Chapter Text
“I swear to Godric, Malfoy! If you step on the back of my boot one more time!” Hermione scowls, pausing momentarily to wiggle her foot back into the sole properly.
“Fuck off, Granger,” Malfoy barks back immediately, his sharp elbow knocking her upside the head as he uses the pause in her step to his advantage and breezes on by. “It’s hardly my fault you walk so slow.”
Hermione growls under her breath and hastens her step to catch up with him, bringing them level once more. “Well, it’s hardly my fault if your legs eat up the floor when you walk! Nor is it my fault that you’re so ungodly tall!”
Malfoy inclines his head slightly to the left where she walks alongside him, making a point to look down his nose. “Notice, did you?”
“Piss off.” Her wand thrums in her right hand, itching to shoot a hex in addition to her scathing tone.
“And neither is it my fault,” he goes on, raising his nose back up, and then higher into the air like the aristocrat prat he was born to be. “That you’re so ridiculously small.”
“Notice, did you?” She parries, smirking to herself where she walks a touch ahead of him.
It’s short-lived, as he overtakes her with another step, whipping her with his scent - something minty. Bloody gangly bastard. Trying not to huff as she keeps up, they have a silent but furious competition, which she will never admit, even under the threat of the Cruciatus Curse, is giving her a stitch.
“Struggling, Granger?” He taunts, not looking to have broken a sweat as they traverse underground tunnels.
“Absolutely not!” She denies, though her scalp is growing damp as she sweats through her tight curls.
They’re tied back, thankfully. They’re always tied back on a mission. The fact only encourages damp heat to settle against her scalp.
Malfoy snorts in an entirely I-don’t-believe-you manner that sets her teeth on edge. “Oh, do continue to lie to yourself, it’s rather amusing.”
Merlin, why did they lump her with this arsehole? Being around Malfoy is still new for everybody, but raw to her all the same. Having a former Death Eater join the ranks will do that. Ron walks into a room Malfoy's in and promptly walks back out. In any Order meetings, Ron's eyes wander around the room, skipping over Malfoy like he doesn’t even exist, and refuses to acknowledge his silent, yet palpable presence.
The choice to be here isn’t Malfoy’s, as far as Hermione can determine. He didn’t just suddenly develop a conscience it appears, but when Voldemort ordered Dumbledore’s death by Malfoy’s hand, following his father's failure in the Ministry, Narcissa Malfoy snapped, apparently deciding that they weren't having her only child.
Narcissa deflected right at the last possible moment, a mere week before Malfoy was due to kill Dumbledore, had already cursed poor Katie Bell, cast the Imperius Curse, and poisoned Ron unintentionally. As Snape tells it, Narcissa arrived at his home in the dead of night, drenched with rain, and bruised, from Lucius’ attempt to stop her.
The reasoning she was known to provide to the Order, when questioned why she had let Malfoy get so far along in his deadly task, far enough to hurt others, was that her son had begun to unravel under the pressure of it, and nearly died when hit with Sectumsempra by Harry.
That despite it all, he was just a boy.
Hermione still doesn't quite know how she feels about this information, as the thought of Malfoy unraveling is an odd one to sit with. She's only ever known him as downright spiteful. She certainly saw him behaving somewhat strangely, perhaps more withdrawn but had been so wrapped up in her studies and Harry's sessions with Dumbledore, trying to map Tom Riddle's early life, she hadn't seen it the way Harry had.
Upon reflection, Hermione knows she should have listened to her best and oldest friend, whose instincts have never truly led them astray, but she was softer then. She had been quite weak, scared, and malleable until she had Obliterated her parents. This hardened her. Hurt so deeply that she had to push it down, shove it somewhere she could deal with after the war.
Despite Hermione's lack of observation of Malfoy, all that truly saved him, in the end, was that Snape had made an Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa Malfoy, instructed by Voldemort, and encouraged by Dumbledore. When Narcissa went begging, there was nothing for it but to follow her wishes, the only thing that has supposedly kept the Potion Master alive, when he had to report his traitorous actions to his Dark Lord.
Hermione wonders sometimes why Malfoy stayed after he was forced to Grimmauld Place. To stay with his mother? Yes, she believes so, but perhaps also because his father laid his hands on Narcissa. She wasn't only bruised after all. Harry told Hermione the night of the Malfoy's arrival that Narcissa sported a broken rib and shattered collarbone. She got off a lot lighter than her husband.
Within two days of Narcissa’s decision to turn traitor, Lucius was torn apart by Nagini and left to bleed out in his ancestral home. Narcissa has been weak with grief since. Despite her choosing her son, Hermione is sure that Lucius’ death tears the woman apart every waking second.
“You’ve gone awfully quiet,” Malfoy mutters suspiciously.
“Just wondering what I did in a past life to have to spend my evening with you,” she bites out.
Malfoy tosses his head back with faux outrage. "Come now, Granger. You’ll hurt my feelings.”
Gritting her teeth, she throws him a murderous look. It’s quite difficult, considering the deeper underground they head, the darker it gets. The most she can make of him is his ridiculous platinum hair, which is longer than his school days, and a hint of his pale, glimmering eyes.
“Besides. It’s time to test my loyalty,” Malfoy mocks Harry's parting words, with air quotes in addition.
Her lips press together briefly as she squints into the growing darkness before opening to reply, “This is rather important, Malfoy. Embedding these potions-” she lays a hand against the beaded bag on her hip, “-could bring the outpost crumbling down and-”
“Yes, yes.” He cuts her off, a pale flash of his hand waving in her peripheral vision. “We could stop murderers, save lives. I heard Potter’s speech. Salazar knows he repeats it often enough.”
Hermione’s eyes narrow further. “You’re so hungry to fight,” she hisses. “Too eager to hurt.”
Being on the opposite side of the war from the one he was raised in hasn’t molded Malfoy into a saint. If anything, it’s sharpened him into a weapon. Hermione doesn’t think Mrs. Malfoy realises what she did when she betrayed Voldemort. How she forced a burden on her sons’ shoulders to keep the remaining members of the Malfoy lineage safe.
Alive.
Every time they go out on the field, Malfoy comes face to face with the very Death Eaters intent on taking his mother away and handing her over to Voldemort. A sacrificial lamb offered to rise higher in their Dark Lord's ranks. No, there is no care or loyalty for the Order on Malfoy’s part, or a need to protect their safehouses and their people.
The only thing he cares for is that his mother is in them and so they must stay hidden and that she is guarded by the Order members, so they too must stay alive. He doesn’t care if Voldemort razes the earth and reduces it to ash and bones. He cares only that Voldemort wants his only remaining parent dead, so Voldemort must die.
Malfoy must align and wield himself to whatever Voldemort’s downfall will be. That is now Harry, thanks to Narcissa’s decision. Malfoy cares strictly about himself and his mother. The end. He’s deadly on the field, but he just as soon would be on the other side of it. Sometimes she shudders to think what it would have been like in another world to have to face off against Malfoy in battle.
He’s clever. Strategic.
Honestly, not a soul would hear this from her, but he’s better at it than Harry. Even more frankly, Harry knows it and utilises it. He utilises Malfoy. He hears his advice on things often, and even more often he follows it. Ron’s tantrums in such matters have been legendary. Harry has allowed Malfoy a small, tight leash but tonight he’s loosened it, sending him off with Hermione because he trusts her to bring him to heel.
Malfoy is the Order’s dog. She wonders if he realises it.
After a long silence in which he hasn't answered her, he finally expels a sharp, irritated breath. “You are too. So are Potter, and Weasley. Defensive maneuvers left the table with Tonks. Why are you three bloody saints and I’m the devil?”
Hermione refuses to wince at Tonks’ name and shakes her head. “We don’t want to kill. We're forced to.”
“Goodness, Granger, hypocrisy is fetching on you.”
Whirling on him, she jabs the forefinger of her empty left hand into his chest. Her beaded bag lifts lightly under the air current and thumps back down against her hip as she does so, a faint rattle to be heard. That'll be the potions. This annoys her further, spurring her viciousness. “You are not forced to take pleasure in the pain you inflict on others! You are not forced to be depraved!”
Malfoy snatches her wrist with the hand not clasping his wand, ceasing her jabbing. Her breath hitches as he stands to his full height, bending over her with such force she has to bend herself backward to accommodate.
“You are a self-righteous little bitch,” he snarls in her face.
“And you are a nasty little bully who took what he learned picking on kids in school to war! Do you know how to be anything other than an utter bastard, Malfoy?!” She demands.
He still hasn’t released her wrist, and he uses it to drag her against his body, pressing them flush and his words directly into her face. “Some of us just live our truth, Granger. We don’t pretend that what we’re doing is for the greater good. Some of us bastards know exactly who we are.”
“Oh, don’t we all,” she growls back at him, jabbing her wand into his hip, the only place it reaches. “You may have grown a few inches, Malfoy but you certainly haven’t grown any bollocks!”
For the longest moment, he stares at her, even with her wand poking into him, his eyes darting between hers. Intent. Hermione flushes under such an attack. Then they hear the unmistakable crack of Apparating. Two-fold. Before she blinks, Malfoy thrusts her into the corner of the wall. Her wand drops at her feet, clattering. She winces, hoping it wasn't heard as she attempts to bend and retrieve it.
Before she can manage it, Malfoy flattens her. Hot anger swamps her chest, and she spitefully elbows him in the ribs, not daring to speak but trying to communicate that she’s now defenseless. He doesn’t even grunt, not seeming to notice, or care, being as his hand is busy slashing his wand through the air. As he mutters under his breath, she recognises disillusionment and repelling charms.
A thin mist begins to slither out the end of his wand and shroud them against the corner of the wall, a stone pillar helping to block them from view. She rolls her boot over her wand, trying to pull it into the corner with her before it rolls out of the width of the charms and gives them away. Malfoy backs her deeper into the corner, nearly causing her to step too hard and break it.
She grits her teeth in frustration as his continuous herding of her person forces her back. Her spine digs tightly into the rough-hewn walls, pinching her skin through her thin jacket. She grumbles under her breath, twisting and digging her elbows into his back, which is pressing against her chest. She can’t look down, her head too crushed between the wall and his shoulders.
Having no idea where her wand is and too apprehensive to try and find it with her foot, she has to pray that neither one of them snap it by accident. Though between it getting broken or rolling out into the hands of Death Eaters, she’s not sure which scenario is worse. Both ideas make her feel incredibly ill.
Malfoy pays no mind to her bodily struggling behind him or her internal conundrum for that matter. His arms are spread out, wand raised, completely blocking her line of sight while he crushes her. Huffing away a curl that falls out of her hair tie, she digs into him with more aggression, and he finally has enough, jamming his elbow back into her.
Because of their height difference, he catches her in the sternum, winding her. Oh, that slimy git. She’s going to kill him. She shoves him as she catches her harshly expelled breath; he bodily slams her back, and it spirals into a silent fight despite the threat of being seen. Honestly. He’s so bloody ridiculous.
A deep, male voice breaks the silence and ends their tussling. “Right mate, let’s make this quick, shall we? I’ve got a blonde with perky tits waiting for me.”
Malfoy immediately goes tense, and she tries to twist her head around his shoulder to catch sight of his expression. She manages to worm some space between them, taking in air that isn’t penetrated by the scent of Malfoy. No sooner does she get a lungful before he sweeps his long arm back, slamming her once more into the wall and knocking the wind from her. Again. Oh, she is really going to kill him. The only reason she holds onto these plans is that she realises there’s been no response to the earlier voice, leaving Hermione unable to identify if the owner is talking to himself.
“Honestly, you should see the rack on her! Best tits I’ve seen since my first ever pair I reckon. Do you remember your first pair, Zabini? Wait, have you ever seen a pair, Blaise? Oh, you poor fucker. You have no idea what you’re missing out on.”
A low growl of warning drifts alarmingly close and Hermione can now hear footsteps coming nearer to hers and Malfoy’s hiding spot. “Do cease your nattering, Theo. It gets tiring after an age.”
She can’t see his face, but she’s entirely sure Malfoy recognises the speakers. She thinks she has a faint recollection of the names, but anyone Malfoy knows would be a Slytherin, and she doesn’t know very many of them by anything other than their face. Malfoy always did like to travel in a pack.
This silly reminder of their school days has her jabbing her elbows into him again, despite their vulnerable position. He seems to tire of this because he snatches both her wrists, bringing them around his waist so her face is forced to press between his shoulder blades. Gaping in outrage, she has to resist biting him when he clenches both wrists in one hand.
If it wasn’t for two figures walking into their line of sight at that very moment, she would pursue her intentions but instead, she goes rock still. Malfoy does too, both of them are like blocks of ice stuck together. Hermione still can’t see them, Malfoy being too buggering tall, but she can see their shadows against the wall from the glowing tip of one of their wands.
“You never appreciate me,” Theo mutters petulantly from somewhere and then sighs. “Well, come on then! Soon as we’ve searched the place, sooner we can bloody well leave.”
They do search the place. Thoroughly. Walking up and down the tunnels, triple-checking. Someone stops dead in front of them again on the last run. She can tell by the way Malfoy ceases breathing and very quickly, just once, squeezes her wrists where they’re captured in his hand. Despite the tense situation, Hermione’s more peeved that he’s squeezing so hard.
The bones in her wrists start to grind together painfully and she grits her teeth, trying to ignore it. Finally, the person moves on. The pair of Death Eaters do one more loop through the tunnels and then there’s the sharp crack of Apparition, one following the other.
Hermione immediately bites Malfoy’s spine where her face is squished. He’s wearing a coat, so she doubts he feels it much, but he still jerks and hisses, releasing her wrists in surprise.
When they’re free, she aims a punch and, in his turn to face her, it lands against his shoulder. “You may have broken my wrists and bruised my spine you great, lumbering twat!”
Malfoys eyes burn vividly as he stares at her in the semi-darkness. “A few bruises would have been the least of your worries if they’d found us!” He barks. “Are you truly the brightest witch of our age? Because you’re acting like a dense cunt!”
Her hand flies out, forming another punch, and connects with his jaw so sharply it reverberates up her arm, and right into the backs of her teeth. “I’ll show you what a cunt I am if you ever speak to me like that again.”
Turning his head, a trickle of blood from his lip dribbles unchecked down his chin as Malfoy looks her in the eyes. “What’s the matter, Granger? Prefer your other special little nickname?”
Baring her teeth, she whispers with barely repressed rage, “Please do go on. I’m sure it’ll complete the role of your father you’re quickly stepping into. Even growing your hair out like dear old Lucius. Daddy’s boy even in death, Draco?”
The diversion from his surname seems to make him flinch more than any other part of her insult. He rears back as if struck, almost stumbling over his own feet before his face twists into a sneer and he changes course, slamming the flats of his palms against the wall on either side of her head.
“What on earth are you doing?!” She fumes, even as a faint splinter of his wand connecting with the wall underlays her words.
Before he can answer, sparks shoot from the fissure and land against Hermione’s collarbone, scorching her very briefly. Malfoy seems to care even less about her injury than potentially breaking his wand. He’s far too busy staring at her, pressing himself closer into her space. The rocky formation surely cuts into the tender flesh of his hands, but if it does, he doesn’t show it.
Intimately close, his heaving chest brushes against her own. “For the record, Granger, my father would have taken this opportunity to blow your ribs wide open.”
“You’re very welcome to try,” she hisses, planting her hands on his chest and shoving, being as she’s wandless. “But if you don’t have the balls, then back off!”
A smirk decorates his mouth as he glances down at her hands pushing at him as if it's unbelievably amusing. An indignant flush spreads throughout Hermione’s chest and she redoubles her efforts, bringing her knee up to try and get him between the legs. Malfoy’s hand springs to capture it, lifting away from the wall and dropping his wand.
It clatters to the floor and rolls away to parts unknown, perhaps joining hers. It’s a matter he seems to pay no mind to. Instead, his long fingers, warmer than she expects, wrap quickly around her calf, just below the knee, and rather tightly at that. It effectively halts her attack so that her knee wedges into his lower stomach, digging into the space just below his ribs.
His other hand grips her chin in a bruising, tight pinch, forcing a gasp of outrage between her lips. Jerking, she tries to rip both her face and knee free, her heart fluttering at his sharp eyes and even sharper cheekbones. An amused smirk paints his mouth as he watches her struggle like a fly caught in a web.
Malfoy leans in even closer, despite this shoving her knee deeper into his stomach. “Or what?” He threatens in a soft whisper, an ice-cold breath frosting over her face and stirring her stray curl.
Rearing her head forward, their lips almost brushing with the movement, Hermione puts all her force and rage into a headbutt to knock him back. As her head lifts from the wall, his hand releases her knee and reaches for the nape of her neck, curling around, and gripping it. On instinct, her leg falls back to the floor, her foot thudding on the concrete.
Her head tilts up and he uses this movement to crash their lips together. The built-up brutality smashes into the kiss, cutting her teeth across his lower lip. Copper floods into her mouth alongside the taste of him, frost-bitten air and mint, tearing through her mouth. Biting down on his lip, she cuts it wider for the mere fact that he dared to kiss her, but also just to be spiteful.
They may hate each other but she’s a clever girl. She knows there’s a fine line, and while love may not be on the cards, passion is hateful. Passion is also prevalent in every move between them. Their hands are eager, their mouths feral. His fingers release her chin and bury them into her hair so that her hair tie slides right out.
The hand squeezing the nape of her neck rides up and joins his other so that both are lost in her mass of curls. His fingers dig into her scalp and hers grip his shirt through the parting of his coat. They’re increasingly aggressive with each other, their nails vicious and their mouths even more so.
Malfoy’s left-hand slips out of her hair and down the back of her neck, squeezing and kneading as he angles her mouth the way he wants, his thumb digging into her jaw and his tongue between her lips. Hermione battles with it, refusing to make the claim easy for him. He chuckles darkly against her mouth and her heart thuds in her chest. She hates how exciting this is.
How taking her aggression out on him and between their bodies, makes her knees weak. Both of his hands slide over her shoulders and down her collarbones, his long fingers dipping under and shoving her jacket back. Gravity forces it to slip down to her elbows, trapping her arms.
Refusing to be bound under him, she shucks it off. It hits the floor with a dull thud, and the rocks behind her cut deeper without the layer of protection. In only a t-shirt, Malfoy pulls away from their kiss, staring down at her with flushed cheeks and swollen lips. She stares back up at him, panting. She imagines her lips looking just as puffy.
As he watches her, he trails his fingers over her bared chest, courtesy of the low cut, the tips dipping past the hem. Swallowing, she wars with the decision to let him or not. He seems to be waiting for her reaction, but she hasn’t decided on one yet. The largest part of her doesn’t want it to be Malfoy who she lets touch her for the first time in so long.
She doesn’t want to be the one he leaks all of his dark energy into, but the taboo element is exciting, and she can’t deny it. Not even to herself. Her tongue flicks out over her lips to wet them, tasting both his signature iciness and his blood. His infuriating smirk returns as he leans down, pressing his warm, kiss-swollen lips to the tender flesh of her collarbones where his wand sparks previously singed her.
Both of her hands nestle into his hair, yanking at the roots to mirror her own dull pain, even as she hisses between her teeth. Perhaps because it's an illusion of fighting, her strength doesn’t rear his head back as intended. Instead, he digs it into her flesh deeper, his kisses firm and open-mouthed, bottom lip dragging sinfully over her skin.
Despite herself, Hermione moans as tingles spread down her arms. Goosebumps raise and his right-hand moves to rub over them, flowing from the underside of her upper arm, over her bent elbow, and all the way up to her fingers buried in his hair. It could almost be considered tender if she wasn’t aware that everything Malfoy does is with purpose.
He probably guesses correctly that she hasn’t been touched in a while. Truthfully, this is only the second time in her life she's been with a man, having lost her virginity at the start of the year. Another reason that she shouldn't be letting Malfoy touch her, least of all so nastily, but she'll be damned if she allows him to realise how inexperienced she is.
Each touch he bestows on her is incredibly overwhelming. Most likely the conniving bastard wants to overstimulate her and push her into a space of bewildered frenzy until she admits defeat and stops this insane idea in its tracks. Especially with the way his left-hand grips her hip tight enough to bruise through her jeans, fingers digging into her curves through the denim.
Well, that just won’t do and so she must even the playing fields. Her right-hand slides out of his hair, forcing his own to fall to her other hip as he continues his kisses. Left hand staying in place, she curls it tighter into his scalp, nails biting as her right runs down his chest, fingers splaying over the buttons. He jerks only when she reaches his stomach and slips beneath the edges of his shirt, fingers pressing to the warm skin there.
Abs twitching beneath her fingertips, he bites down on her right breast. Hermione hisses, her thighs clenching and her hand pausing as he uses his teeth to pull down the edge of her t-shirt. With more access to her skin, his kisses alternate into bites across her bared flesh. Her nails hook into his stomach, forcing another jerk out of him and he growls into her breast, pressing his body flush to hers.
This traps her hand tightly between their stomachs and she huffs in frustration, shoving at him. Refusing to budge, the grip on her hips tightens and Malfoy ensures his thumbs slip into either side of Hermione’s jeans. Sneaky bastard. Wiggling both of her hands until they're free, she grips his shirt and tears in retaliation to his resistance.
Before he can react, she slides her hands up his chest and under the fabric covering his shoulders, shucking his coat and shirt in one.
Malfoy chuckles again, the vibrations pleasant against her flesh and colored with darkness. “You’re going to regret that.”
She raises her hands to cup either side of his cheeks and force his head up, meeting his eye. “I sincerely doubt it.”
Smirking, he yanks on the sides of her jeans. They’re not overly tight, but the force of his tugging without undoing the button first stretches and then tears the waist.
Hermione’s eyes widen in rage. “What in Godric’s name, Malfoy?! I swear if you have ruined-”
“Do you ever stop talking, Granger? Your voice just harpers on and-”
“-These jeans, I will hex you into oblivion so th-”
“-on, it just never ends-”
“-at your grandchildren will-”
“Oh, bloody hell!” He cries before he slams his mouth to hers again.
Effectively shutting her up, he bites her lip sharp and nasty. She bites his back immediately, butterflies swimming behind her ribcage as the state of her jeans is forgotten. That is until the torn waistband gives way and Malfoy successfully yanks them down her legs. Cool air brushes her skin, forcing her to shudder against him. Their mouths break apart, and her eyes open in time to see him gracefully folding to his knees. Hermione gasps, her pulse pounding. She expects agonising teasing. Malfoy is nothing if not reliant on being cruel.
He flicks the beaded bag at her hip. "Get rid of this. Keeps getting in the bloody way."
Trying not to appear too eager, she takes her sweet time lifting it over her head and dropping it to the floor, despite the way it clatters.
When she looks at him again, he waits for a beat before slipping his fingers into the side of her knickers and yanking them out of his way, promptly burying his face between her legs.
Choking, she gasps out, “You have absolutely no finesse! You-” She chokes again when his tongue swipes over her clit.
“Yes?” His cocky reply vibrates through her core and into the space beneath her ribs. “Care to finish your sentence, brightest witch of our age?”
“You- you’re- you’re a bloody animal!” She cries as he licks intently at her. “You’re supposed to work… you’re not supposed to just dive in!”
Malfoy licks even harder, ignoring her and lapping away for several toe-curling seconds before answering. “I can show you an animal, Granger.”
Whimpering, she buries her fingers in his hair and pulls. “Slow down.” She wants to say please but can’t push it past her lips. “I’m sensitive, Malfoy.”
Despite his usually spiteful nature, he does slow down. His intent, harsh licks move away from ferocious lashing to light, wet taps. Hermione’s knees quiver and his right-hand slides down the outside of her thigh, fingers stroking and almost comforting. Her eyes squeeze closed, her fingers softening in his hair as she loses herself to the gentle, heart-clenching rhythm.
Desperate, pleading sounds pour from her lips unchecked as he brings her closer to the edge of her orgasm. Both of his hands slide over her bare thighs, fingers dancing over her flesh. His sharp nose brushes against her pubic hair every so often, encouraging her pleasure to a point of frenzy.
Just when tremors start up in her ankles and travel through her knees to her hips, Malfoy promptly stands. Her eyes snap open at the abrupt severing of pleasure and she glares at him, even with her jeans at her ankles and so exposed. He merely smirks at her, his mouth smeared with her juices.
He paints an erotic picture, distracting her enough with it that he manages to grip her shoulders without so much as a protest from her lips. He spins her around quickly, his hands cradling her shoulder bones. Even with his effort, Hermione nearly trips over her own feet and hastily catches herself against the rock. Her palms sting and she winces under her breath.
Disregarding this, he takes her hips and yanks them backward, connecting with his groin and emitting a groan from deep in his throat. The clink of his belt punctures the air, the leather of it slapping her arse as he hastily undoes it.
“Gods, your hair is positively awful from the back.”
“Well, I have to say my view has vastly improved in the front,” she quips, voice steady despite her trembling thighs and vulnerable position.
“Well, since you love the view so much.” He grips her by the back of her neck and shoves her face into the wall harshly, her cheekbone scraping against the rough surface.
“You arse!” She screeches, though garbled, pushing back against the weight of his hand.
He doesn’t respond, the only answer being the rustle of his trousers. Her excitement heightens with the anticipation, and she scowls. She can’t believe the position she’s in with Draco bloody Malfoy of all people.
She lets her agitation be known. “You know I don’t need it to be you so if you want to keep taking your sweet time, Malfoy, you can just stop now-”
Hermione’s rant cuts off with a sharp gasp as he impales her on himself, spreading her open in one quick, harsh thrust that makes her stomach flip.
“You were saying?” Malfoy taunts, voice only slightly breathless as he clenches her hips beneath his hands.
Unhappy with the imbalance in power, and with how unaffected he’s pretending to be, Hermione clenches her inner muscles around him where he’s buried deliberately.
Malfoy sucks in a sharp breath. “You evil little witch,” he seethes quietly. “Even your cunt is spiteful.”
Despite her face being ground into the wall, she smirks and pushes her hips back. She’s allowed it to escalate this far, she may as well get what she wants. Because she does want it. This. Him. Whatever on earth they’re doing here. Her legs are trembling, her chest is heaving, and her fingers tingling. She wants him. Gods help her.
“Do you ever stop talking?” She asks sweetly, mocking his earlier words.
Growling, his hand holding her face down moves into the hair at the base of her skull and yanks her head back, pulling it sharply away from the wall. In the next breath, he withdraws and slams back into her, bringing Hermione up onto her toes with a sharp cry. She meets him thrust for thrust, refusing to be the pliant doll he uses.
If he’s going to take from her body, then she’s going to take right back. He promised her an animal, and his vigorous thrusts, paired with his groans are delivering. Her moans and growls fill the air, the smell of sex alongside them. Wet slapping punctures the in-between space, unbearably erotic.
“It’s about time I bent you over and fucked the attitude out of you, Granger,” he breathes into her ear, hunching over her.
Slamming her hips back, she twists her head, so her face nuzzles under his jaw. “You talk far too much.” Then she bites him spitefully.
Jaw flexing against her temple, he hisses, “And you’re not screaming enough.”
The pace picks up and she can no longer meet his thrusts, trapped instead against the wall and forced to take the brutality of his hips meeting her arse. The moans in her throat strangle her, her face hot and throbbing as much as her core. Pinned under Malfoy is a lot more exciting than she ever thought it would be, but not more so than his desperate moans.
The rough texture of the wall grates across her nipples, even through her t-shirt and bra, sending her spiraling even further. The juxtaposition of sensations at her front and back is excruciatingly arousing. Her nails scrabble against the wall, grinding them down with the pressure. The hand on her hip raises to splay over her left one against the wall, entwining their fingers.
It’s unexpected but she closes her fingers tightly in his, allowing the connection as the skin of their fingers is scraped raw together. Hurting together. Pleasuring each other. Hermione’s head is swimming and the band in her lower stomach pulls tight. Her mouth opens where it’s still buried under Malfoy’s throat, and she releases a scream she can no longer hold back.
Words, whatever they intend to be, threaten to tumble from her mouth unchecked as the band snaps and her orgasm burns through her veins, but she grits her teeth against them. The barrier doesn’t halt her cries of satisfaction and it's this that she believes derails Malfoy’s thrusts, turning them shallow and long, dragging against her front wall.
Shuddering, she keeps her hot face upturned under his chin, hiding there as his throat works, perhaps trying to slow the moans that stutter out of his mouth. With one last strangled growl and shallow thrust, he presses deeply into her and holds, heat spilling deep inside. Hermione’s chest rattles and her cunt is throbbing as it accepts his parting gift.
Malfoy finally stills and the world seems to rush back into context with a whomp-whomp as if the space around them is opening back up. As the seconds tick on, Hermione’s bliss seeps away and allows room for vulnerability, and if she’s being honest with herself, the feeling of being used.
Taking a deep breath, she moves her face away from his neck, allowing cold air in. A shiver dances down her spine as she peels herself away from him. The warmth of his body recedes as he pulls away from her too, sensing her intention and he silently slides from her wet depths. Her cheeks heat when a splash sounds from the movement, but she refuses to look down to see the evidence.
Successfully untangled, she clears her throat and reaches for her jeans, quickly pulling them and her knickers back up, despite being soaked. Still facing the wall and not looking at him, she next gathers her bag and jacket and pulls them back on.
That done, she reaches up and pats down her unruly hair, trying to pull her fingers through it in order to make it comply while she mentally gathers her wits about her. She continues to avoid gazing at Malfoy as she casts her eyes over the floor for her wand.
It did end up next to his. Bloody buggering hell. She snatches it off the floor and rights herself. Finally, having braced herself, she turns to look at him, startling to find him dressed, shirt repaired, and watching her. When they make eye contact, he doesn’t look away at being caught. The intimacy of the moment steals the breath she’s only just getting back.
Flushing, she hurries to pierce the silence. “Well, I suppose we best get the job finished before the others come looking for us.”
“I suppose,” he answers slowly, almost carefully.
They continue to stare at each other and after neither of them speaks for a great many heartbeats, he blows out a mocking version of an amused breath and shakes his head. Hermione tries not to frown, not sure what he's expecting her to say. She hates it when she doesn’t understand something. He walks to where his wand is lying and bends to retrieve it.
“Lead the way.” This is all he says when he’s upright and facing her again.
“Right.” She clears her throat. “Right,” she repeats, still slightly flustered and unhelpfully throbbing. “This way then.”
Pacing ahead, Malfoy stays at her back and her skin prickles with the keen awareness that he’s watching her all the way. She wonders what he’s thinking about, and how they act like this never happened. She wonders if he’s thinking the same thing as her, both of their thoughts on his semen steadily dripping out of her and threatening to dampen right through to her jeans.
Merlin, please don’t allow that to happen, she prays silently. If he was to say something about the sight, she’s not entirely sure if she would hex him or shag him again.