— Crooks, get off!
Sometimes Hermione regretted that her familiar wasn't a toad or a Pygmy Puff, but a smart half-kneazle. Crookshanks now knew where she disappeared to at night and wanted to join her. She imagined Draco's face if she showed up hugging a cat.
Romilda had run off with Cormac again, and Hermione put on one of her short sets—blue with snowflakes and a polar bear. She prudently set aside the black lace underwear repaired by the elves—it didn't look very... diplomatic.
Hermione threw her beaded bag over her shoulder and tied her hair with a blue ribbon—Draco loved to pull it off and run his fingers through the witch's hair. Merlin. Item #1 on her schedule was probably redundant. The mere thought of Draco's touch made her flush.
Meanwhile, Hermione needed to distract her curious cat.
— Want some treats? — she cooed, shaking a box of teeth-cleaning treats. — Fishies!
Crookshanks looked at her disdainfully and wound around her legs.
— You can't! — Hermione blurted out, trying to detach him and realizing she sounded like Draco. Another month—and she'd be wandering the castle, shooting fierce glares at everyone and throwing tantrums at any perfectly reasonable suggestion.
Hermione glanced at her watch—one minute to ten. The sensation of soft fur around her ankle made her jump.
— No! — she jumped back. Since the cat adored Draco so much, she could give him to the Slytherin.
— One more step—and I'll paralyze you, — she threatened.
Crookshanks snorted. The damn cat had her figured out. She couldn't curse her own familiar, even with a working wand. And there was no python or other cat-repeller at hand...
Or was there?
Hermione had seconds left. She dived under the bed and crawled out holding a round pink bag with cat ears and a tail.
— Come on, good boy! — she called, opening the round "mouth" of the carrier.
Crookshanks growled displeasedly and backed away, recognizing the "Doomsday Carrier" that once delivered him to the Terrible Lady with Pricking Things.
— What, don't want in the carrier? Don't you like it? — Hermione was getting too much pleasure from teasing the cat—Draco really was a bad influence on her.
The cat retreated as she clapped the transparent window of the carrier invitingly.
— Isn't it fun in the nice carrier? I'll just leave you in the bathroom while we...
A flash of white light—and Hermione landed on Draco's green bedspread, dropping the carrier.
The bed curtains were thrown open again, a floor lamp illuminating the room. A wizard in a paisley robe stood before the bed, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.
— What is that? — he asked. — Don't tell me you brought...
Hermione suppressed the urge to sing "Crooksie-poopsie-baby" into the carrier. There was no time for nonsense.
— No, — she replied.
Draco waved his hand, changing the subject.
— Wine?
— No, — Hermione repeated, dropping her bag and shoving the carrier off the bed.
That hint was enough for him.
In the next moment, Draco had placed a knee on the mattress and leaned over Hermione, supporting his weight on his arms. However, his kiss turned out not greedy and demanding as she expected, but tender—light touches of lips, the taste of wine on his tongue.
Hermione melted. So exciting—to plunge into passion immediately, without arguments, discussions, or cards on the table. As if they both started the evening with the same—stretched to the limit—desire. After all, she promised. The conditions were agreed upon.
Draco was clearly thinking the same thing because he lifted his head and tilted the witch's chin with his hand. Grey eyes shone under dark lashes.
— Tonight I'm going to fuck you, Granger.
— Yes, — was all she managed to say, her heart contracting sweetly from the darkness in his words.
She was quite ready for any words Draco would utter. Her pulse began to race back in Divination, though she tried to hide it. Even her Astronomy presentation suffered—she couldn't tear her eyes away from the little Jupiter on the clock, remembering the search for the copper ball in her bed ("So tight, Granger. I can't fit my fingers..."). Or Neptune's water sapphire, when Draco touched a similar stone at her throat...
It was ridiculous, truly, she completely lost the thread of her thoughts during the presentation, and Justin had to save the day. Not that the prefect minded—listening to him, one would think he designed the clock. Honestly, Hermione couldn't believe he was once in the DA.
Draco's warm hand on her breast focused her scattering thoughts, and for a moment she remembered a rougher touch ("Say my name..."). Hermione's eyes flew open, but instead of that rough, hateful face, she saw blonde strands falling on a forehead and full lips seemingly made for her. She moved, keeping Draco's hand on her hip and pulling it under her shorts. Stick to the schedule...
But the wizard's attention was elsewhere, and he removed his hand to cup her other breast. He breathed heavily, warming her throat, and Hermione felt her body writhing under him. Enjoying the kisses and caresses of an attractive wizard in a room draped in silk, his magic around her, and the rich spicy scent of his perfume, Hermione couldn't hold back a low, deep moan. How is this even possible? Is this my life now? What do I have to do to keep my life like this?
Giving in to the need to touch Draco, she threw open his robe—he was naked underneath—and ran her hand down his body. Draco's breath hitched as long nails scratched a particularly sensitive spot, and Hermione cast a simple wandless spell to soothe the pain.
This only aroused her more, the intertwining of magic and sex... No. Item #5. Sex. We have to make time for sex.
— Dangerous, — Draco murmured into her hair. — So dangerous.
She still lay among the pillows, her hand gripping a hot, throbbing cock. Need to make it... Hermione opened her eyes slightly, trying to make out the face of the grandfather clock in the twilight. No time left for spells, straight to...
— What are you... — Draco released her and propped himself up on his elbows. — Hermione, are you looking at the clock?
Her face flushed.
— I just want to make sure...
— Damn it! — he growled. — I told you, I won't fuck you on a schedule!
— Fine, — she snorted.
— Fine? — Draco looked offended. — No, it will be better than fine.
— I meant—amazing. Epochal sex, — she looked at him hopefully. Had she ruined the moment?
The Slytherin abruptly pulled the bed curtains shut, shielding them from the light. Now before Hermione was only a silhouette—dark and ominous against the translucent fabric. Draco whispered a spell—and a floating candle flared up, highlighting his sharp features and shiny hair. Flames reflected in his nearly black eyes. Truly dangerous.
— I see you, Draco, — she said quietly.
His face remained serious.
— And do you like what you see?
— Yes, — Hermione replied. — I like everything about you.
And it was true—not just his beauty, but his capriciousness, impulsiveness, the darkness inside, and that light he tried so hard to hide...
His lips found hers again—hot, demanding. Hands slid from her waist lower. Hermione felt him pulling off her shorts, palm sliding up her thigh.
— Are you wet already, Hermione? — he whispered. — Are you ready? I hope so, because we're getting straight to business.
She felt his fingers slide along her folds, so sensitive. "Draco Malfoy is touching me," the thought raced through her head, still not keeping up with her body. Draco Malfoy wants me, and now he'll put his magnificent pureblood cock right into my...
— Yessss, — his whisper burned her ear. It wasn't Parseltongue, but very like snake language. — You're ready. Tell me what you want.
— I want you, — she breathed. — I want...
— Beg me, — he said. — Right now—no items two through four.
— Please, Draco, please. Right now. Fuck me right now. — Hoarse words tore from her throat as Draco covered it with light bites. — I don't want to wait. Don't make me wait. Please.
He kissed her for that—a hot, satisfied kiss, a reward for good behavior. Then he straightened up and pointed the dark wood wand at her, muttering a spell. Draco smelled of perfume and arousal, and his hair was already slightly damp from... oh, why isn't he...
— What... what is it? — Hermione breathed. Draco stood frowning on his knees between her legs, every muscle of his body clearly defined in the lamplight, and if he didn't do something immediately, she...
— Didn't work. — Draco shook his head as if trying to come to his senses, then cast the spell again, loudly and clearly. Hermione looked at herself, but the faint glow and soft warmth in her belly from a successfully cast contraceptive charm didn't appear.
She looked at Draco again, and the moment their eyes met, they both realized what had happened.
— No! — she breathed, while Draco screamed:
— Fucking wand!
Hermione groaned and collapsed onto the pillows. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of this.
Draco was still kneeling on the bed, trying to set the dark wood wand on fire with a look.
— I'll fuck her anyway! — he growled, addressing the wand. — Let's see if you like that!
— Draco, no! — Hermione was horrified. The prospect of conceiving a half-blood Malfoy after two weeks of barely polite communication seriously threatened her mental health.
Draco hit the dark wood wand against the bedpost, just like Tennant with Hermione's vinewood wand, but not hard enough to damage it. Then he threw open the curtains and hurled the wand across the room.
— I'm afraid I won't hold back! — Draco wailed.
Hermione sat up.
— What about that other wand, the snake one?
— Can't, not on you. Too risky.
She sighed. He was right, of course. The snake wand hated her.
— What about your bag? — Draco's voice filled with hope. — Is there a potion?
She shook her head.
— Not even a condom.
— What is a condom?
Hermione waved away the question and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. They looked at each other sadly—Draco in an open robe, Hermione in just a short top. Plenty of time remained, but having sex was impossible. Draco was still kneeling, his cock ready for action.
— Tomorrow I'm going to Ollivander, — Draco announced, his rage contrasting sharply with his seductive body. — That damn fraud will make me a wand that obeys, or he'll have to remember what Malfoy dungeons are like again!
— Draco!
He collapsed beside her and rolled onto his back.
— Aaaargh, I can't get to him anyway, — he growled. — I'm stuck in this godforsaken castle.
Hermione looked down at him, trying to gather her own thoughts and not be distracted by the long pale body stretched out before her, and his robe crumpled beneath him. Her fingers itched to stroke those intersecting scars, that enticing trail of dark blonde hair. If only she could climb on top... don't be an idiot.
Hermione lay down next to him and stroked his hair instead.
— I can get you out of the castle.
Draco looked at her.
— Right. How?
— There's a secret passage leading from the third floor to the cellar of Honeydukes. From there we can apparate to Diagon Alley.
— I suppose that could work, — he said gloomily.
— We can go tomorrow after classes. I need Ollivander to look at my vinewood wand too, — Hermione said.
Draco said nothing, just lay there brooding darkly.
— And we need to break this spell somehow, — she said. — The time element is fixed, but we still don't know why I keep transporting here. So strange.
Draco muttered something under his breath that sounded like "darned knickers," but that, of course, couldn't be true. Hermione continued to stroke the silky strands, brushing them from his forehead.
— We'll come back here after Ollivander, and just think—we'll have two working wands, — she coaxed, — we can use all sorts of interesting spells. — She had picked up a couple of ideas from Fred and George's dirty magazines in the tent. — Incarcerous, and levitation, and…
Draco stared at her agape, and in the next moment Hermione was on her back as he kissed her passionately. She wrapped her arms around his neck and responded as best she could, but he was frantic. It seemed Draco had skipped straight to item #5, consequences be damned. Hermione's brain feverishly sought a way to slow him down. Though thinking at all was becoming increasingly difficult. Maybe she could…
Suddenly he groaned and pulled away, falling back onto his back again.
— Fine, — he breathed. — Tomorrow we go to Ollivander.
Hermione smiled and climbed on top of him as a reward for his agreement. Draco immediately grabbed her ass. This is dangerous, she thought, kissing him. They needed to do something that didn't involve such close contact. It was torture. She began kissing his jaw, slightly prickly with evening stubble, then moved down the long line of his throat.
Draco groaned again—he, as always, instantly caught her intentions. She kissed his chest, clearly moving lower, and felt him pull the ribbon from her hair. When Hermione ran her tongue over the faint Sectumsempra scars, Draco breathed heavily. And now she reached that delightful hairline that had been driving her crazy since the second night in his bed. His cock, slightly calmed during the talk about Ollivander and the dark wood wand, was fully combat-ready again, with a dark pink head oozing pre-cum.
— Hermione… — Draco's voice was unrecognizable—trembling and pleading. He pulled at her locks. — Please…
She hesitantly licked the head. Hermione had already tried something similar in the tent during the war, but it turned out to be the most awkward experience of her life. Harry looked half-aroused, half-ready to faint, and fortunately, as soon as she started, he came. That was the last time they tried anything like that—the experience probably traumatized them both for life. They couldn't even look at each other or speak for days. Then one morning they started arguing about who should fetch water for tea, and that erased all the awkwardness. Hermione rarely felt such relief.
But now…
Now everything was different.
She wasn't touching her close friend in a cramped tent, trying to ignore the awkwardness—Hermione was kneeling before a dangerous Slytherin, whose mere look made her blood pound in her temples. Her tongue craved to explore every inch of his body. She wanted to see Draco Malfoy completely in her power.
She looked up—and a picture opened before her that exceeded all expectations. Draco's body burned with a flush from head to toe, cheeks glowing. He was half-reclining on the pillows, not taking his eyes off her, and at that moment looked just like an eighteen-year-old boy—without the shadow of war horrors in his eyes.
— I thought you were used to this, — Hermione teased. — With all those girls...
— This is different, — Draco replied seriously.
He didn't rush her, just waited with that rare patience he sometimes showed in the most unexpected moments. His fingers played with her locks, but the touches remained gentle.
She bowed her head again—and this time didn't stop, putting into it all the diligence she usually applied to her studies, schemes, and spells. Soon Draco was moaning, his body shuddering, and fingers clutching her hair. He tried to warn her when he was ready to come, but Hermione didn't have time to prepare—and the result was another mess. The dark wood wand flatly refused to cooperate, even when Hermione, despite Draco's loud protests, found it. ("I'd rather drown in my own come than ask that demonic stick for anything!")
He suggested calling Tully to clean everything up, but now Hermione protested. They argued about it, having no other outlet for accumulated irritation, and she was about to give him a good scolding when she suddenly heard the black grandfather clock begin to strike eleven.
— My bag! — she screamed, frantically searching the bed. — Ew, this pillow is all covered in...
— Here. — Draco handed the bag to her. — Where are we meeting after classes?
— Third floor, by the statue of the one-eyed witch. — Hermione grabbed the bag and sat on her knees. — Draco... — She didn't know what to say.
Draco knew and touched his lips to hers.
— Goodnight, Hermione. — His mouth moved to her ear. — I hope you dream of me.
Hermione wanted to say that she would, that she had no choice in the matter, as she hadn't for weeks, but she was blinded by the familiar white flash, and the witch vanished.
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