Hermione slammed the door to Slughorn's office and ran halfway down the corridor before stopping to catch her breath. Merlin, she barely made it out of there. The invitation said 7 to 9 PM, but Slughorn stalled for time with all his might. Thank Merlin for Trelawney, who woke up from a nap on the sofa and started grabbing people, wailing about the Cold White Hands of Fate. That helped clear the room.
Hermione glanced at her watch—twenty to ten. At the end of the corridor was an alcove where she could wait until ten, when the spell would transport her... To Draco.
The wizard had left the party much earlier, but Hermione still blushed remembering how magnificent he looked in his black robe with starched cuffs and collar. Her red-and-gold nails, which had retracted while she was reviewing Isobel's study on the party, lengthened again from just a few of his words. She hadn't expected him to recover so quickly, and immediately started babbling...
Hermione shook her head to clear her mind and, abruptly pulling back the alcove curtain, found Romilda and Cormac there.
— Sorry!
The next alcove turned out to be protected against entry, but not sound.
— Don't pressure me, Isobel... Could that growling voice belong to Justin?
— ...or you'll find out how demanding I am. I need everything to be perfect...
Hermione rushed away again and found that every alcove and office on the fifth floor was occupied by couples kissing or doing something more interesting.
It was almost ten—someone would see her disappear if she didn't...
— Granger?
Oh Merlin have mercy, what had she done in life to run into Theodore Nott again and again? Hermione turned around, pasting on a fake smile, and stole a glance at her watch. Eight minutes to ten.
Nott looked annoyed, though Hermione couldn't figure out why. Slughorn's party was clearly a success, even by Isobel's standards, and Nott's machinations had benefited both Draco and all of Slytherin.
— Catching drunk couples to report them? — Nott smirked. — And here I thought Gryffindors were hopeless romantics.
— I... I... — Hermione couldn't take her eyes off the distinct handprint on his rounded cheek. Someone had slapped Nott. Whoever it was—good for them.
— What happened to you? — she asked.
Nott shifted from foot to foot.
— Nothing.
— Daphne Greengrass? — Hermione guessed.
The wizard just flashed his eyes.
Hermione crossed her arms, surprised.
— I assume you tried to kiss her. Or insulted her. Which one?
— You don't understand anything, — Nott cut her off. — And it wasn't an insult!
— What did you say then?
Nott looked around the empty corridor and fell silent.
— Obviously, you acted like an idiot, — Hermione said. — I won't tell anyone. Hopeless romantic, remember?
Nott literally struggled with himself, and then blurted out:
— I told her Divination is rubbish.
— You said what?! — Hermione threw up her hands in horror.
— Well, it's true, Granger!
— Of course it's true! But you can't say that! What kind of Slytherin are you after that?
— I had to say something! — Nott seemed on the verge of despair. — She claimed "we" aren't in the stars, that I have the wrong aura, and the cards warn her against me. And then she started describing frog guts in vivid detail!
— Ugh, — Hermione grimaced in disgust.
— Exactly! — Nott agreed. — Who does that? She stood right in the middle of the party listing all the spells, omens, and mirrors she used to evaluate our couple, and how it was all set against me!
Hermione studied the wizard closely. The bright handprint pulsed on his pale cheek, and his green eyes were wide, reminding her of Harry. She recalled Draco's awkward apology in the DADA office, his drunken grumbling, and sudden confession ("You are so beautiful"). His flashes of rage over Justin and hostility toward Tennant...
— She likes you, — Hermione stated.
— What?
— Greengrass was begging the spirits to give her at least one good sign because she likes you.
Hermione couldn't help but wonder—why? Could the blonde really not find someone better than Theodore Nott—this contemptuous, dodgy, arrogant Slughorn sycophant? But people liked strange things—she knew that better than anyone.
— You need to apologize, and then form a heart out of tea leaves, — she advised.
Nott stared at her like a sheep (in a very elegant robe) at a new gate.
— You can invent dreams or images you "saw" in a crystal ball, — she continued. — Or join Trelawney's Divination Club—I know for a fact they spend most of their time writing love letters and predicting love.
Nott was shocked.
— I don't know why I told you anything at all!
— I'm surprised too, — Hermione admitted.
The Slytherin cursed under his breath, turned sharply, and strode down the corridor, his emerald robe billowing behind him.
— And one more thing! — he suddenly shouted, turning back to have the last word. — I never...
But Granger had already vanished.
Hermione flopped onto the bed and grabbed the white-painted bedpost to keep from rolling onto the floor. Where did so many plush unicorns come from? Ah, right. She giggled.
Draco's head suddenly appeared from behind the back of the armchair by the fireplace.
— Hermione?
He stood up and walked toward the bed, rubbing his face. His hair was tousled, and his robe was half-unbuttoned. And, strangely enough, he looked even more attractive to her now than at the party, when he embodied perfection.
— Are you okay? — Draco asked.
Hermione blinked, staring at him.
— I... um... you... — She waved her hand helplessly toward the bare patch of skin at his neck. — Robe. Hair.
— Did you hit your head? You didn't run, did you?
— Ran, — Hermione whispered. — Nott.
— You really ran, you silly girl, — Draco grumbled, taking her hand and gently pulling her out of the pink bed onto the sofa.
— Good signs, — Hermione breathed.
Draco sighed.
— How rarely I get the pleasure of understanding you.
Hermione didn't answer, just pressed her head against his shoulder, soaking in the warmth. Her heart slowed, and her thoughts cleared.
— Slughorn's party dragged on, — she said. — He kept hovering by the door.
Draco smirked.
— We should ask Isobel if a party counts as successful if the host won't let the guests leave?
— Probably.
Hermione imagined Ravenclaws adopting this technique next year, noting guests' arrival and departure. ("You can't leave—you haven't received the optimal amount of pleasure yet!")
Draco uncorked a crystal decanter and poured firewhisky into two glasses.
— We'll have to drink it neat, — he said, handing her a glass. — The dark wood wand turns everything into warm milk at this time of day.
Hermione sat up, unable to hide a smile at Draco's complicated relationship with his new wand. Her own vinewood wand still lay in the room, recovering from all the ordeals.
Draco blew on the rims of the glasses, igniting blue flames over the firewhisky. Then he stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. Hermione wrapped herself in her robe.
— What shall we drink to? — she asked, feeling the glass heat up in her hand.
— Are we celebrating something?
— Why not? Tennant is gone. You aren't cursed.
Draco looked down at his glass, long lashes hiding his eyes.
— It's not that simple.
— Well, I suppose not.
They took a sip in silence, immersed in their own thoughts, until Draco spoke again.
— I don't understand how you can sit in this room. I wouldn't stay here if I had a choice.
Hermione was going to joke about the luxurious conditions but decided to support his mood.
— It's safe here now. He won't come back.
— You know what I did to him.
— Yes. — She touched his hand. — I'm sorry.
— I regret nothing. I would do it again. — He sighed. — I used an Unforgivable.
Hermione squeezed his fingers.
— It was necessary.
— It shouldn't have come to that, — Draco said through gritted teeth. — My spell brought you here.
Hermione shook her head.
— Tennant would have come for me anyway.
She remembered the trembling Astoria Greengrass and her stack of books.
Draco didn't look convinced.
— It's true, — Hermione insisted. — I really love sticking my nose in other people's business.
She expected a smile or at least a smirk, but Draco just looked down at his glass again.
— Yes, that's true. — Sigh. — Nothing but trouble.
Hermione didn't know what to answer, so she leaned forward and touched his lips in a light kiss—gentle and weightless. She expected Draco to deepen the kiss, pull her close, but instead, he sighed again and rested his head on her shoulder. His face was still flushed from sleep, and a deep crease lay on his cheek. Hermione ran her fingers through his hair, feeling the strange, quiet calm of this once-sinister room. The bright light of the lamp emphasized the rich green, silver, and blue tones of the furniture, not to mention the shining pink bed.
After a while, Draco lifted his head, looking more alert. He put the glasses on the table and pulled Hermione onto his lap, the hem of her scarlet robe draping over his legs.
— Lovely robe, — he said, running cool fingers along the witch's throat.
— Bought it today. In a rush.
Draco didn't answer, just pulled off her long gloves and threw them on the floor. The MUDBLOOD scar was clearly visible in the lamplight (Hermione hadn't masked it with glamour charms today), but Draco didn't stop, just lightly kissed the thin lines.
Hermione held her breath. After the situation with Tennant, they shouldn't rush... She should have insisted on new negotiations... She shouldn't want...
But she did.
— Draco, — she whispered and kissed him again, and this time he responded, deepening the kiss, pressing her to him.
Hermione broke away to start kissing his jaw, moving down to his throat, while her hand slid down his chest. She tried to unbutton his robe, but her clumsy haste plus suddenly lengthened nails made the process difficult.
She heard Draco laugh into her hair.
— Let me, — he murmured and deftly unbuttoned his robe and removed Hermione's robe in seconds.
Now the witch sat before him in a corset and skirt, and Draco's open robe revealed his body in only silk boxers. Draco embraced Hermione again, and she pressed back—like that night by the fireplace. It seemed a lifetime ago.
His kisses were greedy, demanding, fingers digging into her flesh, and Hermione opened her mouth wider, scratching the wizard's skin with her nails. She couldn't hold back anymore. They deserved this.
Draco's hand slid under her skirt, moved up her leg, and he broke the kisses to look Hermione straight in the eyes.
— Tennant Rowle is gone, — Draco whispered softly. — He won't come back. Ever. This is my room again, full of my things, and here you belong to me.
— Yes, — Hermione breathed. — He is gone.
His hand moved higher up her thigh.
— No more pain... No more pain.
— No more fear...
His fingers stopped at the edge of her panties. No more fear.
— Only pleasure, — he purred. — Say it.
— No more pain, no more fear, — Hermione repeated, — only pleasure... ah!
Her head fell onto his shoulder, and her eyes closed as he began to caress her.
— Yes, oh yes... — she moaned.
— So wet, — he breathed, his fingers continuing to move. Then his voice changed. — Louder.
She had never heard his voice so low.
— There's no one here, Hermione. Just us. No one will hear you...
— Draco, please...
— Louder.
— PLEASE.
— Please what?
— Please keep touching me, make me come...
Fingers withdrew, he was pulling away, why was he... Draco laid her on the sofa cushions and slid to the floor, lifting her red skirt and disappearing under it.
— Draco! — Hermione felt sticky fingers on her thighs, and something soft and warm touched the wetness between her legs.
— Draco, — she moaned.
She was probably suffocating him, but the wizard between her thighs wasn't in a position to complain—his tongue was busy. That night by the fireplace was beautiful, but now gravity was on Hermione's side, and she controlled their movements, guiding Draco with her moans and tensing her legs.
Her cries echoed around the room when she reached orgasm, releasing all the fear, pain, anxiety, and confusion. Hermione felt her magic sparking around her body. That's it. I'll keep him. I won't be prudent.
Draco appeared again, with red wet lips and disheveled hair. Hermione realized she was lying on her back on the sofa, tasting herself in his mouth. Time blurred, and she remembered only fragmented moments: Draco shedding his robe, her lengthened nails digging into his ribs. His hands in her hair, pulling her head back to deepen the kisses. So similar to what Tennant did and what he wanted to do, but thoughts of him quickly dissipated. No pain, no fear, only pleasure. Hermione would let Draco do whatever he wanted with her, immediately. No time for negotiations. She wanted all of him, right now. Take me, her blood sang, take me, pleeeease...
Unfortunately, her mouth was too busy to tell him this, and he was pressing her into the sofa, unlacing her corset, so she couldn't even explain without words. The corset fell to the floor, and Hermione felt a hard cock pressing against her. She managed to wrap her legs around Draco, but even that didn't get her point across. The panties disappeared, and the skirt bunched at her waist, but Draco was still in his silk boxers, damn it.
He broke away from her lips to attack her throat, and Hermione inhaled greedily.
— Take me... — she began.
— Want to go to the bed? — Draco asked, misunderstanding her. He pulled away, and Hermione blinked up at him, at his face pink in the light of the gold lamps. Her breath caught at the expression in his eyes.
Then his eyes narrowed.
— I won't have sex on a pink bed with kittens, — he declared. — Put it back the way it was.
— We don't need to go... — She felt the cool smoothness of dark wood slide into her palm. Oh, for Godric's sake, if he would just stop bossing around for one second, they could stay on the sofa...
— How did you do it? — Draco's heavy bangs fell over his eyes, and she saw only his swollen lips and sharp jawline. — I tried for an hour to change it back. Oh Merlin. Hermione was proud of her spell, but did they really need to discuss it right now? She sighed. Arguing with Draco when he was fixated on something was pointless.
— What did you try? — she asked resignedly.
— Colovaria Contrarium.
— Close, but not quite, — she pushed him in the chest, reluctantly removing her legs from his hips, and he sat beside her. — Originally I used a Colour Change Charm, but I modified it a bit.
— How? How modified? — Draco poked an indignant finger toward the pillows. — Plush unicorns!
Hermione giggled, then twisted around, aiming the dark wood wand at the bed.
— I added Cheering Charms, — she explained. — Every time you tried to remove the spell, you made the bed even happier.
Hermione began slowly tracing neat circles with the wand, trying to concentrate, though her thoughts and body were now on completely different wavelengths.
— You need to neutralize both effects for the counter-spell to work. Colovaria Contrarium Gaudia Frolicum!
A wave of the wand—and the bed returned to its former green, silver, and black tones. Flowering vines turned back into carved snakes crawling up the bedposts.
— Show-off, — Draco grumbled.
Hermione smiled at him.
— Always consider changes carefully when casting or removing a spell.
Draco rolled his eyes, then stood up, looming over her.
— Time to occupy your smart mouth, — he growled. And immediately paled at his own words. — Shit, was that too...?
— No, it's fine, — Hermione replied. And it was true. Perhaps if he carried her to the bed, they could finally...
Which he did—lifted her from the sofa and laid her on the bedspread with unexpected tenderness. Then froze over her, hesitating.
She propped herself up. What this time?
— Hermione, we don't have to... — Seeing her look, Draco raised his hands. — Okay, okay.
He gave her a wicked smirk and pulled off his boxers. His cock immediately sprang out to meet her, and when Hermione looked up, she saw Draco's pale face lit with desire, his jaw relaxed.
She crawled forward, long locks spilling over her bare chest and shoulders, legs tangling in her skirt. Draco's eyes seemed almost demonic—black with lust, cheekbones flushed dark. His cock was pink as a kitten pillow.
Hermione couldn't look away. That night by the fireplace was too dark and... intense... to properly see everything. She had gotten the best look at him on the second night after the Vanishing Spell—when Draco accused her of ruining the spell. The night he pressed the snake wand to her throat. The night he first kissed her intentionally. And somehow the memory of that angry Draco, looming over her like a vengeful god, with his cock half-out of his boxers, only aroused Hermione more.
She had never stared at a naked man so openly before and probably would have stayed on all fours like a mesmerized fool if Draco hadn't spoken.
— Taste me, Hermione, — his low voice made her blood boil. — Show me what your sharp little tongue can do.
She was so close to him, just a couple of inches, already bowing her head, but something made her look up again. Behind Draco's bare shoulder, a pearlescent clock face shimmered, and an ornate hour hand pointed to... Dong... dong... dong...
Their eyes met. Oh, no. No-no-no…
— Accio corset! — Hermione screamed, and a scrap of red silk with stiff boning and undone lacing flew into her hand. She hastily pulled it on—Merlin, the spell would return her back to the fifth-floor corridor!
Draco swore, throwing her robe to her, and then the clock struck for the last time. And then Hermione could only watch helplessly as the bed, the clock, and Draco's desperate face disappeared in a white flash.