “I’ve still got some connections at shops in Knockturn Alley. Or, you know, you could be the receptionist for your Muggle dentist parents.”
Hermione smiled a little and poured herself a bit more white wine.
“I’ll go into the Records office on Monday.”
Draco nodded, dragging the pad of his thumb over the rim of his glass. “Thank you.”
Author's Note: Thank you so much for those who have already give such enormously helpful feedback for this story thus far. It's incredible assistance as I make my Dramione debut, and more appreciated than I can say.