by: ScarletDeva
Author’s Note: This is turning out to be a series of random moments. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not yours probably either. Oh well.
Rating: R.
Review Responses:
‘me’ – Thank you for your kind words and I hope that you will read and like more of what I write.
‘J. Rolande’ – Thank you for the lovely constructive comments.
I hope you like this part too.
‘Airelle Vilka’ – Glad you’re
happy. And I like the way that I do Draco too. No pun. LOL.
‘Fiery Slut’ – I do have more D/Hr stuff planned. And I would love to get more graphic but FFnet will have my ass if I do.
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Draco stalked into the library like a caged predator, the space too small, his movements implicitly dangerous. He just burned another letter from Lucius and just barely avoided Snape in the intricate mess of Slytherin dungeon hallways. It was the exactly adequate ending to a perfectly horrid week. His eyes moved smoothly over the rows of books, all arranged neatly, a wide array of colors and sizes. Just a few more months and he’d be able to get away from the mess that was the Wizard world. He allowed a small smirk to lift the very edges of his lips. Yes, Draco Malfoy was going to go into hiding amongst the Muggles. He swept forward, striding past Mrs. Pince and in the direction of the Restricted Section. He turned the corner with ease and stopped, allowing himself to lean against a bookcase.
Hermione sighed tiredly, having been unable to sleep to sleep for several days after yet another fierce battle with a large group of Death Eaters. Jared Hawke, a fifth year Hufflepuff, had to be sent to St. Mungo’s for special medical treatment as Madame Pomfrey lacked the ability to cure his advanced wounds and severe burns. The particular moment when he had been hit with the curse that caused those wounds and burns had been replaying in her mind non-stop. The worst was when she lay in bed trying to fall asleep. The images would appear in Technicolor and surround sound and she was helpless to push them away. Even once she fell asleep, they would haunt her… the screams, the blood, her inability to keep her squad safe. She shook her head, her unbound mess of hair tickling her bare arms. It was best to keep busy. Busy, busy, busy, and not think about what could make it all go away.
Draco lingered, unsure whether he should call her name or find a better way to get her attention. Her reflexes had become a legend amongst the gossipers in Hogwarts and he wasn’t sure if she wouldn’t hex him reflexively. For the moment he contented himself by running his eyes over his only mode of oblivion. She wore another fitted scrap of a shirt, this one a deep maroon, and tight black pants that flared out over her pale, bare feet. He let himself remember who she used to be and wondered what the Hermione of long ago would have to say about who she had become.
“Are you going to say anything or just stare at me?” she asked suddenly in a very low tone of voice.
“You knew I was there…” he affirmed, crossing his arms over his dark blue sweater.
“Hard not to know,” she replied without turning around, still shifting through the large pile of DADA textbooks. “You I can pick out of a crowd on a foggy day.”
He gaped for a moment, uncomfortable with what she might be implying. She spun around, her solemn dark eyes peering at him with an exhaustion he’s only ever seen in his mirror. Dark smudges under her eyes matched the ones he would have had if not for a convenient Obscura Charm.
She walked up to him and rocked forward onto her toes, straining up, her eyes so very close to his startled gray ones. “Did you want to forget again?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper. He nodded hesitantly. She allowed herself to feel the cold floor over the whole length of her soles and reached both hands up to brush the tips of her fingers over his cheeks, before slipping her arms around his neck and tugging him down to allow her mouth to make contact with him.
He smiled briefly as he obeyed her direction, a smile that was gone the moment his lips met hers. He parted his lips to allow her eager tongue entry and once again tasted a flavor combination that he had come to associate with her from just one encounter, char and muffins. His hands slid over her back and under her shirt, a light fleeting touch.
She slid her leg up his, hooking it around his hip, trying frantically to get as close as possible. She could feel his body react as his muscles clenched, his hands became more forceful, his mouth more harsh on hers. He smoothed a hand over her still standing leg and lifted it, Hermione reacting instinctively and linking her ankles behind him. Both hands under her bottom now, he made the few necessary steps to the table and set her down on the very edge. He tried to pull back and she whimpered into his mouth, her arms tightening around his neck.
“Shhh,” he whispered, after drawing back a little, and swept the books to the side, pushing her down onto the smooth wood. His fingers swept her shirt up to right under her armpits and he grinned wolfishly, once again finding only skin underneath. He bent his head over her stomach and bit down gently. She stifled a moan, the sound only barely loud enough for him to hear, as her hands wound themselves in his soft hair. He blew a quick stream of air onto the slightly red spot and made a wet trail over her chest, stopping to nuzzle at the proud evidence of her arousal.
She wound her legs around his hips again, trying to feel him against her, her neck arching her head back to accommodate him. “Draco,” she breathed, a small bit of pleading and an impatient order in her tone. He lifted his mouth from tormenting a little hollow at her throat and grinned again, his eyes full of a feeling that was easy enough to decipher, relief. She tugged on his hair and pulled him into another fierce kiss. Any feel of him on her skin was as good as an Obliviate Charm. He tugged her lower lip into his mouth, sucking on it and she felt him shiver. Her hands left his head and unceremoniously traveled under his sweater. He shivered harder.
He let go of her lip and moved away just an inch before commenting, “Damn you,” without any malice, or even a smidgeon of negative emotion. The taste of her was addictive, that taste that made it seems as if nothing else mattered, and there was nothing in the whole world but him, her and all the clothes in his way. He dropped a brief kiss on her lips and pulled back, his shirt staying in her firm grip. He allowed it to come over his head and unzipped her pants quickly, setting two fingers on each side to swiftly tug them off along with her panties. He tossed the annoying pieces of clothing down and quickly unbuttoned his own pants, dropping them and his dark green boxers to pool around his feet. He stepped out and slipped off his shoes and socks with a speed that clearly underlined his urgency. He looked up to see her propped on one elbow, her dark brown eyes watching him with amusement and impatience. He growled under his breath and lunged forward, so very male in his nudity. His hands found the small of her back and pushed her forward to the very edge of the table again. She smiled, the predatory look in her face so incongruent with who she was supposed to be that he nearly froze. She wrapped her legs loosely around him in response and he moved closer again, bending over her. His fingers took hold of her hips and he drove forward.
Her eyes snapped wide open and then shut closed. She needed this, needed this man who was neither enemy nor friend, needed the sense of nothing but the physical that only he could provide. As he established a fast paced rhythm, her arms sneaked under his arms, her palms coming to rest over his shoulders, and she pressed herself against his bare skin, forgetting everything, even what her friends would think were they to find out. The memory of this very act had sustained her over a week of pain, exhaustion and dread. She wanted more memories. Her hands tensed and her nails raked over his exposed skin, adding more marks to the faintly pink ones that she made the week before.
He hissed, the brief pain pushing him further into a place where nothing mattered but the feelings she was causing to spring up in the most unusual areas. So what if doing what he was doing with her would have him Avada Kedavra’d in under ten seconds by his father or her friends. This was the feeling that got him though the murky days where he tried so carefully not to step off the middle road, Snape’s voice, Lucius’ letters all gone in a brief movement of her fingers.
***
Another tremor shook her body and she pressed her fingers into the tender flesh of his ass.
A small sound escaped his throat and he could feel the end approaching. He lowered his head into her shoulder and bit down, muffling the would-be moan into her. She jerked under him, a fresh onslaught of tremors quaking her body. Her hands skimmed up over his back and she dropped back to lie on the table. He stared at her intently.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. He nodded and pulled out of her body, moving briskly to gather his clothes and slip them on. She mimicked his actions, quickly putting on the discarded clothing as she came upon it.
“Oblivion,” he said idly, “can be habit forming.”
She finished pulling her shirt on and looked at him. “Yes. That’s the idea.” He zipped his pants, straightened his sweater and nodded, before walking out and leaving her staring at his gracefully moving form. She smiled and turned back to her books. For now, that was enough to chase the demons away.