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Draco Malfoy was running again.

Though the term ‘running’ implied some sport to the movement so, in actuality, what Draco was doing was more akin to fleeing. He was fleeing again.

It had been a while since he’d found that to be a necessary response to a situation.

Terming Draco’s summer ‘peaceful’ might have been a stretch, but it had at least been mercifully devoid of the need to flee. House arrest wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it was an agreeably sedentary pastime. He never thought he would be longing for the comfortable restrictions of the manor’s four walls—well, no, many more than four—but, as his feet pounded the stone of Hogwarts’ seventh floor, he wanted nothing more than to be back confined to his ancestral home with only his mother and the elves for company.

At least the elves didn’t chase him. Neither did his mother, for that matter.

Damn Kingsley Shacklebolt for this mandated eighth year.

“Quick! Don’t let him get away!”

The yell from behind him spurred Draco into an additional burst of speed that he didn’t know he had. He pushed himself until his lungs began to burn, robes flapping treacherously around his legs, threatening a fall. His school bag had started to slip from his shoulder, and he caught it as the strap dropped to the crook of his elbow, the sudden shift in weight temporarily unbalancing him. He stumbled into a tapestry, bouncing off the unforgiving wall behind it, and was struggling through the swerve of unsteady strides when a racket ahead of him gave him pause.

“Death Eater scum! We’ve got him surrounded now.”

Draco froze.

Between the blood thumping in his ears, and the heavy banging of his heart against his ribcage, he barely heard the clamour of footsteps that now closed in on him from both sides. They were there, though; a low rumble encircling him, holding him in place by sheer force of sound and apprehension. He took two steps forward, faltered, and backtracked.

“You can’t get away, Malfoy! There’s nowhere to hide.”

What followed was a cacophony of snickering, a childish chorus of mirth that got louder with every one of Draco’s panicked breaths. Nowhere to hide was right; he didn’t even know where in the castle he was. He’d been driven, by terrified feet and a carefully honed survival instinct, as soon as the baying mob had set their sights on him in the Great Hall. He’d climbed stairs, sprinted along corridors, and somehow ended up… here.

Wherever here was.

Somewhere to hide, he pleaded, wordlessly. I need somewhere to hide. Somewhere to hide.

Another two cautious steps forward.

That door hadn’t been there before…

He allowed himself only the briefest moment to register the woven ballerina trolls on the opposite wall, before silently chastising his own idiocy and shouldering his way through the door.

Expecting to find himself in unpleasantly familiar territory, Draco was initially taken aback by the immediate darkness. Anxiety clawed at his clammy skin, clasping its cold hands around his throat, as he prepared to face down the singed memories of a recent time in this place. The blackness was indicative of its persisting destruction, he assumed. Despite the repair efforts, parts of the castle had resisted. It made sense, therefore, that a room torn apart by fiendfyre had retained its damage.

But there was no lingering smell of char, no remnants of ash. No scorch marks on the walls or floor. Instead, as Draco’s eyes adjusted, he picked out the faint, sputtering gleam of beckoning candlelight somewhere nearby.

Curiosity fuelled, he followed it.

The noises reached him before the view did; soft, breathy little moans that drifted through steeped air and prickled his flesh. Their cadence was regular, soothing. Something inviting about the pace they set had Draco’s feet shuffling further forward of their own volition. A reflex told him to tread quietly, and he begged a hush from the thudding of his frantic pulse. His bag still dragged across the ground, so he wriggled its strap free from the pinch of his elbow joint and left the thing behind.

He ran a shaky hand through his white-blonde tresses and stepped into the muted glow of the candles. It was then that he saw her…

Hermione Granger was sprawled out over a luxurious four-poster bed, in nothing but her underwear. Her loose, honeyed brown curls were a halo around her flushed face, a shimmering cascade against the plush pillows. Her eyes were scrunched shut, her brow furrowed, and her forehead glistened with a sheen of sweat. She scraped her teeth across her plump bottom lip, before letting her mouth gape as she exhaled another velvet moan.

Draco stopped. He stared.

His silver eyes tracked the sweep of her body; limbs locked into sharp angles and twisted in the sheets, even as every other part of her curved. Her feet were crossed at the ankles, but her knees were bent and rested as far from each other as was humanly possible. Her elbows were pinned at either side of her waist, but her forearms snaked together, over her stomach, and intersected at her wrists. Draco couldn’t see much of her hands as they were both tucked into the fabric of her knickers. The knickers that he could see very clearly, due to the generous spread of her golden legs.

Merlin.

Another moan—this one louder than the others—and the motion of her hands changed its rhythm. They appeared, to Draco, to scrabble. To twitch and squirm under the cover of cotton. Her knuckles pressed imprints out through the taut material as her fingers worked. Quickly, now. Almost desperately.

The quivering of her thighs had Draco so transfixed that he didn’t hear himself squeak—an altogether embarrassing exclamation, to be sure—and had no idea he’d done so until Granger’s eyelids snapped open and her gaze pierced him.

As he battled between shying away and holding her bold stare, Draco’s only solace was that she wasn’t looking at the incriminating bulge in his trousers. He surreptitiously closed the front of his robes and cleared his throat, bracing himself for Granger’s inevitable wrath. Whatever he’d accidentally walked in on, it was obviously private.

She sat up on the bed, her expression pinched, and hazel eyes narrowed. She withdrew her hands from her knickers and, with them, something large, purple, and vaguely phallic in shape. It dwarfed her tiny fist as she clutched it to her bare thigh, its glossy coating dripping down her sun-kissed skin. For one ignorant moment, Draco wondered where she’d been concealing the thing…

Oh.

He audibly gulped.

Granger’s mane was a veritable cloud of frizz around her face, and spots of deep pink illuminated her cheeks. They drew Draco’s gaze like a beacon. He could feel his own face heating and knew, without having to look, that his pale skin was a splotchy red testament to his discomfort. From collarbone to forehead, he blushed.

Granger observed him with her head cocked to one side. “Huh. Interesting choice,” she mused.

The rapidly-imposed fortifications, that Draco had built to guard from her expected rage, wavered in the face of her calm tone. “Excuse me?”

She left her purple toy on the sheets and slid from the bed, padding over to where he stood at the border between darkness and candlelight. Now that she was closer, Draco found himself instinctively averting his eyes from her naked flesh, focusing instead on the mass of hair which, at its highest point, came level with his chin. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he shifted his weight across his feet.

“You’ve never sent me a real one before. What are you up to?” Granger ogled Draco up and down, her voice—having lost its former airy quality—reverting to its characteristic inquisitive manner.

“Granger,” Draco just managed to choke out. “Who are you talking to?”

“You—”

“Me?”

“—the room. It’s all the same.” She waved a flippant hand at the space around them, swivelling on the balls of her feet as she peered from side to side. “Still why you think I’d want a manifestation of Malfoy—”

“Manifestation?”

Granger began to circle him, and Draco spun on the spot to follow her progress, his gaze locked on the top of her head.

“—I suppose there’s no denying he’s attractive, in his way…” she pondered, pausing to lean into a tilt of the hips, and getting a closer look at Draco’s rear as she did so.

Draco turned his whole body to face her again, self-consciously covering his buttocks with hands tucked under his robe.

“Granger, I—Wait… You think I’m attractive?”

When she finally met his eyes again, hers were squinting. “Hmm… Your characterisation’s a little off, room,” she muttered, then tapped a finger against pursed lips and shook her head. “Malfoy is too full of himself to be questioning that. He thinks he’s god’s gift.”

“Now, hang on a minute—” Draco all but spluttered, but Granger held up an open palm to interject.

“As far as real people go, he wouldn’t have been my preferred option. But I guess you know what I need…” She sighed heavily and then brought her hands together with a resounding clap. Draco flinched. “Alright, Malfoy. Pants off.”

“Wh—Pants…? What?!”

Draco’s brain malfunctioned and, before any sort of conscious thought, he took two unwitting steps in Granger’s direction as she sauntered back towards the bed.

“Don’t take all day about it,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ve got double potions after lunch.”

Whatever enchantment Granger apparently had him under broke as reality reasserted itself.

“I’ve got double potions after lunch!” Draco snapped, and she turned to him with arms folded over her chest. “I’m in that class too, Granger. Quit talking about me like I’m not even here!”

“But you’re not really here,” she shrugged, her slender shoulders briefly grazing her jaw. “Though, it’s a valid point. I’ll see the real Malfoy in potions. Is that going to be awkward if I fuck this facsimile?”

Draco descended into outright stammering. “You… I… Facs—Fuck, what?” He dragged a hand down his face. “I am the real Malfoy! You’ll see me in potions!”

He prodded a finger into his own chest, a sneer distorting his features, but Granger only sniggered.

"Okay, room. I think you’re taking this roleplay a little too far,” she admonished in a sing-song voice. “I don’t need a backstory as to why he’s here.”

Stalking over to her, with an arrogance he only slightly felt ready to embody, Draco spat, “I’m here because I was being chased by a group of cretinous Gryffindor fifth years who were out for blood. My blood specifically.” He crowded her, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his blazing steel eyes. “And where is our oh-so-benevolent Head Girl whilst the children of her house run amok?”

Leaning to peer around her, Draco regarded the rumpled bed sheets and indicting purple object. He smirked, then straightened up to tower over her again. “Evidently getting herself off with some poor substitute for a real dick.”

Draco anticipated the backlash. He was prepared for her mortification, for her uppity retort. He even primed himself for physical assault—very likely, considering Granger’s previous. What he didn’t plan for, however, was for her warm eyes to widen and the corners of her mouth to lift into a broad grin.

It irritated him more than it should have.

“Is this some sort of punishment fantasy?” The sparkle in her voice was unnerving. “Or degradation? Because I—”

He clapped a large hand over her mouth. “Granger. Shut up,” he hissed.

Her gaze flickered down to his palm—smashed against her lips—and then back to his own dangerous, smoky eyes. She gulped, and her muffled words tickled his skin. “Or warber dan de ubbers.”

“What?” He snatched his hand back.

Touching a tentative finger to her bottom lip, Granger cleared her throat. “You’re warmer than the others,” she repeated.

Draco’s face crumpled into a scowl. “Just how many guys have you brought here, Granger?”

“I don’t bring them,” she scoffed. “The room takes care of that.”

Draco’s laugh was hollow. “My mistake,” he drawled. “So, just how many unsuspecting men have you trapped in here, Head Girl?”

“Trapped?” she squawked, with a roll of her eyes. An exasperated sigh puffed from her lips. “They’re not real! You’re not real!”

“I’m bloody fucking real, Granger!” fumed Draco, fists clenched at his sides. “How many times do I have to—?”

Granger vigorously shook her head. “You’re not. You’re not!” she protested, practically bouncing on her toes. “The room just generates what I need. Usually, it’s an imaginary person. Never somebody I actually know. I’m not sure why it thought I needed you, but—”

“Well, obviously some part of you wants to get ruthlessly railed by me rather than having to work yourself over with that purple monstrosity.” Draco jerked his chin in the general direction of the abandoned toy and then let his gaze roam over her form and down to her knickers. He licked his lips. “And I think I know which part.”

There was a moment of silence before her stuttering began.

“I… I…”

“You, you what?” he mocked.

Granger swallowed. “I don’t—I’m not interested in Malfoy like that.”

“Me, Granger,” Draco corrected. “That’s me you’re claiming to be uninterested in. But you told me to get my pants off not five minutes ago, so I think we can dispense with your little fictions.”

Gritting her teeth, she took a step back from him. “Okay, well this has stopped being even remotely fun. So, if you don’t mind vanishing back into the ether of the room, I’ll take care of this myself.” With a dismissive flick of the hand, she turned away from him and hopped back up on to the bed.

“Merlin, you’re really threatening your swotty reputation,” he scolded. “You don’t seem to be getting this at all. I’m going to say it again. Slowly, so you follow… I’m not part of the room. I’m real. I came in through the door.”

Granger’s face fell a little as she considered him, one hand splayed across his chest and brows lifted to his platinum fringe. “No. No, you can’t possibly,” she muttered. “Nothing can get through that door while I’m… While the room’s…”

“I dunno what to tell you, not-so-brightest-witch-of-her-age,” taunted Draco. He backed up a few steps to drop himself into a squashy armchair, swinging his long legs up on to a nearby ottoman and folding his hands behind his head. “But me and this room, we’ve got history. No way was it barring me entry when I was in need. Of course, I expected to find myself in the room of hidden things, but this one here is much more…”—he raked his gaze up and down her body—“welcoming.”

Granger tensed. She crossed her arms over her chest but was otherwise still.

“So, you… You’re… So, you really…?” Her eyes rounded, nostrils flared, and jaw fell open. “Oh, god,” she whispered. “You’re real. This is real.”

As Draco cackled, Granger dived for the blankets and pulled them up as high as her chin. “Nope, can’t be happening,” she mumbled. “This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening alright,” Draco wheezed, wiping an amused tear from the corner of one eye. “What’s the matter, Granger? Suddenly feeling a little exposed?”

She tugged the covers even higher, so they were up over her mouth, somewhat stifling her words. Still, she spoke forcefully enough that Draco heard her, despite the quake in her voice. “You need to leave,” she commanded feebly. Then, with even less certainty, “I don’t suppose I can convince you to keep this to yourself?”

Draco drummed fingers against his chin. “Hmm. Doesn’t sound like there’s much in it for me.”

Glowering, Granger seethed, “what is it that you want?”

“You could beg me.”

She rolled her jaw and issued a plea through clenched teeth. “Please, Malfoy. Please don’t tell anyone about—”

“I meant beg me to fuck you.”

A hush fell over the room—like all the air had been sucked from it—broken only by the subtle crackling of candle flames. Draco could feel, rather than hear, his own heart beating. Then, there was a sharp intake of breath from Granger, and she lowered the blanket away from her face.

“I’m sorry?” she croaked.

Draco didn’t miss a beat.

“Apology accepted. Rather rude of you to assume that I’d be good to go without any foreplay, but I’d be tempted to reconsider your indelicate proposition of ‘pants off’ if you get on your knees for me first.”

His brows knit together whilst one side of his mouth curled his face into a half-smile. Granger’s response was to gawp at him.

“Malfoy, this isn’t—I don’t want—”

Draco was up and had crossed to the bed in a few long strides. He settled on the edge of the mattress, and Granger clung tighter to the covers around her chest.

“You’d prefer I left you to utilise that self-pleasuring phallus?” he quipped.

“I’d prefer—Wait, what did you just call it?”

“It’s a mockery of a cock, Granger.” Draco was unsuccessful in eliminating the huff from his statement.

“A mockery of—” she began, before an onslaught of giggles racked her body. The mattress shook with the echoes of her mirth.

Draco arched one brow. “I don’t see what’s so fu—”

“Do you even hear yourself?” she shrieked. “‘A mockery of a cock’? Oh, that’s precious.” The gleeful tremors, which coursed through her, diverted her attention from her inhibitions, and she didn’t seem to notice when the blanket slipped from her grasp. It gathered in her lap and left her torso on display.

Draco tried not to watch as her breasts jiggled.

“It is not precious!” he pouted.

“You talk big for someone who can’t even say ‘dildo’,” goaded Granger, and she picked the thing up and waved it garishly in his face.

Draco grabbed her wrist. “Stop. That.”

“All this about having me beg… I don’t think you’ve got it in you, Malfoy.” She swapped the toy to her other hand and poked his arm with it. He swatted her away.

“Brandish that at me again, Granger,” he snarled, “and I’ll make you eat it.”

“You don’t have to make me do that.”

And she sucked the whole thing into her mouth.

Draco’s eyes blew wide, his pupils dilating such that his irises were little more than a slim silver ring, battling to contain a pool of black.

“Fuck.” It was an involuntary exhalation.

She held his gaze as her cheeks hollowed, some of the cockiness immediately draining from her face as she took in his expression; almost reverent as he gawked at her. She slowly slid the toy from her throat, letting the very tip of it come to rest on her bottom lip, and she gulped.

Nothing broke the lock between his slate eyes and her earthy browns, not even a blink.

“Tell me something.” His mouth was dry and his voice hoarse. “Does that thing taste like your cunt?”

Her breath hitched before she answered. “Not now that I’ve sucked it clean.”

“Pity,” lamented Draco. He pushed her down to lay flat on her back, peeled the blanket the rest of the way off her, and crawled up the bed to kneel beside her hip. “Guess I’ll just have to taste you first-hand. ‘Hand’ being the operative word, there. At least to start… Now, do you want to be a good girl and spread your legs for me?”

Granger dragged her bottom lip through her teeth, nodded, and then obliged. Her legs fell open, and Draco shifted to kneel between her thighs. With one arm planted next to her head to take his weight, he leaned over her body, his free hand trailing featherlight touches across her bare stomach.

“The white cotton underwear is a bit predictable on you, Granger,” he teased, his voice low and enticingly menacing. “But fuck if it isn’t delicious.”

All she could do was whimper whilst he toyed with the waistband of her knickers. Her eyelids fluttered shut as he stroked one gentle digit down along the gusset, and a low groan rumbled from his chest.

“Sweet Salazar, you are soaked. How long had you been playing with yourself before I got here?”

He rubbed her through the sodden material, and she gasped.

“A—a while.”

Draco hummed. “And have you made yourself come yet?” She shook her head and bit down on her bottom lip. “Poor thing. You must be desperate.”

An emphatic nod and a single twitch of her legs, and Draco preened.

“I’m going to be keeping these knickers, by the way,” he stated simply. “But I’d like for you to ruin them a little more first.”

He pressed more forcefully against the flimsy barrier of her underwear, and her legs began to tremble. Her breathing grew shallow, and each rapid expansion of her lungs pushed her breasts firmly against his chest. His fingers danced their way up to her waist and slipped beneath the elastic, combing through the soft curls there and coming to rest at her folds. He glided a finger through her slicked lower lips and then brought it back up to her clit, circling the sensitive bud.

Her eyes flew open.

“Good,” Draco purred. “I want you to be looking at me when I make you come.”

Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he retracted his finger and brought it, instead, to his lips; first licking it sinfully with a reaching tongue, then sucking it into his mouth. He made a delectable sound of contentment as Granger stared.

“God,” she breathed.

A grin split Draco’s face. “Exquisite,” he praised, as though complimenting a particularly fine wine.

Granger let out a strangled cry as his fingers meandered back into her underwear. The heel of his hand massaged her clit as one dexterous digit probed her entrance. She was so wet that he slipped in easily, sliding into the tight caress of her inner walls as her back started to arch off the mattress. A second finger joined the first, and he felt her clamp down around his knuckles. Her fists were balled in the bedsheets, and her legs began to shake.

He hooked his fingers inside of her, delicately stroking at her front walls until he hit on just the right spongy spot. Alternating between varying applications of pressure, Draco scrutinised Granger’s exclamations and expressions, assessing her pleasure through her visceral reactions alone. When her breathing quickened and her head fell heavier against the pillow, he knew she was almost there. Maintaining pace, Draco made only one change, switching out the heel of his hand for his thumb, which swirled Granger’s clit as his fingers continued to coax.

When her legs suddenly tensed and she held her breath, he allowed himself a small smile.

“I’m—Fuck, Malfoy. I’m so close…”

“I’ve got my fingers in your cunt, Granger. I think you can use my first name.”

“You’re not… using… mine,” she stammered.

“When you’ve had something else of mine inside you, I’ll consider it.”

Draco increased the speed of his ministrations—just a touch—and upped the intensity with his thumb. He could feel her clenching his fingers as she approached her climax; the volume of her moans hinting at a steady build-up.

At the point that those moans gave way to a sharp gasp, her entire body went temporarily stiff, and Draco knew that she was about to shatter.

With a drawn-out whine, and Draco’s continued motion, Granger crested the peak of her orgasm. The tension released through her thighs, up her torso and along her arms. Instinctively, she wrapped a hand around the back of Draco’s neck, gripping the hair at the base of his skull, and tugging his head up and away. He growled.

“God. Fuck, Draco!” she cried, and he just about came in his boxer-briefs.

Why in Merlin’s name had he asked her to use his given name? That was far too hot.

He stroked her through her climax and gradually slowed his fingers to a stop as she drifted down from the high. Letting her eyes close, she lay boneless on the bed; her ragged breaths becoming progressively more controlled.

“Surely you’re not done?” Draco carefully extracted his fingers as she peeked at him through a half-open eyelid. “That was only the first course.”

“You want to keep going?” she asked.

“What? Your mirage men only ever give you one?”

Propping herself up on her elbows, Granger peered at him through glassy eyes. “One is usually fine.”

“Granger, you shouldn’t ever settle for ‘fine’, especially not where orgasms are concerned,” he contested, shuffling backwards and taking the weight off his supporting arm. He sat back on his heels. “That’s just sad.”

A haughty huff punctuated her answer. “I’ve been doing perfectly well on my own, thank you.”

“And, whilst ‘perfectly well’ is certainly an improvement on ‘fine’, you should feel like you’ve passed out in a state of sheer bliss when you come. You shouldn’t be able to move, or speak, or even think.” Draco arched a brow. “And I can hear that big brain of yours still working, Granger. Besides, you’re still able to sit up right now. Which means I have more work to do.”

He leaned forward again, just enough to gently nudge her shoulder until she lay back down. His thumbs hooked the elastic of her knickers and dragged them down her smooth legs. When he’d slipped the cotton underwear off over her feet, he tucked them into the pocket of his robes and wriggled himself further down the bed. His arms slid under her lifted thighs, pulling her towards him and on to his waiting tongue.

“Oh!”

Draco barely had time to register her squeak disguised as a word before he devoured her. He was indulgent in his licking, greedy even. His face was covered in her, but it wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to drown in her juices, wanted them to fill his mouth and nose. He no longer had need of air, as every inhale was her heady scent breathing life into him in a way that oxygen never could. If he was suffocated by her thighs, it would be an honourable way to go.

Merlin, she tasted delightful.

He ground his hips into the mattress, eager for some friction as her sweet musk consumed him. His cock was painfully hard, and the dribbles of precum leaked into his boxer-briefs. Granger tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled, causing him to moan into her. The vibrations through her core had her mumbling a string of “yes, yes, yes,” her pitch getting higher each time until she was essentially shrieking.

Her thighs trembled at Draco’s ears as he plunged his tongue in and out of her, lapping up the luscious nectar that gushed from her pretty cunt. His nails dug into the flesh of her legs, holding them open even as she reflexively seized around his head. One last, luxurious swipe along her slit, and a flick across her clit, and she broke; a scream echoing through the room as he drank her down.

Draco slowed and softened his licking until Granger’s hand grasped at his hair and wrenched his head away. When he cocked a questioning brow at her, she gasped, “too much… Too… sensitive,” before releasing her grip. He moved up on to his knees, sat back on his haunches, and watched—with no small degree of awe—as she found her breath again.

Fuck. She was gorgeous.

Her golden skin was tinged with the most beautiful shade of pink and, far from her blush being patchy as Draco’s likely was, she wore her exertion like a healthy glow. Her untameable, caramel curls had grown to completely cover the pillow. They looked impossibly silky against the sheets, and Draco had the inexplicable urge to reach out and twirl one around his finger. He, instead, resigned himself to nothing more than slowly blinking at her as she tried and failed to sit up.

Straining her neck, Granger arched her brows in his direction. Specifically, her pointed look was drawn to the crotch of his trousers, which was tented and slightly damp.

“Looks like you enjoyed yourself,” she observed. “I didn’t think you wanted this to end prematurely.”

“It hasn’t, Granger. Don’t you worry,” he reassured her. “But, have pity on a man, yeah? I’ve just artfully tongue-fucked you into orgasmic oblivion, whilst limiting myself to a mere dalliance with this mattress. Now is not the time to tease me.”

She chuckled, and the act caused her breasts to bounce; precariously close to overflowing the cups of her bra. “Ah, there are those Malfoy dramatics.”

“You wound me,” Draco said, with mock offense, one palm splayed over his heart.

Granger rolled her eyes and, with some difficulty, managed to push herself up to sitting. She swung her legs round and off the bed, tentatively taking her weight on them as she stood shakily.

“Careful there, Granger. Don’t want to hurt yourself.”

“Not to worry, Draco. I won’t be standing long.”

Before he could puzzle out her meaning, she grabbed Draco’s tie and yanked him up from the mattress, using it to drag him over to the nearest wall, which she promptly—and unceremoniously—shoved him against. Dropping quickly to her knees, Granger made swift work of undoing his belt and unfastening his trousers.

“And this had better get you calling me Hermione.”

Without further preamble, she took his cock out of his boxer-briefs and wrapped her lips around it.

“Merlin, Hermione!”

Draco let his head fall back against the wall but didn’t break eye contact with her, looking down as she swallowed him, inch by glorious inch. Her lips were almost unbearably soft, and she concaved her cheeks just as she had when she’d sucked on the toy. The gratifying warmth of her mouth was nearly enough to wreck his control there and then, but Draco told himself that he would not be spilling down her throat today…

Though, that implied that he thought there’d be another time beyond today…

He shook his head and paused on Gra—Hermione’s feral gaze as she slid back and forth along his hard length. When she popped off the end of him to draw her flattened tongue along the underside of his cock, he let out a sound that was embarrassingly close to a mewl.

“You… Ugh. You’re very good at that.” Draco attempted to keep himself from audibly panting between words. As she circled the head of his dick with the very tip of her tongue, his eyes rolled back into his skull.

His hands entwined in her excessive hair and, when a test pull elicited a muffled moan from her, he did it again, harder. Picking up the pace with her mouth, Hermione worked deliberate fingers to fondle his balls through the fabric of his boxer-briefs.

“You—you’re gonna have to st—stop doing that,” Draco choked out, feeling the sudden build-up of pressure at the base of his shaft.

Hermione didn’t let up. If anything, she sucked harder.

“Hermione, I—Fuck! You—Stop. Please, I—Stop. Stop!”

He tugged at her curls until she was no longer on him, though her tongue remained outstretched and waiting.

Fuck, but if he wouldn’t love to come all over her pretty face. His cock twitched.

“I thought you wanted me on my knees?” she queried, batting her eyelashes at him with mock innocence.

“I did—I do. But…”

They stared at each other, their respective chests heaving. Her fingers still cupped his bollocks, but they had obediently stilled. One hand still in her mane, his other came to a fist around his length, giving one quick squeeze to relieve the smallest amount of tension. A drip of precum beaded on the tip, and Hermione’s extended tongue darted forward to lap it up.

Draco hissed.

“Cheeky witch. Back on the bed.”

Hermione couldn’t have stood faster, and she practically skipped over to the four-poster. Draco discarded his robe on the floor, kicked off his shoes and socks, and shoved his trousers down so that he could step free of them. He took his wand from his trouser pocket and twirled it around his long fingers.

“Not to be presumptuous, but charm? Or are you on the potion?” he asked, with only a subtle cough to attest to any nervousness.

“Oh! I—No, I’m not on the potion. So, erm, yes. Charm. That would be… responsible.”

“May I?”

“Yes, please do,” Hermione agreed, before adding a quiet, “thank you.”

Pointing his wand at her stomach, Draco cast a contraception charm, temporarily illuminating her skin with a faint blue glow. When the light at her belly faded, he tossed his wand back to the pile of clothes and stepped towards her. She was perched on the edge of the mattress and parted her knees to permit him between them. His tie was loosened and slipped over his head by her swift fingers, then she started on his shirt buttons.

He stilled her hands with his, and his eyes flickered to the sleeve that concealed his left forearm.

“Hermione, I—”

“I don’t care,” she interjected. “But, if you do, we can just leave it on.”

As Draco nodded, she gripped and bunched the fabric of his shirt, using it instead to pull him down to her, before rolling them both so that she was on top. She sat upright, straddling him, and rocked her hips to slide herself along the shaft of his still-exposed cock. Her wetness dragged across its underside as his hard length lay pressed against the hem of his shirt.

A guttural groan left him, and Hermione grinned.

Sweet fucking Salazar, this witch would be his undoing.

He watched her chase her own release; face screwed up and teeth digging into her lip as she swayed. Her skin maintained a distinctly rosy hue, interspersed with a smattering of freckles that crossed the bridge of her nose and lined her shoulders. Draco had never noticed them before—though, of course, he’d never been this close to Hermione—but now it was all he could see.

Her eyes scrunched shut as the head of his dick brushed her clit, and she stifled a moan. She was coming apart before his eyes, and Draco couldn’t get enough.

For his own part, he knew he must look dishevelled in the best possible way; hair mussed, face flushed, and he seemed to have sunk deeply into the mattress. Hermione grabbed one of his hands and brought it to her bra, her fingers tiny in comparison to his as she encouraged him to squeeze her with a quick flex of them. He exhaled roughly and lifted his other hand so that he was cupping both breasts through the white cotton.

“You’re killing me with these tits, Hermione,” he whimpered, as he sat suddenly upright. One hand gripped her waist to keep her steady, as the other tugged down her bra.

His mouth went to work. He sucked, licked, and nipped at her nipple as she squealed, throwing her head back so that her noises echoed off the high ceiling. Her breasts were a perfect handful; soft as he groped, but firm and pert in their shape. Draco fumbled at her back until he had successfully unclasped her bra, breaking the contact from his tongue and teeth as her slipped the straps off her shoulders. He briefly leaned back to take in the sight of her completely naked torso, until Hermione’s pleas drew his attention.

“Draco,” she breathed. “I—I need…”

“Tell me,” he ordered, his voice little more than a growl. “What do you need?”

“You. I need… you,” she gasped.

Draco froze. “Are you sure?”

Her next exhale stuttered. “Please fuck me, Draco. I can beg properly if you want.”

He struggled to swallow past a constricted throat, and his subsequent words came out a little choked. “That won’t be necessary.”

His hand on her waist stroked down and round to her arse, applying gentle pressure which prompted her to lift herself up on her knees. He gripped the base of his cock in his other hand, lined it up with her entrance, and made an attempt at a calming breath.

Hermione’s chest expanded as she did the same, her inhale just as shaky as Draco’s. She slid on to him so tantalisingly slowly that he immediately began to quiver. Judging by her wicked smirk, she revelled in his discomposure. No sooner had Draco relinquished his grasp, than she took him to the hilt. He, instead, used his hand to white-knuckle the sheets, and resisted the urge to thrust forcefully into her lest he instantly shoot his load.

“Fuuuucckk.” He strung the word out over too many syllables. “You’re going to ruin me.”

The giggle that shook Hermione also shuddered through Draco’s dick, and he smothered his face in her sumptuous breasts. “If you can’t handle this, how will you control yourself when I start to move?” she teased, and she chanced a quick bob up and down.

An animalistic snarl rumbled through him, only marginally muffled by the pillow of her tits. Its vibrations had her quivering above him, whilst the slow slide of his thick cock along her inner walls saw her cunt clench.

“Fucking Merlin, you are so tight,” Draco commended. “I’m not going to last long at all if you keep doing that.”

Hermione rose up and then lowered herself back down again, keening as she did so; the sound ripped from her throat with the feeling of Draco filling her. She dropped her head further back, her wild curls tumbling as a honey waterfall down her bare back. Sweat had plastered a few short ringlets to her forehead, and Draco had the desire to reach up and brush them back. His hand was halfway to her face when he realised what he was doing, changed tactic, and gripped her neck. He pulled it to one side so that he could bite the other, and she screamed.

“God, Draco. Yes!”

“You’re taking my dick so well,” he murmured into the column of her throat, feeling her cunt flutter around him as she accepted the praise.

Unconsciously, he had begun to jerk up into her—his hips having a mind of their own, and his cock needing more than the gradual slip in and out that she was facilitating. Her tits bounced as she started to ride him, matching pace with his thrusts, the cushion of her buttocks slapping into his thighs every time. Her fingers clawed at his shirt, scrunching the fabric, nails scraping his skin even through the stiff cotton. He lifted his head and let his teeth graze her jaw before he sucked on a spot just below her ear that made her whine.

“Oh… Oh! Don’t stop. Don’t—please. I’m gonna—Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“That’s it, my good girl,” he lauded. “Come all over my cock. Make a mess for me.”

Draco felt her gush as she clamped down on his dick, wetness pooling on the boxer-briefs that he hadn’t bothered to remove. He paused his motion, letting her ride out her climax on top of him, and concentrating on his breathing so that the pulsing of her cunt didn’t push him over the edge. Face buried in her skin, the taste of vanilla and the musk of her sweat harmonised on his tongue as he lapped at her.

When her torso began to sag, his hands supported the small of her back and he flipped the two of them until she was lying on the mattress once again. His cock had slipped out, but it glided easily back in, glistening with Hermione’s slick. As he began to pound her—albeit slowly at first— her eyes drifted open and she caught his gaze.

“I want one more from you, Hermione,” urged Draco. “Can you do that for me?”

She nodded, and he sped up.

With their chests pressed together, his shirt was the only barrier to her skin on his. Draco lifted himself up on his arms, not breaking his rhythm.

“Unbutton my shirt,” he grunted, and Hermione swiftly obliged, her breasts immediately getting squashed beneath the hard planes of his muscles.

Her arms were flung above her head, sprawled across the sheets, and he captured her wrists in the grip of one hand. What consequently surprised him was when Hermione’s fingers entangled themselves in his and squeezed.

Instinctively, he squeezed back.

Their eyes locked, and Draco thought he might have stopped breathing. It certainly took conscious effort for him to keep the air flowing through his lungs, and he managed to keep thrusting through sheer force of will. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he considered Hermione’s slightly gaping mouth. Her husky little pants puffed across his cheeks, getting faster as the tension coiled inside of her, waiting to snap. Her nails were digging into the back of his hand, so hard that he was sure they’d leave welts.

He didn’t care.

In fact, he wanted people to see. Wanted them to ask about the obviously fingernail-shaped marks in his flesh. He’d never tell them, but he’d know that he’d fucked Hermione bloody Granger, and he’d made her come three times.

Four times.

She let out a sultry moan that Draco felt all the way to his curling toes. He needed to taste that sound, and his lips crashed into hers without a second thought, devouring the vocalisation of her ecstasy. His tongue licked the back of her teeth, and she wrestled one hand free of his grasp, carding it through his sweaty tresses and scratching his scalp. When he withdrew his tongue to catch his breath, she bit down on his bottom lip, and his cock gave a warning jolt.

He pulled his head back and away from her, forcing her to release his now-swollen lip.

“Fuck, Hermione. I—I can’t stop,” he stammered. “You feel so good. So fucking good. Can I…?”

“Fill me, Draco,” she demanded. “I want it.” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she whispered, “I want it, I want it, I want it,” over and over.

He erupted with an undignified yelp, hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside of her. Draco continued to pump into her cunt as her legs quaked, bracketing his hips with their trembling. When they both eventually slowed, and then stopped, they simply stared at each other.

Breaths were heavy, air was desperately gulped down, and they basked in the aftermath of their shared bliss. Draco’s mercurial gaze flicked from hers, down to her bloated lips, and back again as he wheezed.

With unspoken agreement, they both leaned into each other and their mouths met; gently, softly at first, then moving, but with none of the urgency and ferocity of earlier.

This was calm. This was a savouring moment. Of dragging the seconds out to minutes, and the minutes to hours.

As such, Draco could not have said for how long the kissed, only that it wasn’t long enough.

When they gradually separated—lips practically peeling apart and held in place with barely a centimetre’s gap—their foreheads came to be pressed together.

“Wow,” breathed Draco.

“Yeah,” Hermione concurred, somewhat ineloquently.

“You were… That was…”

“I know. And you too.”

They shared a companionable chuckle. The movement caused Draco’s cock to slip from her, and he instantly felt their combined juices leaking out to drip down his legs, simultaneously glossing her thighs. It was obscenely erotic.

“Oh, god,” Hermione muttered. “We should get cleaned up.”

“Give a guy a minute, Granger,” he huffed, still working to catch his breath.

“Back to ‘Granger’, are we?” she sniggered, one brow raised.

“My cock isn’t in you anymore. You’ve lost first name privileges,” he joked.

Hermione’s laugh was like music. “Whatever you say, Malfoy,” and she wriggled out from under him.

With some discomfort, and a lot of quivering, she managed to shuffle from the bed and come to standing. She reached for her wand—carefully left on a bedside table—and cast a rapid scourgify on them both.

Draco immediately missed the reassuring dampness of her slick.

Hermione snatched her bra from the floor and retrieved her shirt and skirt from where they lay over the back of an adjacent chair. Draco tucked his cock back into his underwear and began to button his own shirt.

“Bad choice of bottoms today,” he quipped, indicating her skirt with a gesture from his chin. “Trousers would’ve at least protected you from the breeze.”

“I didn’t realise there’d be a breeze,” she harrumphed, shimmying her skirt over her bare arse and cunt. “I’m really not getting my knickers back?”

“They’re wrecked, Granger. You don’t want them.”

“And you do?” Draco nodded slowly. “Dare I ask what for?”

“Best not.”

She snorted another laugh as she fastened up her bra and slipped her arms into the sleeves of her shirt. Draco stood and wriggled into his trousers, securing them with his belt, and then pulling on his socks and shoes. He left his tie undone, merely draped around his neck, and slung his robes over his shoulder. He was sloppy, but at least he was clothed.

He raked his fingers through messy blonde locks and scratched the back of his neck.

“So… are you here every lunchtime?”

Hermione froze in the midst of knotting her own tie, a blush creeping up from under her collar. “Not every lunchtime, but a few a week. If I’m not in the Great Hall, I’m usually here.”

Nodding to himself, Draco ventured, “and any other times?”

She rolled her lips back between her teeth as she rolled her socks up to her knees. “Evenings when I don’t have patrol or homework.”

“You know,” Draco began, one hand stroking his chin, “if you have a timetable you could share, I can… meet you here sometimes.”

More than a little taken aback, Hermione blinked at him furiously. She recovered quickly, however, and reached into her school bag for her schedule, duplicating it with a geminio. She offered the copy to Draco.

He examined it, then looked back up into her expectant eyes. “Tomorrow evening, then?” he proposed.

“Tomorrow evening,” she confirmed.

Draco took a few steps, shouldered his school bag, and then withdrew Hermione’s knickers from the pocket of his robes. He threw them up in the air once, caught them, and tucked them securely into his bag.

“I’ll see you in potions, Granger,” he purred, before exiting the room.