Chapter Text
Being partnered with Hermione Granger at his best friend’s wedding wasn’t among Draco’s favorite things. Then again, neither was Harry Potter but Pansy had chosen to marry him anyway.
Granger was abrasive, a know-it-all. He had long since mostly forgiven her inferior blood, which he could acknowledge really had nothing if anything to do with magical prowess.
Still, the idea of dirty blood had been practically ingrained in his DNA, and he doubted he’d ever fully move past it.
He still didn’t like her though.
Mainly because, whenever he spoke, she had the nerve to roll her eyes at him as if he were the inferior one.
Whenever their conversations became heated, Astoria would place her hand on his shoulder, a soothing gesture that usually reminded him to dial it back.
Astoria. His betrothed. A beautiful, delicate, pureblood witch. Draco had no doubt she would make an ideal wife and mother to the next Malfoy heir.
He just had to get through this blasted wedding, and then he and Astoria could begin planning their own.
His mother would be happy, his father finally appeased. The war was behind them, and it was time to start fresh. Clearly, Pansy had thought the same, considering she was marrying the Chosen One himself.
Pansy and Harry fucking Potter. He still couldn’t quite believe it, though he’d seen enough with his own eyes.
In fact, Pansy had worked her way through a number of Gryffindors, dating Neville Longbottom, then having a brief fling with Parvati Patil, before she and Potter had been caught in a broom closet during a drunken eighth-year party.
Meanwhile, Draco had spent their eighth year quietly, being pursued by Astoria, a sixth-year at the time. It was easy to be around her. She had no expectations of him. She wasn’t demanding anything impossible, brash, frightening, or dangerous.
She and Granger had struck up a friendship of sorts, and she insisted Draco treat Granger with as much respect as he could.
And now, he had no choice. He and Granger were tasked with gathering the flowers for the altar, walking in silence toward the conservatory of Parkinson Estate.
Draco glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
She’d certainly grown out of her homeliness. Although, to be honest, Draco couldn’t be sure she’d ever been homely. His view of her had always been so muddled by his parents’ opinions, that his own feelings had been a bit unclear.
He could admit she was objectively attractive now, with long dark curls, big brown eyes, and pouty lips that usually curled into a sneer when it came to him.
There were tragically few opportunities to spend time looking at her—Draco shook the thought away. Not that he wanted to look at her, or anything.
She was typically attached to Ron Weasley, the two of them insufferably inseparable since the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco had heard rumors that an engagement was imminent for them.
Arriving at the conservatory, they found baskets upon baskets of florals and greenery, the scent almost overwhelmingly cloying.
“All of this?” he asked dubiously. It certainly wasn’t unlike Pansy to go over the top, especially when it came to her wedding day.
“I’m not sure,” Granger admitted, her voice tinged with what Draco assumed was the painful realization of not knowing something, as she bent over the baskets, sorting through them.
After jostling them around a bit, the faintest puff of something sparkly was released from a bouquet—a cloud of glitter that seemed to hang in the air, thick and intoxicating, making them both sneeze.
“What in Merlin’s name is that?” Granger asked, furrowing her brow as she examined the gold dust on her hand.
But Draco knew. He’d been around magical plants his entire life. His mother adored gardening. He’d done exceptionally well in Herbology, easily earning an O. He’d assumed Granger would know, but she still looked confused, most likely in denial.
She’d touched it. It was on her hand. The cloud of glitter was still swirling around them, and Draco knew—they were fucked.
Both of them started to sweat, and Draco watched as Granger’s cheeks turned pink. She looked rather comely like this, her chest rising and falling slightly, her skin dewy and glowing. Her hair was pinned up in a sleek half-updo, but Draco realized he missed the wildness of her curls. He wondered how she might look underneath him with her hair spread out—no.
Stop, he hissed internally.
Draco quickly looked away, his heart pounding, and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. He was unbearably overheated.
He thought of Astoria in the next wing, innocently helping Pansy with her hair, waiting for her fiancé to return to her. Weasley was up there too, probably drinking firewhiskey and professing his undying love to Potter, completely unaware that his girl was trapped in a room under the influence of sex pollen—with none other than Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy, whose pants were tightening as his cock thickened rapidly, found his eyes drawn back to Granger. Her eyes were wild, her chest rising and falling as she watched him intently. She licked her lips, a pink tongue moistening those plump lips, and he groaned.
Yep, he was fucked, all right.
***
Hermione stood pressed against the wall, the distance between her and Malfoy as wide as she could manage.
It took her a moment, but the realization hit her like a slap in the face. Sex pollen.
She and Malfoy stared and stared and stared at one other, both of them practically panting with fear and heat and…other things. Her eyes traced a bead of sweat from his hairline down to his chin, then down his pale neck, and oh how she wanted to follow it with her tongue
No get a GRIP, Hermione.
She couldn’t stop her eyes from traveling south, admiring the way he looked in his formal robes, and then zeroing in on the thick bulge in his trousers.
Suddenly, Hermione wanted it so badly she felt she might cry.
She needed it. Needed to see it, touch it, taste it, take it deep—
“Stop, Granger,” Malfoy gritted out. “The more you look at it, the harder it gets. Stop. Please stop."
“I—I can’t,” she stuttered desperately, for once in her life completely unsure of what to do next.
Ron was waiting for her. Could she telepathically summon him to her? She supposed she could send him a patronus, but what good would that do?
So he could stand here and watch as she fucked Malfoy into the floor of the conservatory?
Because they had both touched the pollen. She knew enough to know that they were fucked until well…they fucked.
And who was Malfoy to talk, anyway? His eyes were glued to her tits, her light pink dress now drenched with sweat and no doubt see-through. Her nipples were so hard and sensitive, his eyes tracing them might as well have been his tongue.
She hadn’t worn a bra or knickers because the dress Pansy forced her into fit so snuggly, she’d wanted to panty avoid lines. Now she wished more than anything she had worn both.
Fuck, she was wet, uncomfortably so. Her inner thighs were sticky, she had no doubt her cunt was dripping. And for Malfoy of all people. Her eyes moved back to the outline of his cock, and she subconsciously licked her lips.
“Stop. Doing. That,” Malfoy begged, his neck corded with strain.
Then, in an unfortuitous moment, a gust of wind blew through, causing a curtain over an open window to billow. Hermione saw the moment Malfoy caught a whiff of her arousal.
Her eyes dropped to watch his cock twitch in his pants, and she clenched her thighs together, squeezing tightly, trying to force her need away—or maybe force herself to come, just needing some kind of relief.
She barely recognized the soft whimper that escaped her lips.
Their eyes met first.
Then their bodies.
Then their mouths.
The irresistible force of the pollen had them crashing together, in the middle of a room full of sparkly glitter, surrounded by the sickly sweet smell of roses, with her tongue in Malfoy’s mouth and her hands…oh god, where were her hands?
He tasted like ice and fire and sheer fucking lust.
Pulling away, she gasped, “Don’t fucking touch me,” even as she immediately yanked his face back to hers, whimpering as he kissed her more thoroughly than she’d ever been kissed, grinding herself against him as hard as she could. He ground right back, hissing through his teeth.
Her clit felt like it was on fire. Her cunt throbbed, pulse after pulse, needy and drawn like a magnet to Malfoy’s cock, knowing nothing would ever bring more relief than him sliding that thick, hot length into her, filling her completely, thrusting deep. The thought made her groan, and suddenly, her leg was wrapped around his hip.
They were practically fucking as they stood, kissing and writhing together. At some point, Malfoy had slammed her against the wall, pulling up her skirt and rubbing his cock against her soaked center.
Her hands scrambled down, working his trousers open and shoving them down, immediately wrapping her hand around his cock, pumping it as she guided his slick tip to her entrance.
It was Malfoy’s turn to whimper, and he hoisted her up, making her squirm as the thick tip of him pressed against her.
He paused as if waiting for something, and she almost screamed.
“Do it,” she pleaded. “Just fucking do it already.”
Then, with a sharp thrust, they both cried out as he buried himself completely.
She was pinned to the wall by his cock inside her, her cunt clamping down on him as if determined to never let him leave.
It only took one drag of his cock, and Hermione was coming so hard it almost hurt. Her vision blurred, blackness overtaking her, and she felt as though she was outside her own body—as though she’d died.
In that moment, she wouldn’t have cared, as long as she could finish coming on Malfoy’s cock first.
They’d all but forgotten their significant others, just one wing over.
Malfoy groaned deep in his throat, remaining as still as the magic would allow, his gaze locked on her face as she convulsed and contracted, squeezing his length, biting her lip, and doing her best not to scream.
“Fuck, Granger,” he gritted out, his voice wrecked, “has anyone ever told you that your cunt should be classified as a national fucking treasure?”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” she moaned, making the mistake of looking into his eyes as he started thrusting again, pounding into her. The heat she saw there had another orgasm igniting in her womb.
What had started as him fucking her against the wall quickly turned into them sliding down to the floor without even realizing it.
Holding her tightly, his cock still buried deep, he laid her back onto the floor. Hermione clung to him, the weight of him on top of her feeling like heaven as he continued to frantically thrust into her.
It was a surprise no one heard them; the sounds they made were almost animalistic.
Her legs were wrapped around his hips as he took her, but then a sudden need to take control hit her. In one quick movement, she flipped them both, gasping as his cock slid out of her, then briefly grew distracted as she gazed down at him.
She liked this. Having him beneath her.
Malfoy was beautiful, she could admit. She’d always known it, though it had always irked her. But now, with him beneath her, looking up at her like she was a goddess, it was impossible to deny. His eyes were glazed and needy, his face and neck flushed from exertion and arousal.
She stared at him until she couldn’t take it anymore, his whispered pleas for her cunt urging her to give in. When sank down on him, he cried out, his hips bucking up into her while his hands reached for her.
She caught his hands without conscious thought and leaned over him, pinning them over his head, her lips brushing against his. He could easily have escaped her grip, but she felt him throb inside her as she leaned close.
He liked being beneath her as well, it seemed.
“Do you want it hard or gentle?” she asked breathlessly, the muscles of her cunt squeezing him.
She was going to come any second regardless, but she wanted to feel him come too—needed it. All she wanted in that moment was to feel the hot ropes of his release coating her insides. She wanted to feel it dripping out of her for days, maybe forever.
“Hard. Fuck. Please,” he groaned and Hermione rose up, holding just the tip inside her and squeezed. Then she crashed down onto him, making him growl, his hips rocking up into hers as she ground down on him.
Nothing had ever felt so good and so right and wrong. She was going to come. Fuck, she was coming.
Ron, was her last despairing thought before her second orgasm overtook her. I’m sorry.
***
“Malfoy, I’m coming,” Granger moaned helplessly, eyes teary and desperate as she fucked Draco into the floor.
With a strangled wail, she froze, and Draco gazed up at her in awe, feeling the rhythmic clench of her cunt milking him, squeezing so tightly it brought tears to his own eyes. The sight of her was so arrestingly beautiful, that he honestly forgot for a second about his own sense of urgency.
He had the creeping realization that he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life buried in Granger—feeling her tight, wet cunt clamping down, spasming, drenching him. It was all he could think about. All he needed.
“Fuck yes,” he gritted out. “Come for me, Granger.”
She did, in a series of desperate yelps, crying out to the ceiling—what he assumed were sounds of relief and despair at coming undone on her former enemy’s cock.
Draco had no choice but to follow; frankly, it was amazing he’d lasted as long as he had.
Her cunt clenched around him, and with a guttural roar, his hips bucked up into her and he came so hard and for so long, he felt the cells of his body rearranging.
In the back of his mind, even while in the throes of the most intense orgasm of his life, he knew he would never be the same. He’d come to the frightening realization that having sex with Hermione Granger was life-changing.
He hadn’t thought of Astoria once since the second his lips had touched Granger’s. Even now he could barely picture her face in his mind. All he could see was her, pink and pretty and dewy, her lips parted as she moaned out her orgasm as she came on his cock.
He was fucked. Both literally and figuratively.
Granger took a moment to recover before slowly lifting herself off his cock. They groaned in unison, the oversensitivity making them both shudder as one last trickle of cum seeped from his slit.
She looked away from him as she stood but Draco’s eyes were riveted, watching as his cum trickled down between her thighs.
It was simultaneously the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen and also shook him to the core.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling like a man desperately trying to convince himself he hadn’t just been fucked senseless by Hermione Granger.
Now that heat between them had finally been extinguished, they were left in an awkward silence. Guilt threatened to creep in, but Draco pushed it down.
They both adjusted their clothes, carefully avoiding looking at each other.
Draco cleared his throat, and Granger was laser focused on straightening her dress.
Then, her voice came, hesitant and a little shaky. “Um—I need—we should—”
Their eyes met. A beat of silence and then they each pulled out their wands, casting the contraception spells they really should have thought of beforehand, if they hadn’t been consumed by their pollen-induced lust.
And they were so fucking late, it was a miracle no one had come after them yet.
Wedding attendees would be arriving soon.
They both seemed to realize it at the same time, quickly jumping into action, working silently, side by side. They were careful to avoid any suspicious-looking plants, instead levitating the roses, peonies, and pansies into place, down the aisle and around the room.
Draco couldn’t help sneaking glances at Granger, wondering if she had any idea she’d just completely altered his brain chemistry.
When they finally made it back to Pansy’s rooms where the wedding party had convened, Astoria was waiting for him, her smile warm as she pinned his boutonniere onto his robes, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek.
For a moment, Draco wished he’d taken her with him to arrange the flowers.
Things would have been much simpler.
His thoughts shifted unbidden to the image of Granger sinking his cock inside her, brown eyes molten, hair coming loose from the pins, lips swollen from his kisses.
And fuck. Nothing could compare.
It took everything in him not to stare at Granger. The idea of watching her with Weasley twisted his stomach into knots.
He shivered, remembering the sounds she’d made, the feel of her hot, tight cunt clamping down on his cock as she came,
“Are you alright?” Astoria asked, a small frown creasing her lovely brow.
Draco felt a sinking sensation in his chest as he realized that he didn’t feel guilty. Nor did he regret what had happened.
Granger had ruined him.
***
Somehow, he survived the wedding.
Standing at the altar, next to Pansy and Potter, he and Granger made a show of ignoring each other.
Draco wondered if she’d used a Scourgify spell or if his cum was still leaking down her thigh, dampening the gusset of her knickers. The thought made his cock twitch, threatening to harden in his trousers. Thank Salazar for formal outer robes. He focused on exhaling slowly, willing himself to focus.
He glanced at Astoria, who gave him a sweet smile from her seat, and he tried to feel some semblance of regret, but there was none.
Without thinking, his gaze found its way back to Granger finding her eyes already on him. He couldn’t look away, and it seemed she couldn’t either.
To his alarm, he felt the sweat beading on his skin, just as he noticed that she was sweating too. His attention was fixed on a single droplet sliding down her neck and chest, disappearing between her breasts.
This time, there was no stopping the way his cock throbbed in his trousers. Granger shifted uncomfortably next to Weasley, who was eyeing her with a quiet curiosity.
Their eyes locked with an understanding.
As soon as the wedding ended, Draco and Granger both made quick excuses (quite flimsy ones at that) and rushed away from the reception, leaving their confused partners behind.
He was already chasing her down the hall, when she stopped suddenly, yanking him into a random room. In seconds, he had her pressed against the wall, her dress hiked up and his cock buried deep inside her cunt, his tongue in her mouth swallowing her whimpers as he matched them with his own.
She was so wet with arousal and their earlier cum. She hadn’t Scourgified it and the thought had him ready to explode.
Her legs locked around his waist, his hands gripped her arse, and he drove into her–again, again–trying to get deeper, needing more fucking her hard enough to bruise.
Still not deep enough.
“What the fuck are we going to do?” she gasped, her cunt already milking him, trying to squeeze every last drop from him like it was made for this—for him.
Draco had no response other than to groan when he felt her start to come, shaking in his arms.
He grit his teeth as he filled her with cum for the second time in less than an hour, with their significant others and friends only a few doors away.
When he set her down, he realized he was reluctant to release her, and when she walked out before him, so as not to arouse suspicion, he felt a stab in his heart watching her walk away.
He could still smell her, could remember the exact softness of her skin, the sound of her breathy cries when she came. Draco closed his eyes, trying to push it away.
Fucked. He was fucked.
Re-entering the reception, Astoria rushed to him, throwing her arms around his waist as she leaned up for a kiss. The urge to recoil hit him like a curse.
His heart sank.
Sex pollen usually wore off quickly. Whatever they’d encountered earlier–this was different. Stronger.
Well, whatever it was, he was in deep fucking shit.
He looked at Granger and watched her brushing off Weasley’s touch with a shudder.
And he knew.
They both were.
***
Hermione sat in her office at the Ministry, her cunt tingling as she reminisced, for the millionth time, what it had felt like to have him inside her.
She re-lived every throb, every pulse of him, as he filled her with his release.
Never before had she felt so needy to be filled.
The relief had been so overwhelming, she’d nearly wept when she’d felt the first pulse inside her. Due to the pollen, she assumed.
Things had been awkward at home in the four days since the wedding. She’d avoided sex with Ron entirely.
Not just sex, but any touch, if she were honest. Everything felt wrong now. Bland. Cold. How could it not, after Malfoy? After feeling the searing heat of his cock so deep inside her, the tip had kissed her cervix.
She couldn’t stop thinking about fucking Malfoy. And more than that, she couldn’t stop thinking about fucking Malfoy.
She couldn’t even blame the pollen anymore. That was the real problem.
It had been days. And yet, she could still feel him. The heat of his body, the way he filled her so perfectly, like he’d been molded to fit her.
The scent of him—pine, cloves—mixed with sweat and sex. The way he had looked up at her, completely wrecked beneath her, wanting. As if she had ruined him. As if he liked being ruined by her.
A knock at her office door broke through her thoughts. Her pulse kicked into high gear. And then he was there.
Hermione inhaled sharply at the sight of a tall man with white blonde hair darkening her doorway.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
Malfoy stepped inside with that familiar saunter of his, but she could see that there was tension in his shoulders, his hands balled into fists.
For a moment, they just stared. Shit, he was good-looking. Expensive robes, perfectly fitted and tailored as usual, not a single hair out of place.
The contrast between him now and the wrecked, panting man she’d fucked into oblivion was jarring. Her fingers itched with the urge to muss him up.
“We need to talk,” he said, his voice clipped.
Hermione arched a brow, feigning nonchalance even as heat flashed up the back of her neck. Her cunt throbbed—a visceral memory of how he felt inside her, how his voice sounded as he came. “Oh?” she asked, a bit more breathless than she’d like. “About what?”
“You know what.” His jaw ticked. “It can’t happen again. We can’t happen,” He exhaled sharply, as if steadying himself. “We need to be certain there are no lingering… effects.”
She let out a short laugh, pushing back from her desk and standing. “Don’t be dramatic, Malfoy. The pollen’s long gone. I don’t know about you, but I’m fine.”
But even as she said it, her skin was growing hot and dewy, her cunt wet. She ignored it, stepping around the desk, closing the space between them.
Malfoy swallowed hard, watching her approach, but remained silent.
“You came all the way here just to tell me that?” she asked, trying to sound taunting but really fighting the urge to reach for him.
Hermione caught the way his breath hitched when she stepped closer, the way his gaze flickered down to her lips before snapping back up.
“Granger—”
“As if I want it to happen again,” she scoffed, cutting him off. But it came out too quick, too breathy. They both heard it.
The corner of Malfoy’s infuriatingly alluring mouth twitched.
They were too close now. Close enough that her every inhale nearly brushed her chest against his. Close enough that she could see the way his pupils had blown wide, the way his hands flexed at his sides.
She tilted her chin up, daring him. His eyes narrowed.
And then, suddenly, they both lost control.
Hermione climbed him like a tree, and he gasped into the kiss, clutching her like his life depended on it. He stumbled backwards and they fell back into her desk chair, landing with her straddling his lap.
She rolled her hips against him, gasping into his mouth, and the relief that flooded her was almost unbearable. If she’d had the presence of mind to think about it, it might have been devastating.
With a growl, his hands grabbed at her hips, dragging her down against him, his cock already thick and swollen for her. She gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, and then his tongue was in her mouth hot and desperate, groaning like he hated how much he wanted this.
Like he was ruined.
Just like her.
“I can’t even fuck my fiancée,” he rasped, dragging his tongue down her neck, no doubt tasting the salty sweat that had formed there. He must have liked it, because he groaned, lips latching onto the juncture of her neck and shoulder, sucking hard, then muttering into her skin. “I can’t stop thinking about that day—about you.” His breath was ragged, his words almost frantic. “What the fuck happened to us?”
“I—gods—I don’t know,” she panted, her body already coiling tight, orgasm building fast as she ground her clit against the hard length of him. His cock twitched against her, and she nearly came from the feel of it.
Her hands pulled frantically at her clothes, and when he noticed, he took over for her, tearing her blouse open with a hard yank, and pulling the cups of her bra down.
His breath hitched, and then his mouth was on them, hot and wet and heavenly. He sucked at each nipple, then dragged his tongue along the sensitive skin between them.
“Perfect fucking tits too,” he muttered against her skin, like he was angry about it. “Fuck, Granger, you’re ruining me. Ruining everything.”
“How the fuck do you think I feel?” she huffed. “I can’t even kiss my boyfriend. Can’t touch him without thinking of you, you insufferable prat. Can’t stop thinking about your cock—oh gods,” she moaned when he pinched her nipples and bucked up against her.
“You want this cock, do you?” he rasped. “Want to fuck me right here in your perfect little office?” His lips were back on her neck, teeth grazing her skin, his hands full of her tits. “Need me to fill you up, Granger?” he practically purred.
“I hate you,” she lied, even as she tore at his trouser buttons, frantic to free his cock. The second she had his fly open, she was pumping him, torn between the idea of putting him in her mouth or in her cunt.
“No, you—fuck—don’t, you little liar,” he smarmed and she tightened her grip, squeezing him harder than she might have otherwise.
He hissed through his teeth, hips jerking into her hand. “Shit—Granger—”
She smirked, twisting her wrist as she stroked him, enjoying the way his breath stuttered. He was so hard, thick and hot and throbbing in her hand, precum slicking her fingers. He whimpered and the power of it made her dizzy.
She wanted him as desperate and destroyed as she was.
They moved in sync—Hermione rising onto her knees to pull the gusset of her knickers aside, Malfoy gripping his cock to line himself up. Then she sank down onto him, somehow managing not to scream.
They gasped together, his head tipping back against the chair, eyes squeezing shut in pure relief. She felt so full, utterly wrecked by the stretch of him inside her.
“Fucking fuck,” he choked out, fingers digging bruises into her hips. “You feel so—”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” she panted. “This is the last time.”
Even as the words left her lips, she knew she was full of shit.
Malfoy let out a short, almost hysterical laugh, so she rode him harder in retaliation. His laughter instantly dissolved into a low, needy groan.
Then they were frantic, kissing and biting at each other’s lips, Hermione almost afraid of the intensity of the orgasm igniting deep in her womb as she moved on and off his cock.
“Fuck, Granger, I’m gonna—fuck—” His words broke off into a choked groan as his cock throbbed inside her. Liquid heat filled her, and as her cunt clamped down tightly around him, her last sane thought was a fleeting fear that it might never let him go.
Her entire body went taut, and trembling, as her entire body pulsed with wave after wave of her orgasm. Malfoy was groaning into her neck, murmuring words she couldn’t make sense of. Then, after, she slumped against him, breathing hard, the weight of reality sinking in.
They were fucked. Even now, she didn’t want to move away from his body. Just the thought had her practically bereft.
The pollen was long gone. Whatever was left between them now couldn’t be blamed on potions or magic. Now it was just—
“Granger,” Malfoy interrupted her thoughts, and she stiffened, waiting for whatever he was about to say. “I—“
A sudden knock at the door had Hermione jumping off Malfoy in less than a heartbeat, hurriedly pulling a sweater over her torn blouse and adjusting her knickers under her skirt.
She hissed at Malfoy to pull himself together, and he did—though intentionally slowly, she thought.
They’d completely forgotten to use privacy charms, but that was probably for the best, given how often they gave away more than they concealed. Shit, had they been loud? Had the entire office just heard them shagging?
When she opened the door, she somehow wasn’t surprised to see Ron standing there.
He looked at Malfoy, who was leaning against her desk, looking casual as if he hadn’t just fucked Ron’s girlfriend into next week.
Then Ron looked at her, his brow wrinkling as his gaze flicked between her and Malfoy. Then his eyes landed on her neck, widening as he stepped closer.
“What the hell is this?”
***
Draco was almost grateful that Weasley had shown up. Almost.
Because another second, and he might’ve said something really fucking stupid. He wasn’t even sure what had been about to come out of his mouth, but whatever it was, it probably would have been humiliating.
On the other hand, if Weasley hadn’t shown up, he might’ve gotten to fuck her again.
And now, they were in an awkward situation. Which was definitely not Draco’s cup of tea.
He watched Granger struggle to come up with an excuse for the enormous love bite he’d left on her neck. He hadn’t meant to, but she smelled and tasted so fucking good.
“Oh, uh, it’s a bite from the cat. You know, Crookshanks. My cat.”
Smooth, Granger.
Draco marveled at what a terrible liar she was, especially considering all the shit the Golden Trio had gotten away with back at school.
Weasley’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked even more dubious, his gaze flicking between them.
Draco pretended to examine his fingernails, aiming for bored indifference, though his heart was beating a little faster than normal.
“Huh.” Weasley’s voice was casual. His face wasn’t. “Why does it seem like you and Malfoy keep running off together? You couldn’t even stand the sight of him before the wedding. You were dreading being around him.”
Draco scoffed, though he couldn’t argue that the feeling had been mostly mutual.
“But then you kept disappearing with him. And you’ve been acting strange ever since. And now he’s here. In your office.” Weasley’s tone was clipped. “And your secretary tried to keep me from coming in.”
Draco said nothing. Just watched. He’d tried not to look at her, but it was nearly impossible.
She looked so thoroughly, properly fucked.
She looked like his.
Her hair was wild, her lips still swollen from him. If he could see it, then surely Weasley could too.
Even the sight of him in such close proximity to her was making Draco want to bare his teeth. Which was ridiculous considering Weasley was her boyfriend.
Not him.
Then Weasley was staring at him. Draco had enjoyed ribbing him when they were kids, but he knew Weasley wasn’t stupid. He’d put two and two together.
Draco made a show of sighing with boredom, pushing off the desk. Probably best to leave, though there was an odd twinge of guilt at the thought of abandoning her to the fallout.
He felt… protective. Which was ridiculous. And anyway, in this case, sticking around would likely only make things worse for her.
“Well,” he said, crossing his arms and eyeing Weasley. “As enlightening as this has all been, I’ve got more important places to be.”
Weasley’s gaze snapped to him, eyes narrowing.
Draco smirked. Good. Focus on me, not her.
He stepped past him, brushing against his shoulder just enough to make a point. Weasley didn’t move. Just watched him go.
“Malfoy,” Hermione said suddenly. “We still have some business to discuss.”
He paused. Didn’t turn around, but he caught the intention in her tone. And she was right.
They needed to figure out what this was.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to the way they’d been before. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could.
But the effects of sex pollen shouldn’t last days.
By now, it was obvious—this wasn’t just the aftermath of some accident. But it also simply wasn’t possible that fiery brown eyes, wild curls, pouty lips, and an unbelievably tight cunt were all it took to make him willing to topple his entire life.
“Yes, yes,” he said flippantly. “Owl me, Granger.”
The minute Weasley leaves, he thought, desperately trying to use Legilimency to send the message into her mind.
He needed to see her again. Hopefully, she’d want to meet up. Hopefully, Weasley would go easy on her. If he hurt her or said anything to upset her… Draco’s fist clenched at the thought.
Fuck.
Granger had turned him into a simp.
And he still had his own fiancée to deal with.
***
When, after three days, Granger still hadn’t owled him, Draco was losing his mind.
He woke in the middle of every night, hard as a rock, precum dripping down his shaft after dreams of her taking him on conservatory floors, against walls, in desk chairs. One night, it was his old Slytherin dormitory bed.
That dream wasn't new for him exactly, but where, in the past, it had involved him shoving his green and silver striped tie into her mouth and railing her from behind, now it was her on top of him, her honeyed eyes gazing down at him as she rode him slowly into his green silk sheets, pinning his hands over his head.
Alone in bed, he fisted his cock with a groan, and after just a few quick strokes of his hand, came all over himself.
It felt wrong. It wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t Granger.
He wanted to stare at her, to count the freckles on her nose and annoy her into saying swotty things so he could argue with her and make her flush in that pretty way she’d always done.
He wanted her to sit on his face so he could kiss her cunt, dip his tongue into her center and savour her taste, make her gush into his mouth until he drowned in her. .
He was practically crawling out of his skin, waiting to hear from her. She consumed every thought, every moment.
He hadn’t seen Astoria in days and he didn’t even bother reaching out. So when she stepped through his Floo while he was pounding back whiskey in his study, he jumped a foot. He couldn’t fight the grimace on his face, and he knew she saw it.
She’d barely spoken to him since the wedding because every time she touched him, his body reacted on instinct. A full-body recoil he couldn’t control.
Draco could hardly blame her for hating him.
She stood, arms crossed, leaning against the hearth mantle as she studied him.
“You look terrible,” she said with a slight sneer— not an expression he’d ever gotten from her until recently.
He grunted in response and she rolled her eyes.
“I just thought you should know that Ron and Hermione broke up.” She watched him, with a flat expression on her face. “I thought you might find that interesting.”
Oh, Draco found it more than interesting; he was positively enrapt.
He did his best to school his face but Astoria was studying him closely.
“Especially,” Astoria went on, “since, up until the day of the wedding, they seemed happy.” She tilted her head. “I know you…dislike her. Draco…did you do something to her when you were alone together?”
Why, yes, yes he had.
But not in the way she meant. He hadn’t hurt her, unless pushing his cock into her so hard and deep that she’d squeaked counted.
He hadn’t hexed her, dosed her with love potions, or cast any Unforgivables, which was what he assumed Astoria was implying.
They’d simply had an unfortunate encounter with sex pollen, which had led to some strange, mystical connection. That was the only explanation. Right?
As for disliking her… well, that clearly wasn’t true anymore.
It had always been difficult to parse out his feelings for Granger, but whatever they’d once been, had shifted from the moment their mouths had crashed together.
He could tell Astoria about the pollen. She’d understand that it was an accident. He hadn’t meant to end up in a predicament where his cock got hard just thinking about Granger but his skin crawled whenever Astoria touched him.
For a fleeting moment, he mourned the something he and Astoria could’ve had. They hadn’t been together long, but they had been happy enough. Enough to plan a future together. She was everything he’d once thought he wanted.
But mostly, he just wanted her to leave.
“I saw you staring at her when you were at the altar,” she added, her voice tight. “It kind of looked like you wanted to kill her.”
No, he thought darkly. I wanted to fuck her.
Astoria deserved better than him. Better than someone who’d already jerked himself off four times that day thinking of another witch’s tits. That much was true.
And he was done pretending otherwise.
“Astoria,” he began. “We need to talk.”
***
Hermione was surprisingly comfortable in the library of Malfoy Manor, sitting on a sofa with Malfoy, several heavy books spread out on the table in front of them.
Very comfortable, though she couldn’t help squirming around a bit, seeking relief.
“Stop moving,” he whinged in a strained voice, “you’re distracting me.”
Her cunt clenched at the wrecked sound of his voice, and again when he released a frustrated growl.
“This was supposed to help us focus,” she reminded him breathlessly, even as his cock throbbed dangerously within her.
When she’d owled Malfoy to suggest they research the pollen they’d encountered, he’d responded immediately, proposing they use the manor library.
There was a time—not so long ago (only a little over a week, her brain unhelpfully reminded her)—when she’d have been appalled at the mere thought of setting foot in that place.
But now, she couldn’t get there fast enough.
The past few days had been brutal.
She’d burned with the need to be close to Malfoy—another once-appalling thought—and he must have felt the same, considering the fact that he’d been on her the second she’d stepped through the Floo.
He’d kissed her like he’d been dying of thirst for days, weeks, months. Her hands had slid up into his hair as she’d kissed him back, pulling him closer, whimpering just as desperately.
Then, he’d lifted her by the waist, pinning her against the brick wall beside the fireplace with her thighs on either side of his hips.
And oh gods. It felt heavenly.
One hand had yanked up her skirt (she’d worn it for exactly this purpose), while the other had slid into her knickers, testing her, finding her soaked and ready. A groan had torn from his throat as he’d pushed two fingers inside with ease, curling them deep.
Of course she was ready for him—she always was. And when his fingers pressed even deeper, she squeezed the muscles of her cunt around them, making him swear under his breath.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he rasped, breathless and wrecked. If she weren’t just as desperate, she might have laughed at him.
“Not enough,” she gasped, yanking at his fly, the button popping free. “I need your cock. Now.”
His length felt so perfect in her hand, thick, hot, and heavy, but her cunt had throbbed enviously as she’d stroked him, swiping her thumb across his tip, pleased to find him sticky with precum.
“Let me—fuck, please, Granger—” he’d pleaded, seeming half out of his mind and barely holding himself back. The way her cunt had clenched on his fingers in anticipation had nearly undone them both.
She’d barely had time to pull her knickers aside and guide him to her entrance before he’d thrust up, burying himself to the hilt with a choked groan.
He’d held her up by the backs of her upper thighs, bouncing her on his cock, babbling and swearing under his breath, and in less than ten quick movements, she was coming, a searing orgasm that crashed through her all the way down to her curling toes.
Malfoy had sworn, his body going taut as he buried himself deep, hips flexing forward, pinning her to the hearth. A shudder ran through him as his cock pulsed, jets of hot cum shooting into her. They both sighed, the tension between them melting into a hazy, post-coital buzz unlike anything she’d ever experienced before with… well, Ron.
Thinking of Ron was like being doused with tepid water. Lukewarm, indifferent, a far cry from the warmth she’d once felt for him. Never heat though. Not like this.
When she’d gently confessed about what had happened while under the influence of the pollen and the after effects, he’d been angry, naturally.
He’d yelled, saying Malfoy had likely done it on purpose. When she’d defended him, knowing that he’d been as dumbfounded as her that first day, Ron had turned red, and walked away from her. He’d stormed out of her flat, which he’d practically moved into. He came back a day later, slightly calmer after speaking to Harry and Pansy.
He understood magic well enough to know that there was nothing to be done about the remnants of sex pollen.
In fact, he had been the one to suggest that she try to use old wizarding family libraries to find more information on the possible long-term complications.
Of course, she’d been planning to reach out to Malfoy anyway, but she’d held off until she and Ron had officially broken up. She let him be the one to call it off—it was one kindness she could afford him.
She’d cried a little, but the whole time, she was thinking about Malfoy. His silvery grey eyes. How, even before the incident, he always seemed pleased when he had her attention—even if it was for a negative reason. His posh accent, the way he carried himself. His annoyingly attractive dry wit.
The way his eyes changed to molten silver when he was about to come or when he watched her face as she writhed on his cock.
His surprisingly warm lips and skin. His long, thick cock, and the sound he made when he pushed it inside her.
Merlin, she’d missed him.
And now she was here with him, sitting on his lap on a sofa with her back to his chest, with his cock sheathed to the hilt inside her, while they tried to do research on what possibly could have happened to them.
Even after just having sex, they couldn’t keep their hands and mouths off each other long enough to focus on their research. Hermione had suggested their current position to help them concentrate, but it was quickly turning into more of a predicament.
“You’re insufferable,” he groaned, when she leaned over to pick up a book and then sat back on him, his cock twitching dangerously from the jostling.
“I’m not the one whinging,” she said, smiling to herself as she clenched rhythmically, almost nonchalantly while she read, and Malfoy’s fingers dug into her hips.
“Granger, I swear to Salazar, I’ll—“
His words cut away when she suddenly gasped. “I’ve found something.”
“What?” he asked, leaning forward, his blonde fringe tickling her neck and making her cunt flutter pleasantly.
They both read in silence from the tome.
Sex pollen causes intense arousal, typically fading after orgasm. However, if there’s pre-existing attraction between those affected by the pollen, the effects can persist, becoming permanent and causing insatiable desire long after the pollen has been washed off.
“Permanent?” she whispered and Malfoy stiffened, curiously silent, his erection not flagging in the least, and if anything, growing impossibly harder inside her.
“Malfoy…” Hermione began, “where did the flowers come from?”’
“Mother’s gardens here at the manor,” he replied easily. “Pansy’s always loved her flowers. Why?”
“Who delivered them?”
“House-elves, probably—they’re free, Granger. Stop wiggling. Why do you ask?”
Her mind was racing, something trying but failing to click into place. Had the elves done this on purpose? Had it truly been an accident? Was it even important at this point?
She turned her face to see Malfoy staring at her. “How do you think the pollen got mixed in with the wedding flowers?”
Malfoy shrugged, a hand gliding under her skirt, up her thigh, until his fingers found her swollen, sensitive clit. He circled it slowly, teasingly. “Does it matter now? We’re both here, like this,”—he emphasized with a thrust of his hips, making her cry out— “and it’s not like we can undo it.”
He was right; it might be irreversible. It very likely was.
And honestly, even if there was a cure, Hermione didn’t want it.
Malfoy whimpered at the sensation of her lifting off of him and turning around in his lap to face him.
“Would you want to? If you could?” His cock was hard, sticky from her, and bobbing between their stomachs. Malfoy’s eyes were on her tits.
“What? Reverse it?” His eyes lifted to hers and they were glassy with lust.
She nodded. “Go back to the way things were. With…Astoria and such.”
He stared at her for a moment, as if considering his words carefully.
“Granger, I’ve never wanted anything as much as I’ve wanted you,” he confessed, exhaling a shaky breath. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t change anything.”
“Won't your parents be furious?”
She knew through the grapevine that they mostly lived in France these days.
And that they had adored Astoria.
He shrugged again, leaning in so their lips were barely a hair’s breadth apart. “They’ll just have to get over it.”
Their mouths met again in a deep, filthy kiss, and Malfoy shifted them, laying her back as he pushed her knees up to her chest, spreading her legs wider as he nudged his swollen cock back into her.
“Fuck, Granger,” he whispered into her ear, “how could you even think for one second I’d ever want to give this up?”
She moaned as his thrusts sped up, each push of his hips moving her body further up the sofa.
A strangled groan escaped him, and Hermione clutched him tighter. She was going to come—gods, she was going to come so hard.
“Would you?” he asked suddenly, breathless and urgent.
She tried to remember what he was asking her, but all thoughts had been reduced to the feel of the thick cock sliding in and out of her clenching cunt.
“Hm?” she asked, barely coherent.
He stopped moving and she wanted to scream.
“Malfoy—“ she tried to whine but he cut her off, staring intensely at her face.
“Would you want to go back? To Weasley? To…before this?”
“N-no,” she stuttered, but meant it. “Only want you. Now please, make me come before I kill you.”
Malfoy laughed, rolling his hips, then rocking slowly in and out of her. “Can you come like this?”
With another slow drag in and then out, then back in, her eyes rolled back, and her body shook as she started to come, everything in her clenching and spasming.
He kept up the same pace, letting her ride out her orgasm on his cock, and when her body went limp, he groaned and his hips stuttered, movements growing jerky.
He pulled out and jerked himself in quick movements until she watched him paint her breasts, belly, and the lips of her cunt with warm streaks of cum.
The relief in his groan did something to her heart. Even more when he gathered some of his spend on the tip of his cock and pushed it inside her, staring down at her with what she could only describe as reverence.
Shit. She really, really liked Malfoy. Whoever would have thought.
“So,” Malfoy asked, slowly fucking his cum back into her, “is it too forward of me to ask you out on a date?”