Fic: Not the Runes (NC-17) D/Hr
So, like a million years ago I started writing a Harry Potter fic. I have finally finished it. It's the first full-length fic I've ever completed and it contains sex (gasp!) of a hetero nature. Please read and tell me what you think. Like, should I ever write again? Should I ever write sex again? ETA: Open to the public. I am friendslocking for now, until I stop hyperventilating over the fact that I'm posting this. Should I ever stop cringing in horror, I'll unlock and crosspost. But y'all'll have to tell me what you think first. Without further ado...here it is. *holds breath*
Title: Not the Runes (1/1)
Author:
girly_curl_3
Pairing: D/Hr
Rating: NC-17
Summary: “Do you know you turn pink when you talk about Runes?”
Warning(s): Nothing out of the ordinary here, folks. Just plain ol’ sex. And some possibly poorly-written plot, but I dunno…you tell me.
Word count: 6796
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This fic was written for fun, not for profit.
Additional Disclaimer: This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.
Author's note: Uh, this is my very first HP fic, and only my second fic ever. Feedback is welcome but please be gentle.
Also, dedicated to the lovely
shag_me_draco, who not only served as a fabulous beta but also henpecked me into finishing it. Any mistakes or general crappiness are all mine.
ETA May 29, 2007: This is now an award winning fic! Go me! *\o/*
Early as always, Hermione sat at the front of the classroom, straightening her books and waiting for the rest of the Advanced Runes students to arrive. Idly she wondered who’d be joining her in the difficult class this last year of school as her fellow students filed in. Three Ravenclaws, followed by a Hufflepuff boy; all familiar from other classes, took seats around her. And, as expected, Malfoy brought up the rear and sauntered his way to the front.
Much to her disbelief, however, the inscrutable Slytherin stopped at the desk she had chosen specifically because it was front and center, cocked an eyebrow at her and gestured at the empty seat beside her with his pointed chin.
Hermione stared at him in slight open-mouthed surprise as she considered his request. “I didn’t get top marks by sitting in the backs of classrooms, Granger,” Malfoy said, with slightly less contempt than she was used to. “I expect you’d understand that.” He sat his books on the desktop and took the seat before she could acquiesce. Hermione quickly turned away to ready her parchment and quill as class started.
Professor Babbling gave the rote first-day lecture, discussing syllabus and objectives and Hermione soon became distracted wondering why on earth Malfoy had chosen to sit next to her, of all people. Admittedly, Malfoy’d stopped with the name-calling well before the end of last term. He’d even stopped being such a completely foul git to everybody all the time, and it seemed ages since she’d thought of him as a loathsome cockroach. Obviously, he, like Hermione, was focused on achieving top marks, and had much less time for pureblood snobbery. Perhaps it was the looming war that made him realize the pointlessness of petty unpleasantness in the face of real peril.
She surreptitiously glanced at him, taking in his sharp profile and that white-blond hair. She’d never admit it out loud, but now that he’d stopped tormenting her and being so generally insufferable combined with whatever it was that happened to make him grow several inches and fill out even more over summer hols, he was actually sort of…cute. She closed her eyes in dismay at the turn her thoughts were taking. Having a rocky relationship with Ron was no reason to be eyeballing Malfoy. Or noticing how good he smelled.
Heedless of her internal admonishment, she snuck another peek at him, realizing she’d never really been this close to him, save that time she’d hit him in third year. But that abbreviated moment of physical proximity so long ago didn’t give her the chance to appreciate the unique smell of sweat and hormones he had that all teenage boys seem to emanate. Nor had she the opportunity to note the thick forearms brushed with fine flaxen hairs, or his large, pale hands and long fingers. His hands looked to be as big as Ron’s but she couldn’t quite tell who would be taller.Looking up at his face, she took in his profile, one grey eye, aquiline nose…lips…
Flushing, she hastily looked down at her parchment as Malfoy caught her appraisal and shot one eyebrow up in amusement. She ignored it and looked studiously up at the professor.
“…and you’ll be working with your assigned partner on a series of collaborative projects throughout the year in addition to our regular exams. Now, I’d like each team to schedule regular project meetings outside of class at least once a week. I’ve secured a private study room in the library for your use, so please confer with your partner and sign up on the schedule being passed. Chang, you’re with Bayjou. Malfoy, with Granger. Moylan, you and Hamilton.”
“Wait…I…” Hermione said, horrified that she’d been sidetracked by Malfoy as she caught the tail-end of Professor Babbling’s speech. Her stomach twisted as she realized what the professor had said. She didn’t know whether the quaver in her midsection was thrill or horror. Hermione looked down at the parchment Malfoy was thrusting at her, then met his eyes. “Problem, Granger? Or can’t you handle partnering with me?” Malfoy challenged.
“No, it’s not that, uh, I…,” flustered, Hermione looked down at the parchment again. “No, ah, how about Sundays?”
<<>>
A Sunday afternoon weeks later found Hermione and Malfoy sitting comfortably on the overstuffed couch in their study room, discussing Runes with the easy rapport that had grown from their meetings. Much to her thrill and dismay, she’d discovered the Slytherin really was intelligent, funny and charming and easily made her laugh and blush in turns with his ribald humor.
“Ha! Yes, but if you put demiguise here it cancels out the double fwooper!” Tapping the page triumphantly, Hermione looked up to find Malfoy studying her, not the parchment. “What?” she asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Oh, no, what is he doing? Hermione blushed under Malfoy’s scrutiny. She resisted the urge to straighten her clothes and tuck her hair behind her ear and frowned down at the parchment. “What? Have I missed something?”
“No, but I think I may have.” Malfoy said softly. She looked up again. At her quirked brow he continued on a bit louder, “You’re awfully…passionate about this, aren’t you? I wonder what else gets you so worked up?” He gave her the eyebrow again and Hermione grew warm and breathy at his suggestive words. Despite her urge to fidget under his steady look, Hermione tilted her head saucily and replied, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” and then gave him her best Malfoy smirk. I did not. Just. Flirt. With Malfoy.
Leering at her, he replied with a grin, “Maybe I would.” Malfoy is not flirting with me. I am not flirting with him. It’s Malfoy. We do not like each other. Her face went pink and a moist tingling between her legs started as she tried to pretend this wasn’t the third time in as many weeks their study session had included such flirting. But no matter what she told herself, there was no denying she enjoyed Malfoy’s attentions. Ron never talked to her like Malfoy did. Ron didn’t look at her like that, as if she were something to be unwrapped and…and…savored. Ron had always treated her like best-mate Hermione. Even when they had finally shagged last year, it felt like business.
They’d snogged a bit, then fumbled their clothes off and had just…done it. That first time went exactly how she’d expected from Ron. She told him what to do and he did it with no inventiveness whatsoever, and it was all very efficient and proper and completely typical of their relationship. The problem was that every time after had also been that way. Seems he also had the sexual range of a teaspoon.
When Parvati and Lavender finally dragged it out of her, Parvati had fluttered a hand to her throat and lamented when it would be her turn to “make love.” Hermione had nearly laughed aloud at the phrase…it just wasn’t that way with Ron. Sometimes she felt that regardless of the times they spent alone and naked together, nothing was different…she was still best-mate Hermione. She couldn’t imagine suggesting they do any of the things she’d read in her beloved books. She was tired of giving instructions.
What she wanted was to be more than just a best mate who you happened to shag now and again. What she wanted was to be desired, worshipped, touched, licked and kissed all over…to see his eyes dilate with need and hear his voice grow rough as he told her how he wanted her, to feel her blood rush; her heart pound and the connection between them grow and grow until they were overcome. Her stomach twisted and she felt heat creep up her chest as she realized that it was Malfoy making her think like this. I am not thinking about shagging Malfoy. I’m not. And I am most definitely not getting turned on by not thinking about it.
Still feeling flushed, she panicked and looked down at her watch. “Gotta go,” she said abruptly, fighting another blush and hastily packing her things, thinking only of escaping this situation which seemed to be rapidly escaping her control.
“Granger, wait…” Malfoy said, catching her sleeve. “We’re making progress but I… think we should meet more often. The room’s free Friday nights. Is that good for you?” he said with a wink and only the slightest hint of impropriety.
“Fridays. Fine. See you!” she chirped and fled the study room, hoping Malfoy wouldn’t see how much he affected her.
<<>>
Hermione flopped into one of the squashy armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, still holding her book bag and huffing a breath up towards her forehead to clear the errant hairs from her heated face.
“That bad, eh?” Harry grinned at her, looking up from the chessboard. “Too much Malfoy?” Ron laughed at Harry’s jest and added, “Too much ferret.”
“Oh, stop it, you two. Honestly.” Hermione replied. “Malfoy’s not so bad anymore. Has he said one word to either of you since we got back? It’s actually been quite interesting working with him. Did you know he’s read Hogwarts: A History? Anyway, it’s not…I’m just worn out already and term’s hardly started. And now he wants to meet more often and I don’t know how I’m going to…handle…it.” She got out her revision planner and started up the stairs.
“He might have gotten better since summer but anyone who’s read Hogwarts: A History as much as her is still a wanker, yeah?” Ron chuckled and Harry laughed with him.
<<>>
Friday came and Hermione studied herself in the mirror, prodding at her hair and leaning in for close inspection of her face. Maybe I should wear something else? She opened her wardrobe, then closed it again. What am I doing? It’s revision. With Malfoy. It’s not a date. Not a date, even though it’s Friday night and everyone else who’s meeting someone tonight is on a date. Why’d he pick Friday nights? You’d think he has better things to do on a Friday night. She eyed herself critically again and quashed the urge for further fussing. Her uniform would be fine for a study date. Meeting. Study meeting. She picked up her bag and marched to the library, purposely not thinking about the fact that Ron didn’t seem to mind one bit that she would be unavailable Friday evenings for the indeterminate future.
Malfoy was sprawled comfortably at the table when she entered the study room. In horror, she stopped short in the open doorway, realizing his black trousers and blue button-down meant he was dressed for a date. Oh no, he’s got a date later! Why didn’t I dress nicer? I could’ve told him I had plans after, too! Now he’ll know how pathetic Ron and I are.
In an effort to stifle yet another blush, she inhaled deeply and opened her mouth to speak but stopped when she realized that he was also wearing some kind of cologne that smelled…really…quite…good. Her brain stopped functioning and she stood there with her mouth halfway open. She snapped her mouth shut, only to open it again and say cheekily, “Hot date later, Malfoy?”
“No, I got all tarted up just for you, Granger. You like?” he quipped, giving her that damnable eyebrow and head jiggle again. He probably thinks that stupid eyebrow thing is roguishly charming. She felt the cotton of her knickers grow damp again. Two seconds and he already had her on edge. How does he do that? “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she shot back, her wit failing her in her agitation. Ugh, I can’t even think straight.
“I think we both already know the answer to that question,” he said slowly, rising smoothly from his sprawl. He crossed the room to where she still stood in the doorway, one hand clenched around the strap of her book bag, and leaned that long-limbed frame against the doorjamb. “Afraid of the big, bad Slytherin, Granger? Or would you like to step into my parlor?” Said the spider to the fly, Hermione thought as he leaned over her to pull the door shut. The motion brought him closer and, heart thudding at the proximity, she closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of him. How am I ever going to get any work done? The door shut with a click, pressing against her back and bumping her forward a half step.
Instead of straightening up, Malfoy rested his hand against the door beside her head. Hermione opened her eyes to discover herself trapped in the cage he made, his arm on one side and his whole body on the other, his face so close she could feel his breath. “I…,” she licked her lips and swallowed, mouth suddenly gone dry. For a long moment their eyes held, and Hermione, breathing shallowly so as not to betray her rising desire, desperately willed him to either back off or just kiss her already. Without breaking eye contact, Malfoy gently pulled her book bag from the death grip she clutched it with and smiled intently at her. “Best get to work, yeah?”
“Wh…uh, yes. Of course. Work. Yes.” She blinked several times rapidly. Why do I always turn into a stuttering fool when he’s this close? She ducked around him and yanked her bag back. “Now,” she said, clearing her throat, “Last time we were talking about the antithetical effects of demiguise, I believe.” She sifted through books businesslike as she settled at the table. She looked up at him still leaning against the doorjamb as she twisted her hair into a bun and stuck a pencil through it. He didn’t reply but kept his eyes focused on hers with that same intent look.
He smirked. “Do you know you turn pink when you talk about Runes? It’s quite fetching.” It’s not the Runes, she thought, fervently wishing she had the nerve to say it aloud.
<<>>
A scant half-hour later and Hermione was batting away the third of Malfoy’s hovering paper cranes as it fluttered about her head. He’d spent the entire time attempting to sidetrack her by invading her personal space, leaning in too close to share her book, stealing her quill, poking her, even once squeezing her knee. What is he trying to do? Get revved up for his date later? He’s killing me. “Malfoy! Honestly. You’d think you weren’t here for revision,” she scolded.
“Maybe I’m not,” Malfoy replied mischievously. She gave him a pointed look. “What? I don’t feel much like working. I’m distracted.” He leered at her, waggling his eyebrows and reaching out to twirl a loose tendril of hair that had escaped her bun. She pushed his hand away again. “Fine. You called this stupid meeting, you tell me what we’re supposed to talk about.”
“Okay. How long have you been shagging the Weasel? He any good?” Malfoy asked.
Hermione choked at the unexpected turn of conversation. “I. He. That’s…none of your business and entirely inappropriate!” Ugh, I sound like the bloody prefect I am. And now I’m cursing. Why is it he gets me so worked up but my sodding boyfriend doesn’t? He leered at her again. “You don’t hear me asking how good Pansy Parkinson is!” she sputtered, standing up.
“I quit shagging her last year because she’s crap. Totally unresponsive. Now you,” he replied, plucking at her sleeve and pulling her onto his lap. When she gaped at him in paralyzed shock at being handled thusly, he continued, completely ignoring her dismay.
“Come on, how’s the Weasel? Or…are you afraid to answer because…” he paused for effect. “…you haven’t shagged the Weasel yet?” Malfoy crowed with delight at Hermione’s look of horror and bounced her gleefully on his knees, hands wrapped around her waist. “Oh my god…if not the Weasel, then who?” A shock of misplaced understanding crossed his face and pulled back, adding, “Granger…please don’t tell me you haven’t shagged anybody yet? Are you really that precious? Granger’s a bloody virgin!” he teased.
“No! That’s not true! I’m not!” she protested, struggling slightly in his arms and trying to breathe through her mouth so she would stop smelling him. His accusation stung. She didn’t want him to think she was passive like Parkinson but it was really none of his business what she did with Ron. Never mind that just having this conversation with Malfoy was making her pulse rush faster than shagging Ron ever did, let alone what sitting on Malfoy’s lap, encircled by those strong arms, was doing to her.
She was torn between continuing the conversation to see how far it went and fleeing Malfoy’s onslaught. She didn’t want to be unfaithful to Ron, but oh, the things Malfoy made her feel…he treated her like a…like a…like a girl. No, a woman, a sexual thing. Not a best mate.
“No? Then why don’t you tell me about it? Or isn’t it worth talking about?” he said, his voice going low as he pulled her closer. She squirmed against him, breath catching at the feel of his erection beneath her thigh. Oh god, oh god…realizing he was as hot as she was made it even worse. He slid his hand under the edge of her skirt, tracing circles on the inside of her knee.
“Oh, you…that…that…” she breathed, losing herself in the sensation. She didn’t want him to stop. Being with Ron never felt like this. Still on Malfoy’s lap but no longer struggling, she let her thighs fall open wider. Just a little longer, then I’ll go. Just a little more. Feeling her yield, he leaned closer and planted a tiny, hot kiss behind her ear and slid his hand farther between her legs. Any closer and he would feel the heat coming off her. Any closer and she’d arch that heat into his hand and then she’d be lost.
“I. We’re finished.” Heart pounding, she jumped up and began gathering her things, frightened of her response to him, frightened of what might happen, what she might let happen if this went any further.
“Oh, Granger…you don’t really want to go now, do you?” He rose from the chair, his long-legged strides easily beating her to the door. From behind her, he put his hand over hers on the knob and leaned down to breathe in her ear. Oh god…if he says one more thing…anything, I’m doomed.
Hermione closed her eyes, heart thudding, Malfoy so close behind her she could feel his body heat. He pressed up against her, nudging the length of his cock along the crevice of her arse and slipping his other hand around her waist to pull her back toward himself. “Does the Weasel make you turn pink like your Runes do?” he said roughly, the teasing lilt completely gone from his voice.
She shuddered at the desire in his voice, the feel of him rubbing against her. Her head dipped as he mouthed behind her ear and the back of her neck. Her center throbbed, her whole body flushed with want and she knew she was well and truly done for. With the courage of the damned, she whispered without turning, “No.”
“Good,” he said in that voice rough with want. Pushing her book bag from her shoulder, he pulled the pencil from her hair and let the locks spill free. He nosed his way beneath the curls and inhaled deeply, the vibrations of his hummed “mmm” giving her goose bumps. He pulled her chin around and pressed his lips softly against hers and tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth. “Open up, Granger,” he said, forcing his tongue inside before she even realized she’d parted her lips. He was assaulting her mouth with his, not sharing the kiss but taking it from her, plunging his tongue in and out in imitation of what he really wanted to do.
Malfoy cupped both breasts, hefting their weight and squeezing, fingers searching out her nipples as he attacked her neck with soft, sucking bites. His breath hot on her neck, he slid his hands down her sides and pulled her shirt free. Dizzy with desire and lack of breath, Hermione shuddered as the damp skin of Malfoy’s palms skimmed over her stomach. “Don’t you…aren’t you…supposed to…be somewhere?” she breathed.
“Told you I got tarted up just for you, Granger,” he breathed back, unbuttoning her shirt from the bottom up as he kissed and sucked at her neck. With a stuttered inhale, Hermione put a hand against the door to steady herself as he pressed her forward with soft thrusts of his hips. She dropped her head again as he swept her hair aside, baring the nape of her neck for his sucking kisses.
Her nipples, already achingly hard, tingled as he slid both hands beneath her bra and palmed her breasts. Reaching behind her, she grabbed his hip with one hand and dragged the other above her head to clasp the back of his neck. She leaned her head back against his shoulder as he slowly drew his hands down her sides, over her hips, and then lower to lift the hem of her skirt and hook his thumbs in the sides of her sodden knickers and drag them to her knees.
Cool air swirled between her thighs. Oh god, oh god was her last articulate thought as Malfoy growled at her. “Off, Granger. I want them off.” Hermione felt her pussy surge again at the order and moved to comply, bending just enough to push them down and step out. Malfoy pressed his sticky palm to her mound, fingers gently teasing at the moist lips of her pussy and the heel of his hand pushing against her clit. She found she was holding her breath as one finger slowly, slowly worked between the fleshy folds to stroke her teasingly. He kept kissing her jaw and neck as he whispered, “I couldn’t stop thinking about this. Wanked myself raw wondering how hot you’d be, how wet you’d be…” She made a whining little noise in the back of her throat at Malfoy’s wicked words in her ear. He slowly dipped just the tip of one finger in and out as his other hand slid back up to palm her breast and pinch the nipple.
Unsteady on her legs as he pushed that long finger further inside her, Hermione put her hands against the door again to hold herself up under Malfoy’s sensual onslaught. Another whimper as he drew his finger out and slid it up to circle around the pulsing nub of flesh above. “Ahhh…yes, Malfoy…” she whispered plaintively. Ignoring her unvoiced request, he slid two fingers easily inside her, pumping slowly, only to withdraw and swirl around her clit again, close but not touching. He kept teasing her like that, coming close but not giving her the friction she desired. She couldn’t help the gentle push of her hips in time with his as she tried to press herself into his hand. Ron, always in too much of a rush to get to the shagging, had never done her this way, with just his hand and his voice.
“So wet, Granger, so good…I knew you would be. So hot under my hand…I want to feel you…want to watch you, see you come for me, feel you come apart for me…” She writhed against him as he continued the litany of dirty, pretty things in her ear and thrust harder against her, pushing her flush against the door but for the fingers still twisting her nipple and the hand between her thighs. “Please, please…god, Malfoy…” she begged.
“Fuck,” he swore, “Feel what you do to me? How hard I am?” he said, rubbing hard against her and finally, finally dragging a finger across her aching clit. “God, yes, yes, like that…” she moaned, arching harder against his hand, fingernails scratching against the wood as she scrabbled for purchase. She felt so wanton like this, pressed between him and the door, shirt open, no knickers, rocking between the heat of his cock behind her and his sinful, lovely hand in front. “That’s it, Granger…come on, come for me, yeah…” he urged, determined to bring her off right then.
“Yes, yes…ah, ah…” she responded, her speech dwindling to wordless sounds of desire as the pressure built and her entire focus spiraled down to Malfoy’s fingers working her. Hermione felt the tingling rush of looseness that preceded orgasm flood through her body. Shameless now that she was so close, she splayed her hands across the door and shoved herself against Malfoy’s hand again and again, finally crying out as she shuddered for long moments and finally went still.
Breathless, Hermione dropped her forehead against the door with a soft thud and shut her eyes. “Oh…Granger…” Malfoy’s voice was ragged in her ear as his hand stilled and slipped away. She could feel him panting, pressed against her, hot and hard. She knew she ought to be horrified and ashamed but the only thing she could think of was Malfoy’s rough voice as he’d touched her, the rush in her blood as he’d done what he wanted. God, what must he think? She didn’t want to know. If he said anything, it would break the spell and she’d have to come to her senses. It was so much better thanthe passionless, stifled sex she had with Ron and she didn’t want whatever this was to be over quite yet. Just a little longer...
With fleeting thoughts of What am I doing? barely echoing in the back of her mind, Hermione turned in Malfoy’s arms and reached for his belt. “Shut. Up. Malfoy.” Still backed against the door, she looked up into his face as she carefully pushed his trousers and pants to his hips. He caught her wrist as she reached for him and brought her hand to his mouth. Looking intently back at her, he sucked each of her fingers in turn, then laved her palm, leaving it sticky with saliva. Her mouth fell open at the eroticism of it. Malfoy was licking her hand, and she’d never been so fucking turned on in her life. Eyes falling shut, he sucked in a breath as she finally wrapped her hand, wet with his cooling spit, around his cock.
“Grang-” He started to speak again so she used her free hand to drag him forward to crash their mouths together. Kissing Malfoy was even better face to face as she licked and bit him in all the places she hadn’t been able to reach before. He was thrusting into her hand and murmuring god, yes, god, fuck as he kissed her. His cock was so hot, so heavy, in her hand as he pushed into the circle of her fingers. She played with him, twisting her wrist, sliding her thumb along the pulsing vein, listening to the different sounds each new thing brought from him.
She didn’t really know what she was doing; this was also typically something Ron never let her do very long in favor of actual shagging. Realizing she might never get another chance at this, she brought her other hand between them to cup his balls, rolling them gently and then pressing a finger right behind. It worked just as she’d read, drawing a groan from him. She felt her renewed arousal at his response.
“God, just-yes,” he panted, pressing both his hands against the door over her head. She knew Malfoy was close by the way his words were stringing together and becoming unintelligible noises. Much too quickly for her, he came with a grunt and a spill of wet heat across her hand. His thrusting stuttered, then slowed as he pushed his face into her neck.
She withdrew her sticky hand from him, not knowing what to do with it and feeling awkward. Well, this is a day for trying new things…Tentatively, she brought her hand to her mouth and licked his cooling come from her skin. Not…horrible. Interesting. Malfoy, still recovering, picked his head up at her movement and stared as she licked her hand as clean as it would get. She flushed in embarrassment when he said, “Jesus fuck, Granger. Are you trying to kill me?”
Mortified as reality set in, Hermione slipped away from him, quickly buttoning her shirt and putting herself to rights as much as she could. She glanced around the small room. Bloody hell, where’s my knickers? She grabbed the strap of her book bag and fled before Malfoy could say another word.
<<>>
Hermione hid in Gryffindor tower the rest of Friday and most of Saturday, having convinced Lavender and Parvati to bring her food and tell Harry and Ron she was sick. She knew she couldn’t go on like this, even if what had happened with Malfoy would never happen again (and it won’t, she’d told herself, it won’t), it had taught her enough that she knew she was through with Ron. She steeled herself to end it with him.
She crept down from the dorm on Saturday evening in time for dinner with Harry and Ron, who really hadn’t seemed to be all that bothered by her having been “sick,” as they were quite involved in discussing the day’s Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. They hardly said three words to her during the meal and didn’t seem to take any note of her subdued mood.
When they had all finished, she’d given Ron a pointed look and asked if they could go for a walk. Harry looked back and forth between them, finally sensing something was up and said, “Er, I have a, uh, thing…” he gestured vaguely with his head and pointed back over his shoulder with a thumb. “ I’ll just…be in the common room,” he continued and made his usual graceless exit.
And she cried a little bit when she told him it was over but Ron’d just said, “Yeah, all right. Still mates, though?” and grinned and clapped an arm around her shoulders much more comfortably than he ever had when he was her boyfriend. A big weight seemed to float away from her and she knew she’d done the right thing, Malfoy or no. And so it really didn’t bother her that much when rumors started a week later that Ron had been caught in a compromising position with Justin Finch-Fletchley. Things were fine again in her happy little trio, except for what happened with Malfoy on Sunday.
<<>>
On Sunday she debated over what to do about their meeting that night. Obviously they couldn’t go on as partners, she’d just have to see Professor Babbling and get them reassigned. She quailed a moment over all the work they’d done so far, but her mortification over what happened with Malfoy far outweighed any wasted revision. She could change seats in class, sit at the back, and maybe Babbling would just let her continue the project on her own. She just sat down to pen an owl to Malfoy telling him she wouldn’t be at their session later when a school owl swept in the window and dropped a parchment into her lap. She stared dumbly at the bold M emblazoned in the green wax seal. Oh god…it’s from Malfoy. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard. What could he want? She could only imagine he was writing to tell her not to bother showing her slag Mudblood face in the study room tonight, after her behavior last time. With trembling fingers she broke the seal and opened the parchment.
You didn’t stick around long enough on Friday to actually kill me. Hope you’re not having second thoughts about revision tonight.
DM
P.S. I have something that belongs to you.
She dropped the parchment as if it had burned her and felt her insides turn liquid. She’d fled the scene so quickly on Friday because she’d thought he was disgusted with her. But…what if he wasn’t? She picked the note up again and re-read it with dawning horror at the postscript. Oh no, my knickers! He’s had my knickers since Friday! Further mortified, she was in absolute confusion as to what to do. Well, he obviously wasn’t having second thoughts about revision, so maybe she could actually…go. Maybe she didn’t need to get reassigned. Or maybe he’d been waiting all this time to turn Slytherin on her and when she showed up at the study room he’d be there with a crowd of fellow serpents, mocking her sturdy Muggle knickers and telling them all how easy she’d been.
But, what if he wasn’t? What if it was just him and he wanted…more? Well. I’m not a Gryffindor for nothing, she thought, and began packing her book bag.
<<>>
He was waiting for her when she tentatively walked into the study room, sitting in one of the straight-backed chairs, staring into the fire. She stopped a moment, looking at him, before he spoke, still facing the fire.
“So. Granger. No second thoughts?” he asked in that horrible Malfoy drawl she despised. Maybe he was disgusted with her.
Hermione walked slowly to stand uncertainly before him, clutching her book bag, unsure of how close to stand. But she was close enough to smell him and, oh, the sense-memory hit her hard. Brought back all the times they’d spent in this very room, talking, laughing, not being Granger and Malfoy, at least not on the inside…forging a…friendship? Brought back especially Friday night when she’d so willingly let herself be damned.
Not a Gryffindor for nothing, she reminded herself and gathered up her courage. “Malfoy, I-it...” She faltered and started again. “I…I broke up with Ron.” As she said it, she saw him change, he softened, he stopped being Malfoy and became, well, her Malfoy, the Malfoy from this room, from Runes. With the hands and the lips and the smell and the…everything.
He stood then, tipping her face up to his with a finger under her chin. “So,” he smirked. “You broke up with the Weasel?”
Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, heat flooding through her on the heels of enormous relief. She nodded mutely. He said nothing as he reached for her book bag, hunger in his eyes. “Malfoy, I, I-we should-”
He grinned. “Shut. Up. Granger,” he said, echoing her words from Friday as he pried the book bag away and advanced on her with a predatory gleam in his eye, backing her against the door again. He kept on after her, grabbing her wrists and pinning them over her head in one large hand.
“Oh…,” she whispered slightly, thumping her head back against the door as he burrowed into her neck with sucking kisses. And there it was. The familiar rush of wetness between her thighs. He was unbuttoning her shirt with his free hand even as he insinuated a knee between her thighs to rub against her heated mound. And then he started talking.
“God, Granger, you nearly killed me last time, you were so hot. Fuck. Licking your hand like that…and I thought I’d wanked myself raw before. Do you know how many times I’ve jerked off since Friday thinking about that? I had to get myself off again before I could even leave.” The words stopped as he bent to suck a nipple through the fabric of her bra. She moaned as he bit down lightly and then moved to the other side.
“Oh…,” she whispered again, “You…you did?” and then a wordless groan as he slipped down her body, kissing a trail along her stomach and undoing the fastenings on her skirt.
“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this…wanted to touch you, taste you,” he continued, catching his long fingers on her knickers and dragging them down with her skirt. He was on his knees before her, pulling off her shoes and socks and casting it all aside as he turned, pressing his face against her thigh. She felt the hot puff of his breath as he rested against her for a moment, hands wrapped around the backs of her legs. This was something Ron had never done.
She was standing there, pressed back against the door, palms sweating against the warm grain of the oak, shirt open, flushed and naked from the waist down, and she looked at Malfoy kneeling before her, reverently breathing into her thigh and had never felt so beautiful, so powerful in her whole life. She brought a hand to Malfoy’s face and he looked up at her touch.
“Oh, yes, please…,” she said, and even as she spoke, Malfoy started nipping his way up her thigh, tight pinch of teeth and soothing tongue following right after. He slung her leg over his shoulder, opening her up and the cool air swirling into the apex of her thighs reminded her just how very wet she was. Oh god, what is he going to think? What if I, oh god, smell bad or something? She tensed up and made to pull her leg away but Malfoy tightened his hold around her.
“Don’t,” he said, looking up at her, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Let me,” he whispered, pressing his face to her inner thigh and inhaling. “Granger, please, I want to taste you.” She shuddered as he whispered it against her skin, biting her lip and nodding at him. She tried to relax, telling herself to steady her breathing and just feel what he wanted to do without worrying about-oh,my. She gasped at the sensation of his tongue trailing along the seam of her pussy. Just lightly brushing, tasting the moisture that had gathered in the hair there, not dipping inside yet. Now a light kiss at the top of the cleft, then he was dragging his tongue up from the bottom again, this time pushing his tongue in just a little bit, sliding between the wet lips and brushing her clit as he reached the top. He kept doing it, tongue going a little deeper each time until he was licking her fully, with broad flat strokes, smacking and slurping like she was ice cream.
“Oh, Malfoy, god,” she panted, completely forgetting her concerns under his ministrations, arching and curling her leg to bring him closer. “Please.” She felt another flood of moisture and he pushed his tongue inside her to lap it up. He didn’t let up as she went wordless and boneless, propping her up with his shoulder and sliding a finger inside her quivering hole. He pumped it slowly, fluttering his tongue firmly over her clit as her moans filled the warm air of the study room. She grabbed his hair and cried out when he wrapped his lips around the sensitive nub and sucked. All at once the pressure burst and she felt everything rush in toward her center, a buzz from her fingers and toes, streaming along her arms and legs, everything centered around her clenching pussy, her throbbing clit and she went stiff, her only movement the jerking of her hips against Malfoy’s mouth and hand.
When she finally came down, she sluggishly pulled her leg from his shoulder and Malfoy stood up, rutting his hips against her and breathing a plaintive “Granger, please,” into her ear.
“Oh, god, yes, yes, anything-,” she said, reaching for his belt, but as she did he was already grabbing her by the arms and steering her to the couch, pressing her back and pushing his trousers and pants down far enough to free his cock, hot and angry red. He looked down at her, pupils blown as wide as her own surely were, hungry and needy and asking permission. “Yes, yes, inside me,” she panted.
He pushed roughly into her wet pussy, groaning, “Granger, god, I’m not-unnh…” His words dissolving into grunts as he pumped his hips. She wrapped her legs around him, enjoying the brush of his balls against her moist skin each time he bottomed out. In a matter of minutes, probably even less, he was coming, hot and hard with a low stuttering moan, until he collapsed onto her, breathing heavily.
They lay like that for long minutes until Malfoy recovered enough to prop himself up and look down into her face.
“You really do turn the most fetching shade of pink,” he smiled, brushing a stray curl from her eyes. “So. Not the Runes, then?”
Hermione blushed an even deeper shade of pink, biting her lip and looking up at him through lowered lashes.
With a small, sweet smile she answered, “Never was.”
Title: Not the Runes (1/1)
Author:
girly_curl_3
Pairing: D/Hr
Rating: NC-17
Summary: “Do you know you turn pink when you talk about Runes?”
Warning(s): Nothing out of the ordinary here, folks. Just plain ol’ sex. And some possibly poorly-written plot, but I dunno…you tell me.
Word count: 6796
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This fic was written for fun, not for profit.
Additional Disclaimer: This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.
Author's note: Uh, this is my very first HP fic, and only my second fic ever. Feedback is welcome but please be gentle.
Also, dedicated to the lovely
shag_me_draco, who not only served as a fabulous beta but also henpecked me into finishing it. Any mistakes or general crappiness are all mine.
ETA May 29, 2007: This is now an award winning fic! Go me! *\o/*
Early as always, Hermione sat at the front of the classroom, straightening her books and waiting for the rest of the Advanced Runes students to arrive. Idly she wondered who’d be joining her in the difficult class this last year of school as her fellow students filed in. Three Ravenclaws, followed by a Hufflepuff boy; all familiar from other classes, took seats around her. And, as expected, Malfoy brought up the rear and sauntered his way to the front.
Much to her disbelief, however, the inscrutable Slytherin stopped at the desk she had chosen specifically because it was front and center, cocked an eyebrow at her and gestured at the empty seat beside her with his pointed chin.
Hermione stared at him in slight open-mouthed surprise as she considered his request. “I didn’t get top marks by sitting in the backs of classrooms, Granger,” Malfoy said, with slightly less contempt than she was used to. “I expect you’d understand that.” He sat his books on the desktop and took the seat before she could acquiesce. Hermione quickly turned away to ready her parchment and quill as class started.
Professor Babbling gave the rote first-day lecture, discussing syllabus and objectives and Hermione soon became distracted wondering why on earth Malfoy had chosen to sit next to her, of all people. Admittedly, Malfoy’d stopped with the name-calling well before the end of last term. He’d even stopped being such a completely foul git to everybody all the time, and it seemed ages since she’d thought of him as a loathsome cockroach. Obviously, he, like Hermione, was focused on achieving top marks, and had much less time for pureblood snobbery. Perhaps it was the looming war that made him realize the pointlessness of petty unpleasantness in the face of real peril.
She surreptitiously glanced at him, taking in his sharp profile and that white-blond hair. She’d never admit it out loud, but now that he’d stopped tormenting her and being so generally insufferable combined with whatever it was that happened to make him grow several inches and fill out even more over summer hols, he was actually sort of…cute. She closed her eyes in dismay at the turn her thoughts were taking. Having a rocky relationship with Ron was no reason to be eyeballing Malfoy. Or noticing how good he smelled.
Heedless of her internal admonishment, she snuck another peek at him, realizing she’d never really been this close to him, save that time she’d hit him in third year. But that abbreviated moment of physical proximity so long ago didn’t give her the chance to appreciate the unique smell of sweat and hormones he had that all teenage boys seem to emanate. Nor had she the opportunity to note the thick forearms brushed with fine flaxen hairs, or his large, pale hands and long fingers. His hands looked to be as big as Ron’s but she couldn’t quite tell who would be taller.Looking up at his face, she took in his profile, one grey eye, aquiline nose…lips…
Flushing, she hastily looked down at her parchment as Malfoy caught her appraisal and shot one eyebrow up in amusement. She ignored it and looked studiously up at the professor.
“…and you’ll be working with your assigned partner on a series of collaborative projects throughout the year in addition to our regular exams. Now, I’d like each team to schedule regular project meetings outside of class at least once a week. I’ve secured a private study room in the library for your use, so please confer with your partner and sign up on the schedule being passed. Chang, you’re with Bayjou. Malfoy, with Granger. Moylan, you and Hamilton.”
“Wait…I…” Hermione said, horrified that she’d been sidetracked by Malfoy as she caught the tail-end of Professor Babbling’s speech. Her stomach twisted as she realized what the professor had said. She didn’t know whether the quaver in her midsection was thrill or horror. Hermione looked down at the parchment Malfoy was thrusting at her, then met his eyes. “Problem, Granger? Or can’t you handle partnering with me?” Malfoy challenged.
“No, it’s not that, uh, I…,” flustered, Hermione looked down at the parchment again. “No, ah, how about Sundays?”
<<>>
A Sunday afternoon weeks later found Hermione and Malfoy sitting comfortably on the overstuffed couch in their study room, discussing Runes with the easy rapport that had grown from their meetings. Much to her thrill and dismay, she’d discovered the Slytherin really was intelligent, funny and charming and easily made her laugh and blush in turns with his ribald humor.
“Ha! Yes, but if you put demiguise here it cancels out the double fwooper!” Tapping the page triumphantly, Hermione looked up to find Malfoy studying her, not the parchment. “What?” she asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Oh, no, what is he doing? Hermione blushed under Malfoy’s scrutiny. She resisted the urge to straighten her clothes and tuck her hair behind her ear and frowned down at the parchment. “What? Have I missed something?”
“No, but I think I may have.” Malfoy said softly. She looked up again. At her quirked brow he continued on a bit louder, “You’re awfully…passionate about this, aren’t you? I wonder what else gets you so worked up?” He gave her the eyebrow again and Hermione grew warm and breathy at his suggestive words. Despite her urge to fidget under his steady look, Hermione tilted her head saucily and replied, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” and then gave him her best Malfoy smirk. I did not. Just. Flirt. With Malfoy.
Leering at her, he replied with a grin, “Maybe I would.” Malfoy is not flirting with me. I am not flirting with him. It’s Malfoy. We do not like each other. Her face went pink and a moist tingling between her legs started as she tried to pretend this wasn’t the third time in as many weeks their study session had included such flirting. But no matter what she told herself, there was no denying she enjoyed Malfoy’s attentions. Ron never talked to her like Malfoy did. Ron didn’t look at her like that, as if she were something to be unwrapped and…and…savored. Ron had always treated her like best-mate Hermione. Even when they had finally shagged last year, it felt like business.
They’d snogged a bit, then fumbled their clothes off and had just…done it. That first time went exactly how she’d expected from Ron. She told him what to do and he did it with no inventiveness whatsoever, and it was all very efficient and proper and completely typical of their relationship. The problem was that every time after had also been that way. Seems he also had the sexual range of a teaspoon.
When Parvati and Lavender finally dragged it out of her, Parvati had fluttered a hand to her throat and lamented when it would be her turn to “make love.” Hermione had nearly laughed aloud at the phrase…it just wasn’t that way with Ron. Sometimes she felt that regardless of the times they spent alone and naked together, nothing was different…she was still best-mate Hermione. She couldn’t imagine suggesting they do any of the things she’d read in her beloved books. She was tired of giving instructions.
What she wanted was to be more than just a best mate who you happened to shag now and again. What she wanted was to be desired, worshipped, touched, licked and kissed all over…to see his eyes dilate with need and hear his voice grow rough as he told her how he wanted her, to feel her blood rush; her heart pound and the connection between them grow and grow until they were overcome. Her stomach twisted and she felt heat creep up her chest as she realized that it was Malfoy making her think like this. I am not thinking about shagging Malfoy. I’m not. And I am most definitely not getting turned on by not thinking about it.
Still feeling flushed, she panicked and looked down at her watch. “Gotta go,” she said abruptly, fighting another blush and hastily packing her things, thinking only of escaping this situation which seemed to be rapidly escaping her control.
“Granger, wait…” Malfoy said, catching her sleeve. “We’re making progress but I… think we should meet more often. The room’s free Friday nights. Is that good for you?” he said with a wink and only the slightest hint of impropriety.
“Fridays. Fine. See you!” she chirped and fled the study room, hoping Malfoy wouldn’t see how much he affected her.
<<>>
Hermione flopped into one of the squashy armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, still holding her book bag and huffing a breath up towards her forehead to clear the errant hairs from her heated face.
“That bad, eh?” Harry grinned at her, looking up from the chessboard. “Too much Malfoy?” Ron laughed at Harry’s jest and added, “Too much ferret.”
“Oh, stop it, you two. Honestly.” Hermione replied. “Malfoy’s not so bad anymore. Has he said one word to either of you since we got back? It’s actually been quite interesting working with him. Did you know he’s read Hogwarts: A History? Anyway, it’s not…I’m just worn out already and term’s hardly started. And now he wants to meet more often and I don’t know how I’m going to…handle…it.” She got out her revision planner and started up the stairs.
“He might have gotten better since summer but anyone who’s read Hogwarts: A History as much as her is still a wanker, yeah?” Ron chuckled and Harry laughed with him.
<<>>
Friday came and Hermione studied herself in the mirror, prodding at her hair and leaning in for close inspection of her face. Maybe I should wear something else? She opened her wardrobe, then closed it again. What am I doing? It’s revision. With Malfoy. It’s not a date. Not a date, even though it’s Friday night and everyone else who’s meeting someone tonight is on a date. Why’d he pick Friday nights? You’d think he has better things to do on a Friday night. She eyed herself critically again and quashed the urge for further fussing. Her uniform would be fine for a study date. Meeting. Study meeting. She picked up her bag and marched to the library, purposely not thinking about the fact that Ron didn’t seem to mind one bit that she would be unavailable Friday evenings for the indeterminate future.
Malfoy was sprawled comfortably at the table when she entered the study room. In horror, she stopped short in the open doorway, realizing his black trousers and blue button-down meant he was dressed for a date. Oh no, he’s got a date later! Why didn’t I dress nicer? I could’ve told him I had plans after, too! Now he’ll know how pathetic Ron and I are.
In an effort to stifle yet another blush, she inhaled deeply and opened her mouth to speak but stopped when she realized that he was also wearing some kind of cologne that smelled…really…quite…good. Her brain stopped functioning and she stood there with her mouth halfway open. She snapped her mouth shut, only to open it again and say cheekily, “Hot date later, Malfoy?”
“No, I got all tarted up just for you, Granger. You like?” he quipped, giving her that damnable eyebrow and head jiggle again. He probably thinks that stupid eyebrow thing is roguishly charming. She felt the cotton of her knickers grow damp again. Two seconds and he already had her on edge. How does he do that? “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she shot back, her wit failing her in her agitation. Ugh, I can’t even think straight.
“I think we both already know the answer to that question,” he said slowly, rising smoothly from his sprawl. He crossed the room to where she still stood in the doorway, one hand clenched around the strap of her book bag, and leaned that long-limbed frame against the doorjamb. “Afraid of the big, bad Slytherin, Granger? Or would you like to step into my parlor?” Said the spider to the fly, Hermione thought as he leaned over her to pull the door shut. The motion brought him closer and, heart thudding at the proximity, she closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of him. How am I ever going to get any work done? The door shut with a click, pressing against her back and bumping her forward a half step.
Instead of straightening up, Malfoy rested his hand against the door beside her head. Hermione opened her eyes to discover herself trapped in the cage he made, his arm on one side and his whole body on the other, his face so close she could feel his breath. “I…,” she licked her lips and swallowed, mouth suddenly gone dry. For a long moment their eyes held, and Hermione, breathing shallowly so as not to betray her rising desire, desperately willed him to either back off or just kiss her already. Without breaking eye contact, Malfoy gently pulled her book bag from the death grip she clutched it with and smiled intently at her. “Best get to work, yeah?”
“Wh…uh, yes. Of course. Work. Yes.” She blinked several times rapidly. Why do I always turn into a stuttering fool when he’s this close? She ducked around him and yanked her bag back. “Now,” she said, clearing her throat, “Last time we were talking about the antithetical effects of demiguise, I believe.” She sifted through books businesslike as she settled at the table. She looked up at him still leaning against the doorjamb as she twisted her hair into a bun and stuck a pencil through it. He didn’t reply but kept his eyes focused on hers with that same intent look.
He smirked. “Do you know you turn pink when you talk about Runes? It’s quite fetching.” It’s not the Runes, she thought, fervently wishing she had the nerve to say it aloud.
<<>>
A scant half-hour later and Hermione was batting away the third of Malfoy’s hovering paper cranes as it fluttered about her head. He’d spent the entire time attempting to sidetrack her by invading her personal space, leaning in too close to share her book, stealing her quill, poking her, even once squeezing her knee. What is he trying to do? Get revved up for his date later? He’s killing me. “Malfoy! Honestly. You’d think you weren’t here for revision,” she scolded.
“Maybe I’m not,” Malfoy replied mischievously. She gave him a pointed look. “What? I don’t feel much like working. I’m distracted.” He leered at her, waggling his eyebrows and reaching out to twirl a loose tendril of hair that had escaped her bun. She pushed his hand away again. “Fine. You called this stupid meeting, you tell me what we’re supposed to talk about.”
“Okay. How long have you been shagging the Weasel? He any good?” Malfoy asked.
Hermione choked at the unexpected turn of conversation. “I. He. That’s…none of your business and entirely inappropriate!” Ugh, I sound like the bloody prefect I am. And now I’m cursing. Why is it he gets me so worked up but my sodding boyfriend doesn’t? He leered at her again. “You don’t hear me asking how good Pansy Parkinson is!” she sputtered, standing up.
“I quit shagging her last year because she’s crap. Totally unresponsive. Now you,” he replied, plucking at her sleeve and pulling her onto his lap. When she gaped at him in paralyzed shock at being handled thusly, he continued, completely ignoring her dismay.
“Come on, how’s the Weasel? Or…are you afraid to answer because…” he paused for effect. “…you haven’t shagged the Weasel yet?” Malfoy crowed with delight at Hermione’s look of horror and bounced her gleefully on his knees, hands wrapped around her waist. “Oh my god…if not the Weasel, then who?” A shock of misplaced understanding crossed his face and pulled back, adding, “Granger…please don’t tell me you haven’t shagged anybody yet? Are you really that precious? Granger’s a bloody virgin!” he teased.
“No! That’s not true! I’m not!” she protested, struggling slightly in his arms and trying to breathe through her mouth so she would stop smelling him. His accusation stung. She didn’t want him to think she was passive like Parkinson but it was really none of his business what she did with Ron. Never mind that just having this conversation with Malfoy was making her pulse rush faster than shagging Ron ever did, let alone what sitting on Malfoy’s lap, encircled by those strong arms, was doing to her.
She was torn between continuing the conversation to see how far it went and fleeing Malfoy’s onslaught. She didn’t want to be unfaithful to Ron, but oh, the things Malfoy made her feel…he treated her like a…like a…like a girl. No, a woman, a sexual thing. Not a best mate.
“No? Then why don’t you tell me about it? Or isn’t it worth talking about?” he said, his voice going low as he pulled her closer. She squirmed against him, breath catching at the feel of his erection beneath her thigh. Oh god, oh god…realizing he was as hot as she was made it even worse. He slid his hand under the edge of her skirt, tracing circles on the inside of her knee.
“Oh, you…that…that…” she breathed, losing herself in the sensation. She didn’t want him to stop. Being with Ron never felt like this. Still on Malfoy’s lap but no longer struggling, she let her thighs fall open wider. Just a little longer, then I’ll go. Just a little more. Feeling her yield, he leaned closer and planted a tiny, hot kiss behind her ear and slid his hand farther between her legs. Any closer and he would feel the heat coming off her. Any closer and she’d arch that heat into his hand and then she’d be lost.
“I. We’re finished.” Heart pounding, she jumped up and began gathering her things, frightened of her response to him, frightened of what might happen, what she might let happen if this went any further.
“Oh, Granger…you don’t really want to go now, do you?” He rose from the chair, his long-legged strides easily beating her to the door. From behind her, he put his hand over hers on the knob and leaned down to breathe in her ear. Oh god…if he says one more thing…anything, I’m doomed.
Hermione closed her eyes, heart thudding, Malfoy so close behind her she could feel his body heat. He pressed up against her, nudging the length of his cock along the crevice of her arse and slipping his other hand around her waist to pull her back toward himself. “Does the Weasel make you turn pink like your Runes do?” he said roughly, the teasing lilt completely gone from his voice.
She shuddered at the desire in his voice, the feel of him rubbing against her. Her head dipped as he mouthed behind her ear and the back of her neck. Her center throbbed, her whole body flushed with want and she knew she was well and truly done for. With the courage of the damned, she whispered without turning, “No.”
“Good,” he said in that voice rough with want. Pushing her book bag from her shoulder, he pulled the pencil from her hair and let the locks spill free. He nosed his way beneath the curls and inhaled deeply, the vibrations of his hummed “mmm” giving her goose bumps. He pulled her chin around and pressed his lips softly against hers and tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth. “Open up, Granger,” he said, forcing his tongue inside before she even realized she’d parted her lips. He was assaulting her mouth with his, not sharing the kiss but taking it from her, plunging his tongue in and out in imitation of what he really wanted to do.
Malfoy cupped both breasts, hefting their weight and squeezing, fingers searching out her nipples as he attacked her neck with soft, sucking bites. His breath hot on her neck, he slid his hands down her sides and pulled her shirt free. Dizzy with desire and lack of breath, Hermione shuddered as the damp skin of Malfoy’s palms skimmed over her stomach. “Don’t you…aren’t you…supposed to…be somewhere?” she breathed.
“Told you I got tarted up just for you, Granger,” he breathed back, unbuttoning her shirt from the bottom up as he kissed and sucked at her neck. With a stuttered inhale, Hermione put a hand against the door to steady herself as he pressed her forward with soft thrusts of his hips. She dropped her head again as he swept her hair aside, baring the nape of her neck for his sucking kisses.
Her nipples, already achingly hard, tingled as he slid both hands beneath her bra and palmed her breasts. Reaching behind her, she grabbed his hip with one hand and dragged the other above her head to clasp the back of his neck. She leaned her head back against his shoulder as he slowly drew his hands down her sides, over her hips, and then lower to lift the hem of her skirt and hook his thumbs in the sides of her sodden knickers and drag them to her knees.
Cool air swirled between her thighs. Oh god, oh god was her last articulate thought as Malfoy growled at her. “Off, Granger. I want them off.” Hermione felt her pussy surge again at the order and moved to comply, bending just enough to push them down and step out. Malfoy pressed his sticky palm to her mound, fingers gently teasing at the moist lips of her pussy and the heel of his hand pushing against her clit. She found she was holding her breath as one finger slowly, slowly worked between the fleshy folds to stroke her teasingly. He kept kissing her jaw and neck as he whispered, “I couldn’t stop thinking about this. Wanked myself raw wondering how hot you’d be, how wet you’d be…” She made a whining little noise in the back of her throat at Malfoy’s wicked words in her ear. He slowly dipped just the tip of one finger in and out as his other hand slid back up to palm her breast and pinch the nipple.
Unsteady on her legs as he pushed that long finger further inside her, Hermione put her hands against the door again to hold herself up under Malfoy’s sensual onslaught. Another whimper as he drew his finger out and slid it up to circle around the pulsing nub of flesh above. “Ahhh…yes, Malfoy…” she whispered plaintively. Ignoring her unvoiced request, he slid two fingers easily inside her, pumping slowly, only to withdraw and swirl around her clit again, close but not touching. He kept teasing her like that, coming close but not giving her the friction she desired. She couldn’t help the gentle push of her hips in time with his as she tried to press herself into his hand. Ron, always in too much of a rush to get to the shagging, had never done her this way, with just his hand and his voice.
“So wet, Granger, so good…I knew you would be. So hot under my hand…I want to feel you…want to watch you, see you come for me, feel you come apart for me…” She writhed against him as he continued the litany of dirty, pretty things in her ear and thrust harder against her, pushing her flush against the door but for the fingers still twisting her nipple and the hand between her thighs. “Please, please…god, Malfoy…” she begged.
“Fuck,” he swore, “Feel what you do to me? How hard I am?” he said, rubbing hard against her and finally, finally dragging a finger across her aching clit. “God, yes, yes, like that…” she moaned, arching harder against his hand, fingernails scratching against the wood as she scrabbled for purchase. She felt so wanton like this, pressed between him and the door, shirt open, no knickers, rocking between the heat of his cock behind her and his sinful, lovely hand in front. “That’s it, Granger…come on, come for me, yeah…” he urged, determined to bring her off right then.
“Yes, yes…ah, ah…” she responded, her speech dwindling to wordless sounds of desire as the pressure built and her entire focus spiraled down to Malfoy’s fingers working her. Hermione felt the tingling rush of looseness that preceded orgasm flood through her body. Shameless now that she was so close, she splayed her hands across the door and shoved herself against Malfoy’s hand again and again, finally crying out as she shuddered for long moments and finally went still.
Breathless, Hermione dropped her forehead against the door with a soft thud and shut her eyes. “Oh…Granger…” Malfoy’s voice was ragged in her ear as his hand stilled and slipped away. She could feel him panting, pressed against her, hot and hard. She knew she ought to be horrified and ashamed but the only thing she could think of was Malfoy’s rough voice as he’d touched her, the rush in her blood as he’d done what he wanted. God, what must he think? She didn’t want to know. If he said anything, it would break the spell and she’d have to come to her senses. It was so much better thanthe passionless, stifled sex she had with Ron and she didn’t want whatever this was to be over quite yet. Just a little longer...
With fleeting thoughts of What am I doing? barely echoing in the back of her mind, Hermione turned in Malfoy’s arms and reached for his belt. “Shut. Up. Malfoy.” Still backed against the door, she looked up into his face as she carefully pushed his trousers and pants to his hips. He caught her wrist as she reached for him and brought her hand to his mouth. Looking intently back at her, he sucked each of her fingers in turn, then laved her palm, leaving it sticky with saliva. Her mouth fell open at the eroticism of it. Malfoy was licking her hand, and she’d never been so fucking turned on in her life. Eyes falling shut, he sucked in a breath as she finally wrapped her hand, wet with his cooling spit, around his cock.
“Grang-” He started to speak again so she used her free hand to drag him forward to crash their mouths together. Kissing Malfoy was even better face to face as she licked and bit him in all the places she hadn’t been able to reach before. He was thrusting into her hand and murmuring god, yes, god, fuck as he kissed her. His cock was so hot, so heavy, in her hand as he pushed into the circle of her fingers. She played with him, twisting her wrist, sliding her thumb along the pulsing vein, listening to the different sounds each new thing brought from him.
She didn’t really know what she was doing; this was also typically something Ron never let her do very long in favor of actual shagging. Realizing she might never get another chance at this, she brought her other hand between them to cup his balls, rolling them gently and then pressing a finger right behind. It worked just as she’d read, drawing a groan from him. She felt her renewed arousal at his response.
“God, just-yes,” he panted, pressing both his hands against the door over her head. She knew Malfoy was close by the way his words were stringing together and becoming unintelligible noises. Much too quickly for her, he came with a grunt and a spill of wet heat across her hand. His thrusting stuttered, then slowed as he pushed his face into her neck.
She withdrew her sticky hand from him, not knowing what to do with it and feeling awkward. Well, this is a day for trying new things…Tentatively, she brought her hand to her mouth and licked his cooling come from her skin. Not…horrible. Interesting. Malfoy, still recovering, picked his head up at her movement and stared as she licked her hand as clean as it would get. She flushed in embarrassment when he said, “Jesus fuck, Granger. Are you trying to kill me?”
Mortified as reality set in, Hermione slipped away from him, quickly buttoning her shirt and putting herself to rights as much as she could. She glanced around the small room. Bloody hell, where’s my knickers? She grabbed the strap of her book bag and fled before Malfoy could say another word.
<<>>
Hermione hid in Gryffindor tower the rest of Friday and most of Saturday, having convinced Lavender and Parvati to bring her food and tell Harry and Ron she was sick. She knew she couldn’t go on like this, even if what had happened with Malfoy would never happen again (and it won’t, she’d told herself, it won’t), it had taught her enough that she knew she was through with Ron. She steeled herself to end it with him.
She crept down from the dorm on Saturday evening in time for dinner with Harry and Ron, who really hadn’t seemed to be all that bothered by her having been “sick,” as they were quite involved in discussing the day’s Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. They hardly said three words to her during the meal and didn’t seem to take any note of her subdued mood.
When they had all finished, she’d given Ron a pointed look and asked if they could go for a walk. Harry looked back and forth between them, finally sensing something was up and said, “Er, I have a, uh, thing…” he gestured vaguely with his head and pointed back over his shoulder with a thumb. “ I’ll just…be in the common room,” he continued and made his usual graceless exit.
And she cried a little bit when she told him it was over but Ron’d just said, “Yeah, all right. Still mates, though?” and grinned and clapped an arm around her shoulders much more comfortably than he ever had when he was her boyfriend. A big weight seemed to float away from her and she knew she’d done the right thing, Malfoy or no. And so it really didn’t bother her that much when rumors started a week later that Ron had been caught in a compromising position with Justin Finch-Fletchley. Things were fine again in her happy little trio, except for what happened with Malfoy on Sunday.
<<>>
On Sunday she debated over what to do about their meeting that night. Obviously they couldn’t go on as partners, she’d just have to see Professor Babbling and get them reassigned. She quailed a moment over all the work they’d done so far, but her mortification over what happened with Malfoy far outweighed any wasted revision. She could change seats in class, sit at the back, and maybe Babbling would just let her continue the project on her own. She just sat down to pen an owl to Malfoy telling him she wouldn’t be at their session later when a school owl swept in the window and dropped a parchment into her lap. She stared dumbly at the bold M emblazoned in the green wax seal. Oh god…it’s from Malfoy. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard. What could he want? She could only imagine he was writing to tell her not to bother showing her slag Mudblood face in the study room tonight, after her behavior last time. With trembling fingers she broke the seal and opened the parchment.
You didn’t stick around long enough on Friday to actually kill me. Hope you’re not having second thoughts about revision tonight.
DM
P.S. I have something that belongs to you.
She dropped the parchment as if it had burned her and felt her insides turn liquid. She’d fled the scene so quickly on Friday because she’d thought he was disgusted with her. But…what if he wasn’t? She picked the note up again and re-read it with dawning horror at the postscript. Oh no, my knickers! He’s had my knickers since Friday! Further mortified, she was in absolute confusion as to what to do. Well, he obviously wasn’t having second thoughts about revision, so maybe she could actually…go. Maybe she didn’t need to get reassigned. Or maybe he’d been waiting all this time to turn Slytherin on her and when she showed up at the study room he’d be there with a crowd of fellow serpents, mocking her sturdy Muggle knickers and telling them all how easy she’d been.
But, what if he wasn’t? What if it was just him and he wanted…more? Well. I’m not a Gryffindor for nothing, she thought, and began packing her book bag.
<<>>
He was waiting for her when she tentatively walked into the study room, sitting in one of the straight-backed chairs, staring into the fire. She stopped a moment, looking at him, before he spoke, still facing the fire.
“So. Granger. No second thoughts?” he asked in that horrible Malfoy drawl she despised. Maybe he was disgusted with her.
Hermione walked slowly to stand uncertainly before him, clutching her book bag, unsure of how close to stand. But she was close enough to smell him and, oh, the sense-memory hit her hard. Brought back all the times they’d spent in this very room, talking, laughing, not being Granger and Malfoy, at least not on the inside…forging a…friendship? Brought back especially Friday night when she’d so willingly let herself be damned.
Not a Gryffindor for nothing, she reminded herself and gathered up her courage. “Malfoy, I-it...” She faltered and started again. “I…I broke up with Ron.” As she said it, she saw him change, he softened, he stopped being Malfoy and became, well, her Malfoy, the Malfoy from this room, from Runes. With the hands and the lips and the smell and the…everything.
He stood then, tipping her face up to his with a finger under her chin. “So,” he smirked. “You broke up with the Weasel?”
Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, heat flooding through her on the heels of enormous relief. She nodded mutely. He said nothing as he reached for her book bag, hunger in his eyes. “Malfoy, I, I-we should-”
He grinned. “Shut. Up. Granger,” he said, echoing her words from Friday as he pried the book bag away and advanced on her with a predatory gleam in his eye, backing her against the door again. He kept on after her, grabbing her wrists and pinning them over her head in one large hand.
“Oh…,” she whispered slightly, thumping her head back against the door as he burrowed into her neck with sucking kisses. And there it was. The familiar rush of wetness between her thighs. He was unbuttoning her shirt with his free hand even as he insinuated a knee between her thighs to rub against her heated mound. And then he started talking.
“God, Granger, you nearly killed me last time, you were so hot. Fuck. Licking your hand like that…and I thought I’d wanked myself raw before. Do you know how many times I’ve jerked off since Friday thinking about that? I had to get myself off again before I could even leave.” The words stopped as he bent to suck a nipple through the fabric of her bra. She moaned as he bit down lightly and then moved to the other side.
“Oh…,” she whispered again, “You…you did?” and then a wordless groan as he slipped down her body, kissing a trail along her stomach and undoing the fastenings on her skirt.
“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this…wanted to touch you, taste you,” he continued, catching his long fingers on her knickers and dragging them down with her skirt. He was on his knees before her, pulling off her shoes and socks and casting it all aside as he turned, pressing his face against her thigh. She felt the hot puff of his breath as he rested against her for a moment, hands wrapped around the backs of her legs. This was something Ron had never done.
She was standing there, pressed back against the door, palms sweating against the warm grain of the oak, shirt open, flushed and naked from the waist down, and she looked at Malfoy kneeling before her, reverently breathing into her thigh and had never felt so beautiful, so powerful in her whole life. She brought a hand to Malfoy’s face and he looked up at her touch.
“Oh, yes, please…,” she said, and even as she spoke, Malfoy started nipping his way up her thigh, tight pinch of teeth and soothing tongue following right after. He slung her leg over his shoulder, opening her up and the cool air swirling into the apex of her thighs reminded her just how very wet she was. Oh god, what is he going to think? What if I, oh god, smell bad or something? She tensed up and made to pull her leg away but Malfoy tightened his hold around her.
“Don’t,” he said, looking up at her, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Let me,” he whispered, pressing his face to her inner thigh and inhaling. “Granger, please, I want to taste you.” She shuddered as he whispered it against her skin, biting her lip and nodding at him. She tried to relax, telling herself to steady her breathing and just feel what he wanted to do without worrying about-oh,my. She gasped at the sensation of his tongue trailing along the seam of her pussy. Just lightly brushing, tasting the moisture that had gathered in the hair there, not dipping inside yet. Now a light kiss at the top of the cleft, then he was dragging his tongue up from the bottom again, this time pushing his tongue in just a little bit, sliding between the wet lips and brushing her clit as he reached the top. He kept doing it, tongue going a little deeper each time until he was licking her fully, with broad flat strokes, smacking and slurping like she was ice cream.
“Oh, Malfoy, god,” she panted, completely forgetting her concerns under his ministrations, arching and curling her leg to bring him closer. “Please.” She felt another flood of moisture and he pushed his tongue inside her to lap it up. He didn’t let up as she went wordless and boneless, propping her up with his shoulder and sliding a finger inside her quivering hole. He pumped it slowly, fluttering his tongue firmly over her clit as her moans filled the warm air of the study room. She grabbed his hair and cried out when he wrapped his lips around the sensitive nub and sucked. All at once the pressure burst and she felt everything rush in toward her center, a buzz from her fingers and toes, streaming along her arms and legs, everything centered around her clenching pussy, her throbbing clit and she went stiff, her only movement the jerking of her hips against Malfoy’s mouth and hand.
When she finally came down, she sluggishly pulled her leg from his shoulder and Malfoy stood up, rutting his hips against her and breathing a plaintive “Granger, please,” into her ear.
“Oh, god, yes, yes, anything-,” she said, reaching for his belt, but as she did he was already grabbing her by the arms and steering her to the couch, pressing her back and pushing his trousers and pants down far enough to free his cock, hot and angry red. He looked down at her, pupils blown as wide as her own surely were, hungry and needy and asking permission. “Yes, yes, inside me,” she panted.
He pushed roughly into her wet pussy, groaning, “Granger, god, I’m not-unnh…” His words dissolving into grunts as he pumped his hips. She wrapped her legs around him, enjoying the brush of his balls against her moist skin each time he bottomed out. In a matter of minutes, probably even less, he was coming, hot and hard with a low stuttering moan, until he collapsed onto her, breathing heavily.
They lay like that for long minutes until Malfoy recovered enough to prop himself up and look down into her face.
“You really do turn the most fetching shade of pink,” he smiled, brushing a stray curl from her eyes. “So. Not the Runes, then?”
Hermione blushed an even deeper shade of pink, biting her lip and looking up at him through lowered lashes.
With a small, sweet smile she answered, “Never was.”