By: ScarletDeva
Author’s Note: Well now… oh just read. *grins* Who loves me for finally updating?
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not yours
probably either. Oh well.
Rating: NC-17
Dedication: J. Rolande, who
patiently sat through two hours of listening to me blather on about a new HP
idea. Love ya oodles Jenny! And Ange too. And Anee loves
you two as well!
Review Responses:
‘Ozmandayus’ – You finally reviewed! *faints* Anyway,
I’ll try and satisfy your incessant urges for more of my writing… *grins*
‘HarryPotterWanter’ – Glad you
liked it. I just HAD to abuse Draco after your last review.
‘Fiery Slut’ – I’m thinking about posting on
adultfanfiction.net but I’m not sure if people actually go there.
‘Jade’ – Nothing I write should be read quickly! LOL Anyway, yes poor Draco… I like abusing him… *evil laughter*
‘Claudia Malfoy’ – Glad you’re enjoying this. Here’s some
more.
‘nightinGale7875’ – I like words like
“brilliant.” Use some more words like that. Heh. Well enjoy the update.
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Hermione stalked down the hallway in a huff, her hair and
her robes flying behind her. She wondered
if there was smoke coming out of her ears and decided that if there wasn’t then
there should be. She had just endured a
lecture from Ron, who once again started harping on her position as Squad
Commander. He was very vocal in his
dislike of the idea at its conception, saying that Hermione needed to be safe
and doing her work as Head Strategist.
Hermione snorted in disgust. Ron
simply did not believe that she could take care of herself and never would, no
matter how many times she led assaults on Death Eater hideouts. He could not accept that Hermione had the
right and the capacity to make her own choices and tried to shelter her from
everything. What was most unfair was
that he was easier even on Ginny, who took Hermione’s side every time even if
it did absolutely nothing to curb what they termed as Ron’s possessive
tendencies. She briefly felt a tinge of
pity for any girl that would become Ron’s girlfriend and once again firmly
resolved never to be her. Any desire for
that died out fifth year when they began fighting Voldemort.
Damn that Ron.
Hermione could rip off his emotion reddened ears whenever he got into
his annoyingly familiar spiel. And on
top of that, he made her late for a Prefects’ meeting with Dumbledore. Well she’d show Ron yet, yes she would.
***
Draco rushed down the hallway, already late for a meeting
in Dumbledore’s office. He had just
burned another of Lucius’ persistent attempts to bend his son to his will. He was so agitated that he spent a good
twenty minutes cursing his father in several different languages and lost all
track of time. He was now guaranteed to
receive glares from all the surviving Prefects and the Head Girl and Boy. Just great.
The entrance to the Headmaster’s office was guarded by a
stone gargoyle statue, which was elevated by a matching stone base. He spotted it a few feet away and then his
gaze was drawn unerringly to a slim figure further down the hall. He sped up his movements, not taking his eyes
off the familiar form and smiled when her eyes made contact. He caught feelings in her gaze that were
familiar to him, feelings he was intimately connected with. There was frustration ,
exhaustion and anger, furious, swirling anger that turned her already dark
brown eyes to an almost onyx. He held
out a hand and as she reached him and took it he pulled her into a tight
embrace, his chin resting on top of her hair, which smelled just the way he
remembered.
She whimpered and crushed her arms around him, then
pulled back, her eyes staring intently into his. She absently noted that his silver gaze
seemed to be specked with rare dots of a soft blue and then her look dropped to
his mouth, his precisely cut, arrogantly formed mouth. They were already late after all. She darted out her tongue, laving it across
her lower lip briefly before reaching up and touching his lips, his
surprisingly soft lips.
His eyes widened, the blues gone, all darkened, molten
silver and he pulled her closer, settling his lips on hers. One taste, one single hint of that crazy
combination of char and muffins and all he could think about was how free he
suddenly felt. His hands slid over her
back and tangled in her free flowing hair, turning her head at just the right
angle. He felt her own
hands caress his back, so close to his skin, regardless of the layers of
clothes that separated them. He moaned
ever so slightly, all thoughts and worries forgotten.
She itched to get her fingers on his bare skin, sliding
over sweat-dampened smoothness. The
rampant desire to hurt Ron suddenly did not seem so
important as she floated away on a familiar, Draco induced ride to
oblivion. She sucked his tongue into her
mouth and bit down gently, enjoying the light buck his hips gave in response. A little alarm sounded in the back of her
head and she ignored it in favor of turning him around and pushing him back
against the statue.
He started in surprise but then felt her hands at the
front of his robes, flitting over his already twitching erection. He idly wondered if his reactions were normal
but forgot that thought as well as she undid his robes and slid her fingers to
his zipper, pulling on it with a quick motion, her other hand exploring the
skin right above the waistband of his pants and her mouth still battling with
his.
She scraped her nails over the tender skin on his
stomach, as she unzipped his fly and reached for her goal, and it was warm
under her fingers, soft, despite the hard muscle beneath it. She gave a small sigh into his mouth as she
grasped his erection and withdrew it with a gentle motion, then smiled as it
twitched in her hand. This was power,
her ability to affect something. Oh sure
everyone listened and did as the Head Strategist said, and her squad obeyed
orders from the squad leader, but no one really paid attention to Hermione, to
simply Hermione. Except
for Draco. She shuddered as his
fingers massaged her scalp and slid her hand over his hard flesh.
He idly realized he would not be able to hold out for
much longer and pulled his fingers from her hair, feeling carefully through the
tangled curls. He reached blindly for
the buttons of her robes, undoing them roughly, with a few snapping off and
flying down the hallway. His breathing
hitched as she continued to move her hand up and down his swelling member,
every caress sending tiny jolts of lightning through his skin. His hips moved back and forth unconsciously,
assisting her in her assault on his senses, his body, his
mind. His fingers reached under her
shirt, brushing the underside of her breasts and he grinned into her mouth as
her movements became more frantic, nothing remaining in his thoughts but her
scent, her taste, the feel of her skin and the aching pleasure she brought
him. He’d have sold his soul for it just
then.
She felt his fingers creep up her bra, teasing just
around her areolas, and she vividly wished to feel his mouth against her skin
just where his hands were. She brushed
the thought away as his thumb found one pebbled nipple and she almost purred in
response, her right leg hooking around his hip, her foot set down on the base
of the statue behind him. He tweaked
both nipples with a quick, simultaneous motion and she swayed closer, her
rhythm on his hardness more frantic.
“Not. Going. To.
Last. Much. Longer,” he informed her breathlessly
between a staccato of desperate kisses.
She pulled back completely to allow him a glimpse of the completely
wicked look in her eyes and he shuddered as it caused small rivulets of feeling
to scratch through his skin into his muscles, his bones, into his very life’s
blood.
She reached behind him, grasping the head of the statue
firmly in both hands, hands that were callused and tired of the invisible blood
stains, and brought her left leg around his hip, her left foot next to her
right, her straddling him, allowing herself to hang by her hands.
He caught her intent quickly and a slow smirk crossed his
lips. Those unknowledgeable in the
science that is Draco Malfoy would claim that it is the same one he uses when
making fun or bullying. However Hermione,
had she seen it, would know it for something entirely different. He reached one hand under her skirt and
between her legs, nudging her panties to one side then cupped his hands on her
bottom, allowing her to relax the tension in her arms, positioned himself
properly and nipped at her arm. She
rocked forward in response, impaling herself on his erection, eliciting a hiss
from his mouth. He nibbled his way over
her arm as much as their position allowed and contented himself
with keeping her balance for her, letting her set the pace.
She wondered for a moment if it was truly possible that
something existed outside of the two of them just then and then shrugged it
off, her hips snapping back and forth, the friction between them furious and
wrought with what she could only call electricity, knowing in the tiny part of
her mind that still cared to function that the word was inadequate. Her arms tensed again as she drove herself
onto him faster and faster, her lungs pressurized into stiffness with the
trapped breath. She did not need air
just then.
He was suddenly reminded of lying on the surf in the
middle of a storm and letting wave after violent wave hit him. She was his storm, his waves and he dug his
fingers into her bottom, holding her up, the muscles in his arms cording with
the effort he needed to expend to refrain from pushing her faster. Suddenly a familiar, tightening sensation
began at his fingertips and traveled, causing his stomach to swirl with butterflies
like an innocent boy’s on a first date.
It dropped lower then and a moment later everything exploded.
She suddenly realized that this must have been what Harry
used to feel like when playing Quidditch, zooming through the air with no
anchor, no controls and her fingers clenched around the gargoyle’s head as she
slammed herself against her lover, all her muscles spasming,
her blood rushing through her veins like a monsoon. And then everything exploded.
He felt her slump into his embrace and buried his head in
her shoulder, feeling as if a million Snitches were flying around him. His arms tightened around her, pressing her
limp form against his corded, tense body.
She responded by lightly rubbing his back, which is when he set her
down, the bitter tang of adrenaline rushing through him.
The metallic taste of blood seemed to flavor her mouth
and she grinned as she realized she must have bit her lip to keep from
screaming. She set her feet on the
ground and looked up into his eyes. They
were grey, like a foggy, dreamy morning when all you can do is stay in bed and
fantasize yourself into a perfect world.
She offered him a soft smile and absently neatened her shirt, tucking it
into her skirt.
He startled at her smile, involuntary returning it as he
zipped his pants and straightened his robes.
It really did not matter suddenly that they were late to the meeting,
that anyone could come by and see them looking for all the
world like they had just did… well what they just did.
She looked down at her ripped robes and tugged her wand
out of a pocket, swishing it around them.
“Illusium Vulgaris.”
“Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger,” greeted the suddenly appeared
Depute Headmistress. Draco had the look
of a deer caught in the headlight for the briefest of moments before he nodded
coolly, catching the self-satisfied smirk on the Head Girl’s face who turned an
innocent smile on Professor McGonagall as the woman looked at her. “You two are late.”
“Yes Professor,” Hermione replied respectfully. “I got held up by my house and I just ran
into Mr. Malfoy here.” The older woman
nodded and whispered the password, entering the newly opened entrance. Hermione followed her, winking cheekily at
Draco, her lips mouthing something to him.
“Appearance of normality…”
“Appearance of normality,” he repeated and grinned
sardonically as she swayed her hips in his face.
TBC…