Work Text:
DECEMBER
Returning to Hogwarts after the war for her Eight Year, Hermione found herself searching for ways to release the anger in her body. The school had hired healers to help the students process the trauma of the previous year.
And since Hermione, Golden Girl, the brightest witch of her age, was apparently dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder and trying to undo the urges to “take care of everyone else,” Healer Brown, had suggested that she try to do things out of the ordinary.
Instead of automatically going for her usual responses- studying, researching, inserting herself into her friend’s problems to solve them for them-- what would happen if she “got curious” about “other ways to act.”
"I’m suggesting you try acting like a regular teenager, Miss Granger."
(That had resulted in a thirty-minute argument that Hermione was eighteen now since the war had messed up their graduation timeline, so was she really a teen when she was now of age outside the wizarding world? To which Healer Brown replied that yes, she was still a teen and probably had several years of acting like a teen to make up for the fact that she’d been parenting and/or taking care of everyone else most of her life.)
Hermione had scoffed and huffed for three days following the appointment.
Honesty, how would that truly help?
But after a few nights spent mulling it over, Hermione had to admit, she did sometimes wonder what it would be like to strip herself of the perception everyone else had of her. The expectations that she felt from Harry, Ron, her friends, her parents, gods even the professors.
She’d always thought she had to be good. To follow the rules. As she stared up at the ceiling of her Head’s Dormitory, she recalled how exhilarating it felt to mess with Skeeter. The thrill she got seeing Harry and Ron’s shocked faces when they realized what she’d done.
So that’s how she found herself in the Great Hall one late evening in December sharing a table with several Slytherins.
The hall was mostly empty, as many students had gone home for the holidays; neither Harry or Ron had returned to finish 8th year, and Hermione had spent her time mingling with different groups of Gryffindor and Ravenclaws for the most part. But her gaze fell on a head of white-blond hair. Having built back muscle since Sixth Year, Draco Malfoy wore a tailored black sweater that pulled across his broad shoulders and was rolled up past his forearms. They'd only shared a few interactions since returning from the war, but enough to see he wasn't as arrogant as he’d been. He still carried himself with an aristocratic air that she doubted he’d ever shake, but the underlying malice had been chipped away.
Sitting next to Malfoy was Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini, both Slytherins she hadn’t known by name until this year. Theo usually had healer sessions just before her, and Zabini and her had been partnered up in potions a few times recently.
Normally, Hermione would go sit at an empty table by the fire, but recalling Healer Brown's advice, she strode right up to the three of them and sat down next to Theo. “What’s the game?”
The three of them froze, staring at her like she was a boggart.
Hermione cleared her throat, nodding to the game of cards splayed before them. The little figures drawn on each kept jumping from one card to another. A knight and a queen battled on the one in front of Malfoy.
Blaise was the first to recover. “Eh, we’re doing a holiday variation of King’s Draw.”
Hermione nodded, even though she didn’t have the faintest idea what King’s Draw was. She adjusted the mug of tea in her hands.
Malfoy considered her. “Have you ever played?”
Hermione raised a shoulder. “No, but I’m a fast learner.”
“This might be a little outside of your….eh … comfort zone,” Theo said.
Hermione bristled. “You don’t know me very well, Nott. I may surprise you.”
“It’s like the muggle game truth or dare,” Blaise explained and Hermione ignored the way her stomach dropped. Shit. Well, you're in it now, Hermione.
Theo produced a flask and tipped it toward her. “Makes the game more interesting,” he said by way of explanation as Hermione sniffed the contents and gagged. Firewhiskey.
“It does pair very nicely with tea,” Blaise added.
Hermione hesitated. Act like a regular teenager.
She poured some into her tea and took a large gulp, the liquid burning all the way down. Theo thumps her on the back. “It’s the sweater you wear on the inside.”
Emboldened and her insides feeling fuzzy, she steeled her nerves and held her palm out to Malfoy, who held the deck. “What’s this holiday variation?”
A slow smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “We call it naughty or nice.”
Hermione was deeply reconsidering the credentials of Healer Brown as they quickly explained the game. It’s essentially a card draw between two at a time, the winner of the previous hand declaring if the high card will be naughty or nice. The one with the low card then must do the naughty or nice action of the winner's choosing.
“Don’t worry, Granger, we won't hold it against you if you don’t join. It might be too much for your Gryffindor sensibilities.”
“Draw, Malfoy.”
Malfoy’s smirk pulled even higher but he shuffled the cards. “Alright, I won last hand but why don’t you pick which is the high card.”
Hermione chewed her bottom lip for a moment. “What did the last loser have to do?”
Blaise snickered and Theo groaned. “That’d be me. It was naughty and I had to send off an owl to the new herbology professor with a dirty limerick involving a word of Draco’s choosing.”
Hermione wrinkled her nose.
“Decoction was the prompt,” Blaise said, wiping a tear from his eye. The cards fluttered as he shuffled them.
“What’s the high card then?” Draco asks.
Hermione squinted, thinking. “Nice.”
Draco chuckled under his breath. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Oh just pick your card, Malfoy,” she snapped.
Malfoy cut the deck and they each drew. Hermione peeked at hers before they both laid their cards down.
Queen to Malfoy’s… King. Her shoulders dropped a hair. Malfoy's grey eyes pierced hers as he studied her and a flush crept up her neck. Was his jaw always that sharp?
“How was the Weasel at kissing?”
Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “How in the bloody hell is that nice?”
Malfoy shrugged. “It’s nicer than the naughty question I had in mind.”
Her cheeks burn as the firewhiskey did. Ron and she had only dated for a few months after the battle, and they’d quickly realized they were more compatible as friends. She couldn’t say for sure since she was an only child, but Hermione assumed it felt like what kissing a sibling would feel like.
But she wasn’t about to tell her best friend’s former enemy that embarrassing detail, so she leaned forward conspiratorially. “It felt nearly as good as punching you in the face did.”
That got a howl from Theo and Blaise. A muscle in Malfoy’s jaw ticked, but he dipped his head, conceding the point to her.
“Right, my turn.” Theo swiped the flask back from Hermione and added a heavy pour to all their mugs. “Hermione against me.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully.
“I thought the winner goes next?” Hermione asked.
“Bah, Draco always wins and you’re new.”
“High is naughty.” Hermione shifted on the bench to face Theo as she mixed the cards.
Theo did a little shoulder dance, teasing out a smile until she pulled her card: a three. Theo whooped as he laid down his ten. “Naughty for Granger, let’s see, let’s see…”
Hermione’s apprehension rose as his eyes lit up with what can only be called evil malice.
“You’ve got to run down the trophy hall in nothing but your underthings.”
Hermione briefly contemplated storming off. Or hitting Theo. Or giving them a tongue lashing on their juvenile behavior. Because Hermione Granger, the golden girl, would NEVER. So…
“Fine.”
Three sets of jaws dropped as she quickly downed the rest of her mug. The heat in her belly was like the warm fire in the hearth. Did she have dinner? She couldn’t recall.
Pushing off the table with a sharp slap, a new boldness pulsing in her veins, Hermione strode away, calling over her shoulder, “Surely it doesn’t count if you lot stay in here like a bunch of flobberworms?”
The cool air kissed her bare legs, and she was incredibly grateful she chose her most modest knickers this morning when getting dressed. She was not grateful, however, that she selected the thin bralette. It was hardly anything brazen, but thinking of the lace detailing along the swell of her breasts now felt downright sinful as she fiddled with the edge of her knit jumper.
Blaise said her first naughty act should be conducted with a least a little privacy, so they stood several meters behind her at the hallway entrance.
Hermione’s heart pounded against her ribs, her fingers tingling with adrenaline at the sharp inhalation from behind as she tugged off the sweater. A riot of curls tumbling down her bare back and shoulders. Before she could change her mind, she threw one look back at the boys over her shoulder and took off running.
Moonlight spilled through the windows to dapple the corridor and glint off the wall of trophies. Laughter burst from her, tension slipping off her shoulders in a way she’d not felt in months, perhaps years. Gods she was free and alive and a fucking teenager, not a war heroine. She reached the end of the hall and sprinted back.
Theo chanted her name and Blaise applauded. Malfoy’s mouth was slack, looking like he'd been stunned. Lightheaded with laughter, Hermione bowed exaggeratively.
“Where’ve you been hiding all these years, Granger?” Theo jostled her shoulder enthusiastically.
Happiness expanded like a balloon in her chest as she hopped on one leg to tug on her trousers. Blaise and Theo talked animatedly over each other, but Malfoy was quiet. Grey eyes cut quickly away as she finished dressing.
“I believe you’re up against me now, Blaise,” Hermione said. “And you better pray to all the gods you get nice.”
Malfoy’s brows furrowed, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. She couldn’t decipher the intense look in his grey eyes before he looked away. A tingling awareness followed her all night. She was sure if she turned fast enough, she’d catch him studying her. But each time he was focused on Theo and Blaise's antics, or his drink, or the cards. Amused but reserved.
Hours later as she sunk into her bed, content and happy, she wondered if she’d imagined the way her chest had tightened when his eyes had trailed over her body in the hallway.
FEBRUARY
"Alright, Hermione, naughty or nice?” Blaise asked one day in potions as they worked together on the day’s assignment. The steam rising from their cauldron made her hair a sentient being, and she relished the distraction from trying to tame it.
For the last two months, Hermione spent nearly every weekend with Blaise, Theo, and Malfoy. King’s Draw had morphed into a never-ending game of naughty or nice.
Naughty – Blaise had to go a whole day only speaking in questions (which had earned him detention from a very unamused McGonnagle).
Nice – Hermione helped Theo study for his Herbology exam (though she’d told him time and time again he didn’t need to try to trick her into tutoring him, he merely needed to ask.)
Nice—Draco had to go give the kitchen elves handwritten cards thanking them for dinner.
Naughty—Hermione had to skip class. (“Yes, really that’s all,” Draco had drawled when she demanded to know what he was trying to do, ”because for Hermione Jean Granger skipping class was probably the worst thing she could think of.”)
Nice—Draco had gone very quiet when Blaise said he had to say something genuine as they all lounged by the fire in the Great Hall one evening. He’d turned to Hermione then, face drawn and jaw tight as he solemnly apologized for every name or slur he’d ever called her; his bigotry; for not stopping his aunt that horrible day. Hermione had cried and told him she didn’t hold him responsible, they’d all been kids in a war, and that she accepted his apology.
Then Theo’s crush had walked by and Theo stood so abruptly he knocked over all their drinks, ending the moment. But it was enough and Hermione felt a weight lifted. All the scars, seen and unseen, from the war were slowly healing. Her regular owls from Harry and Ron told her that her friends were healing as well. And more days than not she felt lighter and more carefree. Less burdened by having to be perfect or good—she could just be.
So answering Blaise with, “naughty," was second nature. And how she ended up in the Library after hours, clutching the goblet of elf wine she was tasked to finish without getting caught by Madame Pince.
Hermione crept through the quiet bookshelves, sipping the too-sweet wine and relishing the smell of books when her body tingled with awareness. She spun, her body lighting up as she met a pair of cool grey eyes.
“What are you doing here, Granger?”
Hermione clamped her mouth shut over a mortifying giggle. “I lost to Blaise.”
Malfoy's brows rose. “Elf wine in the library after dark?”
“How did you—”
He held up a matching goblet. “Because I lost to Theo.” He shook his head. “Those little shits,” Malfoy grumbled before he tilted his head at her. “How drunk are you?”
Hermione scoffed, turning on her heel and waltzing further into the stacks. “Oh don’t get your posh knickers in a twist, Malfoy. I’ve only had half a glass, you don’t need to babysit me, I won’t disturb your evening.”
She heard him follow and could picture his eye roll as they went further into the stacks. Hermione let out a squeak as she was tugged down another aisle, a hand coming over her mouth. Malfoy’s warm, muscled body pressing her against the bookshelf conjured images of roving hands, breathy moans, and oh my gods, get ahold of yourself, Hermione.
Before she could demand what he was doing, there was the unmistakable shuffled of someone an aisle over. Her eyes widened and Malfoy mouthed Pince.
She nodded and his hand loosened, trialing down to more of her jaw. Her insides turned molten. Malfoy slipped his wand from his pocket and cast a wordless repelling charm. That bit of skill also did something to her. He stepped back and she immediately missed his touch, which was not something she should be thinking about right now. Nope. Definitely not.
But Malfoy gestured deeper into the Library and Merlin save her, she wanted to just be near him. Not wanting to risk Madame Pince, they found a secluded spot and placed a few simple wards. They’d conjured large floor cushions and were sprawled on them, heads huddled together. Hermione’s cheeks ached from laughing as Malfoy recounted the Nice Theo had to do last week. It had finally resulted in him asking out Beau-- the tall, dark Hufflepuff seventh-year boy he’d been fawning over.
“He is so oblivious sometimes!” Hermione is propped on her elbow and taking another gulp of wine. She looked at the glass, narrowing her eyes. “Did they charm these to refill?”
Malfoy’s brows drew together, a line forming and Hermione found herself wanting to reach out and smooth it away, which was ridiculous, of course.
“Must have or I am the cheapest date on earth.”
Hermione’s pulse quickened.
Malfoy jerked his head up and stammered, “F-for the books I mean. Cheap date for the books.”
Hermione burst out laughing. “You, Draco, are definitely drunk.”
His gaze shifted to something serious, eyes roving her face.
She cleared her throat, wanting to ease the sudden tension in the air.
“You never call me that,” Malfoy said.
“What—drunk? It’s once in a blue moon when you let loose, Malfoy.”
“Draco.” His voice turned husky. “You never call me Draco.”
Hermione swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and his eyes dipped to her throat. “Well, that’s your name, isn’t it?”
He nodded slowly, as if in a trance. Had she leaned closer? She could feel his breath on her face.
“I suppose it is,” Draco murmured. He reached out and gently tugged a curl, wrapping it around his finger.
“And mine?” Hermione’s brain was well and truly gone. She didn’t know what she was saying.
But it seemed he did.
“Hermione,” it slipped passed his lips and something bloomed behind her ribcage. The corner of his mouth lifted and she couldn’t look away from it.
Three heartbeats passed.
“You’re staring, Granger.”
“You’re touching, Draco.” She was leaning closer now and her voice had dipped lower, huskier.
A soft moan escaped his mouth. “I shouldn’t like hearing you say that as much as I do.”
“Why?” Her belly was warm and a swirling ache was settling in her core.
“Because it makes me want things.” Draco licked his bottom lip and she bit hers to keep from doing anything stupid.
“Naughty or nice things?” Like that. Stupid things like that.
Draco’s eyes snapped to hers and a smile split her face. His gaze darkened and his fingers slipped into her hair now, coming to rest at the back of her neck. It was like gravity shifted and they were being pulled inexorably toward one another, a string tied to each of their ribs tightening. Draco dipped his head so close she could almost taste him, but he stopped there to hover.
“Naughty, naughty things.” His words sunk into her skull, lighting her skin on fire, and sending an ache straight to her core.
She closed the distance between them, pressing her mouth to his. His mouth on hers felt like drinking firewhiskey—heat rolling through her, her body sighing and melting into the moment. His hand slipped to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as he ran his tongue along the seam of her lips. The first sweep of his tongue against hers sent molten heat to her core and Hermione clutched at his shirt. Draco kissed her with an intensity that took her breath away. Like he was determined to explore her.
Yes, yes, yes her mind and soul chanted, his lips on her feeling so right, like the first time she held a wand. Draco’s other hand came to her hip, his fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt to touch bare skin. His touch cast a warming charm over her whole body and she pressed herself to him, lining their bodies up, legs tangling together. Draco slid his hand lower, cupping her arse and Hermione moaned against his mouth. Draco squeezed, breaking their kiss for a moment to look at her, his lips kiss stung and eyes on fire. Hermione rolled her hips against his experimentally.
“Fuck,” he groaned, bending to kiss her again, hand sliding down behind her knee to hitch her leg around his hips as he rolled them over. Draco lay on top of her, his weight grounding her, the press of his hips between her legs sending a building ache to her core. Draco’s fingers caressed the sensitive skin on the back of her leg, her skirt falling higher along her thighs as he moved his mouth to her jaw.
Hermione arched her back, giving him more access to her neck. “O-oh my gods.” Her breath shook.
“Yeah?” Draco asked huskily, his hand trailing delicious lines from her thigh to her calf, gently squeezing as he worshiped her neck with open mouth kisses. When his tongue laved at her pulse point her core throbbed. Hermione rocked her hips against him, craving friction. She raked her fingers through his hair, tugging him back to her mouth.
Draco’s kiss was like amortentia injected into her veins, she had never felt this out of control with someone, never felt her body respond and light up to another’s touch. She hooked her ankle around his knee, pushing her chest up against him. Her nipples were hard and the sensation of his chest brushing against them was awakening something inside her.
She bit his bottom lip. Draco moaned, dragging his hand along the front of her body, over her hips, along the plane of her stomach, up, up, up, until he brushed the underside of her breast. His fingers were hot on her skin, splayed wide, stilling her.
Hermione blinked in confusion as he pulled away, touching his forehead to hers. Their heavy breathing was the only sound in the library. Her chest pulled tight
“Hermione,” Draco said shakily. His mouth brushed against hers briefly, expression serious as his eyes were darting over her face.
Hermione waited for him to say this was a mistake, to blame the wine, to leave. Her heart seized in mortification, painfully aware of the throbbing ache between her legs and the erection straining his trousers as he held very still against her.
“Tell me what you want.” The tenderness in his voice pierced between her ribs.
She hesitated, then ran a hand up to his jaw. “You.”
A smirk pulled his mouth to the side, mischief, and triumph dancing in his eyes. He rolled his hips against her, the friction causing her to drop her head back with a low whine.
“Obviously,” he drawled.
“Draco.”
The sound of his name on her lips made his eyes darken, but he remained still. “You’re in control. Tell me when to stop and I will.”
Hermione bit her bottom lip again and he tracked the movement. “And if I don’t say stop?” She brought her hand to cover his, fingers lacing in his to drag his hand to cup her breast.
“Bloody Gryffindors,” he murmured before he crashed his lips to hers.
All she could do was feel and taste and touch. Draco flicked his thumb over the sensitive peak under her shirt and she gasped.
“Fuck, the sounds you make, Granger.”
His words warmed her veins. “Touch me,” she rasped. “Please.”
Draco kissed her eagerly, one hand slipping from the back of her head to rest gently on her throat as the other trailed along the inside of her thigh.
“Here?” he teased, his fingers stopping just before reaching where she needed him most. He brushed the back of his hand along the sensitive skin, knuckles grazing her knickers which were nearly soaked.
“Yes,” she pleaded against his mouth. He chuckled darkly, stroking her other thigh but still not giving her the relief she was begging for.
“Or here?”
Taking matters into her own hands—literally— Hermione palmed his through his trousers. Holy gods.
Draco’s hips stuttered and a strangled noise escaped him.
She whispered against the shell of his ear, “Touch me, Draco.” She pumped her hand down his length once and his hips jumped under her touch. His bravado vanished and he finally slipped his fingers under her knickers. His long fingers swirled to gather her wetness, dragging a moan of pleasure from her as his fingers stroked up to her clit.
Her hips rock against his hand, her whole body tightening to the building pressure in her core. She fumbled with the buttons on his trousers for a moment before grasping his bare cock. Gods it was big and hot and hard in her hand, her fingers unable to touch as she worked up and down his length.
Draco cured the finger inside her, dragging along her front wall, and her legs began to tremble.
She’d had sex, but nothing like this, not this overwhelming need to touch and taste and feel and give and—
Muttering a lubrication charm, she continued to stroke him. Draco groaned at the sensation, then added another finger. His thumb brushed her clit, and she gasped at the cool touch of metal.
“Is that—” Hermione’s back bowed off the ground as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Y-your ring?”
“Too much?” The pressure lessened and Hermione nearly cried at the loss.
“Gods, no, please…that’s…that’s so hot.”
Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in her body as he pumped his hand, and she shamelessly ground her hips, helping fuck herself on his fingers.
“Fuck, Granger. You like making a mess on my signet ring?”
“O-oh my gods—” Her rhythm on his cock faltered. Her whole universe narrowed to the building pleasure he pulled from her, the flick of his thumb over her clit, the delicious drag on his fingers filling her.
Incomprehensible words spilled from her mouth.
“That’s it, Granger,” Draco rasped. “Come on my fingers like a good girl.”
He rutted his hips against her, fingers keeping the same pace that was sending her to another planet, her body was stars and constellations and this was everything—everything—Draco was everything everything—
Her body shattered, waves of pleasure rolling through her, whiting out her vision. Draco murmured praises over her skin, the rhythm of his hips becoming erratic as his fingers drew her slowly down from her orgasm. Delirious with pleasure, she flicked her wrist, gliding from the base to the head of his cock. Draco shuddered with a moan, wet heat spilling over her hand and inside of her thigh as he found his release. His face was devastatingly beautiful as he lost control.
Because of her.
Draco collapsed next to her on the cushions, looking at her with something akin to awe. He brushed a lock of hair from her face and cupped her cheek. Hermione brushed a quick kiss to his mouth and he chased her movement, holding the back of her head as he kissed her deeply.
When they broke apart Draco cast a quick wandless cleansing charm over them. Hermione straightened her skirt while Draco tucked himself back into his pants. With a twinge of disappointment said, “I didn’t even get you properly naked.”
Draco grinned. “Next time, Granger.”
MARCH
Un-fucking-believable. If anyone had asked her this morning Hermione would have told them that she’d been to enough quidditch games to last a lifetime, thank you very much.
But then she had to walk into the Great Hall and see Draco. Just sitting there in his Slytherin green kit, sipping tea, and having the audacity to look sinfully shaggable.
Hermione stabbed at the bacon on her plate, trying and failing miserably to keep her eyes from staring at his legs. Broom thighs, she’d heard some of the other girls from her year say. The tight white trousers hugged the curve of his muscles in a way that had her licking her lips.
Perhaps she’d enjoy watching the match today. She’d have an excuse to stare openly at him while he gripped the broom between his thigh; his (normally perfect,) hair mussed from the wind like it was after they’d shagged in the broom cupboard last week: his eyes alight and looking at her like he caught the golden snitch; his tongue tracing the length of her neck as her breathing hitched, hands rucking her skirt up to her hips as he parted her legs with his knee, giving her the pressure to her core she desperately craved —
“Alright there, Granger?” Blaise’s words snapped her back to the present. Theo, Blaise, and Draco were all looking at her from across the table. Theo and Blaise both smothering laughter.
Heat flared in her cheeks, but Draco was watching her closely with one brow arched. A knowing glint in his grey eyes. Hermione cleared her throat, making a half-assed excuse about their upcoming exams. She pressed her thighs together, feeling Draco's gaze like a brand for the remainder of breakfast.
The cool air smarted against her face as she made her way toward the pitch. The clamor of students filling the stands buzzed in the air, but Hermione ignored them, the steady roar of her blood all she could hear as she turned away from the entrance to the seats and stalked toward the Slytherin locker room. It was still an hour before the team would be meeting but Draco always liked to arrive earlier. Hermione slipped her hand into the pocket of her sweater, fingers brushing along the single card. Casting one last look around to be sure no one was in the near vicinity, she ducked into the locker room.
Draco’s gaze snapped to hers, her skin tingling in anticipation as she crossed to him and held up the King. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, arching a brow.
“Forget the rules, Granger? We can’t play with only one card.”
“Yes, but I’ve already lost this hand.” She rested her hand on her hip, tapping her foot as she appraised him. “I pulled this one after breakfast, trying to decide how I should deal with you.”
“Deal with me?”
Hermione peered up at him. “I’ve never cared for quidditch and the fact that seeing you in this,” she waved at his gear, “is driving me crazy, makes me question who I am.”
A smug smirk pulled at his mouth and he took a step toward her, the air charged between them.
“Driving you crazy?” He made a show of patting down his chest and looking at himself.
Hermione let out a huff, tossing her hair. “Objectifying players in their uniform is juvenile—”
“—We are juvenile, Granger.”
“Not to mention horridly basic—” she used the word her muggle friends had become obsessed with.
“Basic?” Draco took another step toward her and she felt her core clench.
“Yes, basic and I hate feeling like…like one of those girls who… who…”
He was right in front of he, his finger coming below her chin to force her to look him in the eye. “Who what, Hermione?”
“Who wants to fuck you senseless because of this godsdammed outfit!” She threw her hands out, her voice screeching in the way she hated but had no control over right now. Her chest rose and fell, the movement brushing her breasts against his abs. “The only thing I could think at breakfast was if I should come down here with or without my knickers on. When I should be focusing on my studies—"
“Did you draw naughty or nice, Granger?” His gaze was molten, nostrils flared as if he was a predator scenting his prey.
Hermione pressed her thighs together and bit her lip. “Naughty.”
Draco pounced, picking her up by the backs of her thighs, her legs coming around his waist as Draco’s tongue delved into her mouth. With three strides he had her back pressed against the wall, hands cupping her ass under the skirt. Confirming that his quidditch trousers were the only thing between him and her bare core, he moaned.
“Sweet fucking merlin, you’re going to be the death of me, witch,” he growled and proceeded to suck on the spot below her jaw that always made her clench with need.
“Should I go, then?” she gasped, head falling back against the wall. Gods, he was already hard.
Draco lightly smacked an open palm on her bare ass and she bit back a yelp. He smoothed the sting with his hand as he kissed down to her collarbone. He spun them again, sitting down on a bench so she was straddling him.
“I’d prefer you make a mess all over my trousers, Granger.” He cupped her breast, the other hand guiding her hips to grind against him.
Hermione whimpered, already sounding out of breath. “Cast a repelling charm.” Her hands c twined into his hair, gripping at the base to force his head back.
Draco’s pupils were blown wide. “No one’s set to come down for another half an hour.” He cocked an eyebrow, pushing his hips up to nestle his erection against her aching core as if in a challenge. “Naughty or nice, Granger?” He drove his hips up against and she sucked in a breath, the friction short-circuiting her brain.
“But someone could—”
“You pick nice and I’ll cast it right now,” he promised, running his tongue along the tops of her breasts. “Or pick naughty and I’ll make you come hard and fast on my tongue before anyone arrives.” He sucked on the skin between her shoulder and neck. “Let me take care of you.”
“W-what about you?”
He chuckled against her neck, his breath hot against her. “Having you fall apart on my tongue sounds like it is for me, Hermione.” He ran his fingers up and down her waist. “Not to mention the perfect way to head into this match, knowing I’m going to fuck this needy cunt into my mattress later.”
“Draco—” she tried to chide his crude language even as her body betrayed what the words did to her. “I hate when you do that,” she panted against his mouth.
“You love it,” he countered, nipping at her lip.
“Let me have the lies I tell myself,” she ground down against him.
“Let me taste you.”
“Yes.”
Draco flipped her to sitting on the bench as he knelt before her. He placed a hand on either thigh, holding her spread and bare before him in her knee-high socks and her skirt gathered around her hips.
He made eye contact as he pressed this tongue in one broad lick.
“So fucking perfect.” Another drag of his tongue and then he sucked on her clit, pulling a low whine from her throat.
“Such pretty noises.” He guided one leg over his shoulder, her heel digging into his back as she wound her fingers into his hair.
“Gods, your cunt,” his words sent a vibration straight through her core. “I crave you.”
Hermione bit down on her hand, trying to stifle her moan.
“Don’t you fuckin dare,” Draco growled, snatching her hand free. “I want to hear you scream my name when you come.” He licked and sucked, burying his face, fucking her with his tongue. His hands slid beneath her hips, kneading her arse, titling her up as he ate her cunt with the intensity of a starving man given a meal. The sound of him eating her out was borderline obscene, her thighs shaking and wet with her slick.
“O-oh, Draco—gods— fuck— "
He moaned but didn’t break away, devouring her shamelessly, humming against her aching core as she rode his face.
“Yes—yes—don’t stop—oh gods, Draco!” Her orgasm barreled through her, stars burst behind her eyes, pleasure pulsing through her as her body spun through space, soul reeling. She couldn’t see and for a moment wondered if she’d gone blind before her muddled senses returned and she remembered to open her eyes.
Draco Malfoy was still on his knees between her legs, his mouth and chin glistening with her arousal.
“That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice was hoarse.
Hermione blinked slowly, unable to form words as Draco leaned down to place a chaste kiss on the inside of her thigh before fixing her skirt. He licked his lips slowly, casting a cleansing charm on her. Hermione was boneless, floating on the high of a mind-shattering orgasm. She swallowed, mouth dry.
Her cheeks hurt and she realized she was smiling. Draco tucked a curl behind her ear and then adjusted himself in his trousers. He squeezed her knees and quickly went to snag something from a nearby hook.
“Here,” he draped his green scarf over her shoulders, taking care to pull her curls out of the way.
Hermione stared down at it, dazed. “You play Gryffindor today, Draco.”
“She speaks,” he teased.
She couldn’t stop smiling as she brandished the end of the scarf. Gods she was good and properly fucked, her whole body felt like a fluffy cloud. “This is green.”
“Brightest witch of our age.” His smirk was smug.
“I’m going to be sitting in the Gryffindor section.”
“Granger, you just momentarily lost the power of speech from my head between your legs.” He kissed her and she could taste herself on his lips. “You’re gonna wear green.”
MAY
Theo and Blaise had lost a Nice to Draco and had booked them a suite in Hogsmeade for the long weekend. Floating candles cast a romantic glow and the massive bed was covered in dark, silky sheets. Which is where Hermione sat, naked.
Her lips were swollen from kissing him and her body was practically vibrating with need at this point. Draco stood before her, still wearing his pants. It was infuriating, really, how often he got her off without being naked himself.
A slow smirk crossed Draco’s face as he unbuckled his belt, eyes simmering with lust. “Naughty or nice, Granger?”
She pulls her lip between her teeth. “Naughty.”
His pants were slung low on his hips, the silver scars from his sectumsepra glowing in the firelight. Draco pulled his belt free, the soft noise filling the air with sinful promise.
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pulls them down, his cock springing free as he comes to the edge of the bed. “Give me your hands.”
Hermione obeyed without hesitation and Draco wrapped the belt around her wrists.
“Safe word?” he asks like he always did.
“Ferret.” She gave him a saccharine smile.
“Such a swotty mouth.” He leaned down to kiss her deeply, tongue sweeping in. “Turn around and get on your knees.”
She did so, leaning on her elbows with her hands still bound, hips high in the air, arousal dripping down her legs, her whole body keyed up. Draco ran a hand up along the back of her thigh and over the curve of her ass. His knee pushed her legs wider, denying friction and she squirmed.
“So needy,” Draco murmured, running both hands over her ass cheeks. He leaned over her, his chest flush to her back, the head of his cock nudging between her legs and slipping through the mess he’s made of her. His hands roved her breasts and stomach before dipping down to her core.
The first stroke of her clit sends heat through her body, cunt fluttered around nothing. “Please, Draco,” she whines, pushing her hips back against him.
He kissed the back of her neck, across her shoulders, one finger dipping inside her as the other pinched her nipple into a hard peak.
“I love it when you beg.” His voice was low as he pulled back to line himself up at her entrance. “Fuck you’re beautiful.”
He pushed in slow, the stretch and fullness rolling her eyes into the back of her head. He stilled, letting her adjust, murmuring praises against her neck.
Desperate, Hermione pushed back, taking him deeper until they moaned in unison. She gripped the silk sheets between her bound hands as he finally, finally, began to move. Thrusting deep and slow, he tilted her hips at the angle he knew made her cry out in pleasure. He’s memorized her body in the quiet hours of the morning, in passionate nights laced with frantic need, in dizzyingly slow kisses.
“Yes, yes—"
“That’s it—”
“Draco,”
“Fuck, I know, love—”
The pleasure built like a rushing wave, unstoppable. Inevitable.
“I need— I need—” She didn’t know what she needed, but with Draco, she never had to have the answers. He saw her questions, her fears, and her faults, and responded with quiet understanding and unwavering permission to just be.
Draco flipped onto her back— hands never leaving her, as if he couldn’t stand the thought of not touching her for even a moment—and was inside her again. He held her bound wrists above her head. His mouth captured hers in a passionate kiss and she greedily met his tongue stroke for stroke.
“Hermione,” he rasped her name like a prayer, like a curse, like a spell. She locked her legs around his waist as he fucked her deep.
All that existed was that moment.
Draco vanished the belt. “ Need you—” He hauled her up, her arms winding around his neck.
“—so perfect, love—” She straddled his hips as he drove up into her. “Made for me—” his hands are in her hair, “—love—” Each thrust of his hips grinds deliciously against her swollen clit.
“Draco—I—yes—"
“I—fuck — love—” His eyes widened, drinking her in like she was the answer to everything question he’s ever had. And she recognizes it because it mirrors the truth soaring through her right now. The invisible string that she’s felt tugging them together for months now.
I love you.
They came together, mouths open, bodies pressed so close she couldn’t tell where she stopped and he began.
I love you.
Magic in its truest form.
I love you.
Draco held her face as he kissed he like she was precious; like she belonged to him.
He said her name huskily. She kissed him back, pouring the words silently into his skin.
I love you.
He gently laid her down, kissing her body languidly.
I love you.
Later, when their hands began to explore again, frantic for touch, she sensed him saying it.
I love you.
As he pulled back between kisses to stare at her.
I love you.
As he came with her name on his lips. As he fell asleep, he held her back to his chest with a leg thrown over her hip, fingers intertwined.
I love you.
JULY
Summering at Blaise’s vineyard in Italy might be perfection: days reading in the sun by the pool, nights sharing extravagant bottles of wine, stunning museums (Draco acted like he hated being dragged along, but she’d caught him reading a book on Michelangelo after seeing The David), and of course: all the pasta.
Theo and Beau currently shared the floating chaise in the pool, and Blaise and Catie were draped over each other despite the heat. Draco rested on his stomach, his head in Hermione’s lap, arms loosely around her. And apparently with the mission of getting her to put her book down, if his wandering hands were any indication.
He nuzzled his face a little, his scruff prickling her thighs, earning a tap on the head with her book. Draco gave a long suffering sigh and an affectionate swat on her hip.
“I have a ‘nice,’” Theo said to the group.
They’d long ago forgone the actual pulling of cards for their game, simply relying on the shared trust and friendship that made it easy to accept the challenge when asked. Or in some instances as an excuse to share something.
Blaise gave a magnanimous wave of his hand. “Hear ye, hear ye.”
Theo’s eyes crinkled as he grinned, looking over to Hermione and Draco.
“What?” Hermione asked slowly.
“A confession. Of a ‘naughty’ that was done in service of a ‘nice.’”
Draco lifted his head from her lap, and she instantly missed the casual touching.
“Earlier this year, Blaise and I—”
“Oi!” Blaise threw a single sandal at Theo, who ducked easily.
“Blaise and I may have tampered with our King’s Draw deck.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Blaise looked skyward.
“Why?” Draco sat up, a line furrowing between his brows.
Theo spread his hands. “We charmed the cards to go in our favor is all.” He gestured between Hermione and Draco. “Look, mate, you two were insufferable so we merely took it upon ourselves—”
Hermione’s mouth dropped as understanding dawned. “The elf wine night?” Her face flushed at the memory. It’s not like they were still secretly shagging—they’d been openly dating for the last four months. But the thought that they not only knew about them but had devised a plan for them to get together had Hermione feeling…Well, she couldn’t exactly articulate it. And Hermione hated not being able to articulate things.
“You—you’ve known this whole time?” she sputtered, glaring at Theo and Blaise.
Blaise shrugged. “Er…yeah.”
Beau and Catie dared to chime in with their confirmation. Hermione’s cheek was hot with embarrassment under her palm.
In a display of impressively skilled (and slightly arousing) wandless magic, Draco sent the lot of them head-first into the deep end of the pool.
Draco gently pulled her fingers away from her cheeks, lacing them with his own, ignoring the shouts and splashes from their friends.
“Naughty or nice first, Granger?”
She failed to stop way her mouth pulled into a pout, but answered, “Naughty.”
Draco nodded solemnly. “I’d suspected they’d meddled with the cards before I saw you in the library that night.”
Hermione clicked her tongue and tried to pull her hand away to swat at him, but he tugged her closer, eyes dropped to her mouth. “Ask me for nice, Hermione.”
Heat spread from her belly to her core. “Fine. Nice, Draco.”
“I suspected they were doing it to have a laugh at my expense. But because I was so pathetically into you, I’d take any opportunity to get be around you.”
Hermione’s mouth formed a silent o.
“Ask me for another nice.”
“Nice?” Her voice wavered.
“I fell in love with you that first night you played King’s Draw with us. Every moment since has been me trying my damnedest to deserve you.”
Tears burned her eyes as something warm ballooned in her chest.
“See?” Theo called out, jolting Hermione. “How can you be mad at us when—"
“Fuck off, Nott!” Draco yelled, still not pulling his gaze away.
A watery laugh burst from her, and she pressed a hand against the sharp burst of emotion behind her sternum.
“Y-you knew that first night?” she finally managed.
Draco nodded again.
“Huh.” She sniffed, the blood in her veins humming. She raised one shoulder, twisting her lips in an attempt to school her grin. “’Cause for me it was way after that. Like way further down the line —”
Draco growled and hauled her off her feet. Hermione shrieked as he launched them into the water. She came up for air laughing and beaming, limbs tangled with his as he held her tight.
Ignoring the cheers and clapping from their friends, Hermione snogged Draco properly.