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Dance with the One that Brought You	By : KatDiva Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 43176 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Disclaimer: She lets us play with them, but they are hers to keep.

Chapter 14: Deceit

He wasn’t sure how he ended up in this predicament. He remembered that all he had intended on doing was speaking with Hermione, but he had no idea he would end up with warm hands pushing against his Durmstrang jersey, pressed against his chest.

“Please, Viktor,” she pleaded.

He was out of time! He needed to get as far away from her as possible — and quickly! When her anxious fingers crept up to his chest and brushed across his nipples, he reached down and held her by the wrists, shaking his head at her warningly. “I said no, Melanie. And in my country, no means no.”

The pert blonde nearly stomped her foot down in frustration. How dare this Bulgarian think he was too good for her! So what if he was a pure-blood! So what if he was world famous and rich! He was still just a young man. His broad shoulders and strong chest promised her more than adequate stamina and endurance. This man was an extremely fit athlete who should have raging hormones just like any other 18-year-old!

The Slytherin refused to take no for an answer. He must be attempting to be noble in case someone came their way down the secluded, dark hallway. She knew they were safe, however, because she had posted a watch on either end of the hall. She was determined, and she had promised Draco that she would keep the Seeker busy for an hour. She deftly worked her fingers down her blouse, unbuttoning the top three buttons in seconds flat, exposing her ample cleavage to her prey. She had to convince him to stay.

Melanie glanced coyly down at her exposed breasts, pushing back her shoulders in order to place emphasize exactly how busty she was. She purred, “Don’t be so unfriendly, Viktor.” He swallowed and tried to right himself from the wall. He was supposed to have met Hermione tonight, and this femme fatale was deterring him.

Pouncing on his hesitancy, she vaulted forward and caught his neck in one hand and pulled her open mouth to his. At the same moment, she pressed her breasts flush against his chest and rubbed purposefully up and down, dragging them across his hardened chest. Before he could catch her shoulders, she reached down her free hand and cupped his crotch.

He was past the point of being a gentleman now. He roughly grasped her by the shoulders and forced her away. “You go too far!” he boomed. When she appeared as if she would make another attempt, his eyes flashed in anger and he darkly shook his head at her. “Do not make me use magic on you, woman.”

He called her woman for that’s exactly what she was — every year as old as he in age, but years beyond in sexual prowess, deceit, and cunning. She had cornered him unsuspectingly in the hallway several minutes before with a request for help. She had pretended that she wasn’t well. She said she needed him to hold on to her to keep her from fainting. Then within minutes, she had begun touching him, clinging to him, rubbing against him. He knew it was a ploy because she wasn’t the first female to attempt such blatant moves of seduction. He was sure she would not be the last.

Ever since he had joined the professional Bulgarian Quidditch team, he had received advances from men and women alike. Most were witches much older than him. Melanie was pretty and well endowed, but he nearly gagged at her brazen wantonness. He was not attracted to these types of women. He had one special little witch who held his heart. Hermione Granger would be the only witch he would be kissing tonight.

Melanie raised her chin up and looked up at him, quite put out by his refusal, “What makes you so special that you won’t snog me? Am I too much woman for you?” When he didn’t answer straight away, she narrowed her eyes at him and her injured pride egged her on. “Perhaps you don’t like girls at all. Maybe you like to play hide the broomstick with your boys from Durmstrang.”

He pushed off from the wall, edging around her without bothering to respond to her. She wasn’t worth the time it took for conversation.

“I’m talking to you, Krum! Don’t you walk away from me! I’m not finished here!”

Viktor continued his path forward, not looking back. He spoke in a low, firm voice when he answered, “But I am.” Not breaking step, he headed down the hall to the moving staircase that would lead him to Gryffindor Tower.

“She’s not alone, Krum!” Melanie called out savagely. “Granger’s off being snogged by another! All the while you stay behind here, pining for her. “

He didn’t turn, but she did cause him to pause in his tracks. The saying was a cliché because it was true: Hell hath no fury — and Melanie Payne was indeed the scorned woman. She could not have been more common then at that moment. She chose to attack the one girl in Hogwarts who was the essence of everything he could ever ask for in a girlfriend. Of course she wasn’t technically his girlfriend, not officially. But he had intended on asking her to be more than just a date to the Yule Ball on her birthday.

However, just because she wasn’t his girlfriend yet did not mean he had to abide a common slag bad-mouthing the one girl that he held precious. Hermione was beyond reproach. Melanie didn’t even deserve to say her name.

Viktor snapped into a military style about-face and stalked back to Melanie. She took a few steps back when she saw his fierce glower with dark, furrowed brow. “Witch, you will not disgrace her name again.” He halted a few feet from her, raised his index finger at her, and then slowly wagged it back and forth. “We at Durmstrang have a much different outlook on the Dark Arts than you do here at Hogwarts,” he said in a tightened yet not too subtle threat. “Do not force me to give you a sample lesson.”

She hated being threatened by the Bulgarian, but she knew better than to say anything more. Draco would have to fend for himself; she was done. Let the bushy haired Gryffindor pull the stick out of his arse. Melanie no longer enjoyed playing Viktor Krum.

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Draco had felt possessed, therefore dangerous. A warning went off in his head. I need to let her walk away. The warning grew louder, but he ignored it. “Give me one last kiss,” he pleaded. His passion had grown into full-blown lust, and he was teetering on the edge of obsession. He was hungry for her. The small brunette merely shook her head in disapproval and turned to leave.

Let her go.

As if following a command led by the pounding in his heart, he reached out to her in a swift, smooth movement and pulled her back to him. To his utter thrill her widened doe eyes made her even more enticing.

Draco was already swollen with need, but he never realized how something as vulnerable as she could look so powerfully enticing. It made him yearn to take advantage. Hermione sucked in her breath as the Slytherin in the Durmstrang’s skin pulled her closer.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered.

She placed a hand on his forearm as if to steady herself and prevent him from tightening his embrace.

“Are you cold?”

She shook her head, but he reached down to pick up the forgotten Gryffindor robe and handed it to her. She could feel Viktor’s predatory stare in the darkness, but she refused to look up to face him. If she did, she would not be able to remain strong.

Draco could wait no longer. He crushed her mouth with his, not meaning to be so forceful, but feeling a surge of need that he could no longer control. She had never been kissed like this. This kiss was like an invasion, a seizure. Viktor was no longer tempting her. He was taking her — whether she wanted it or not.

When a hand came from around her back to slowly rub up her side, she felt him press his hardness against her, rhythmically. It was then that Hermione was beginning to think she did, indeed, want this. Which was impossible, her mind protested.

Another betraying moan slid past her lips. Draco abruptly broke off their kiss. He needed to hear her reaction to him. He began licking and kissing the exposed column of her throat again. He loved the sounds she made for him. Because of him.

"Let me hear that again," Draco whispered against her skin.

Hermione shook her head, trying to force reason back into her brain. She needed to be the one to stop him. She wasn’t ready to explore this sensational, intense desire he was causing. She nearly disintegrated when he ran slipped his fingers under her t-shirt and tenderly ran them over her ribs and belly.

She arched beneath Draco’s lips and moaned.

“That’s better,” he murmured, moving his lips back up to kiss her again.

Draco’s mind was swerving out of control with passion. He had only intended to meet her, give her the potion, and if need be, convince her to use it. He never expected to be consumed with desire for her. It was merely a curiosity he had told himself. He wanted to squelch the annoying attraction he had felt toward her, and so he decided to experiment with just a kiss. But one thing had led to fifty others, and now he knew he was feeling near violent with the frustration of being in Viktor Krum’s body, while drinking in these delicious and almost unbearable kisses. She had poisoned him after one kiss.

He could not pull himself away, even knowing that his time was nearly spent. If he continued to snog her he would soon be literal putty in her hands. He would transform back to his own body, and she would hate him for it.

Yet knowing full well the danger that lay ahead, he forged forward, needing her close to him. Hating himself for doing this at the same time unable to stop, he would not let her go.

All of the blood, all of the nerves in Hermione's body collected in her mouth and lower belly and rushed down to her nether parts. She didn't think it could get any better. It was impossible. But Viktor proved her wrong. The remaining hand slid from around her back. Hermione was suddenly as sharply aware of the placement of that hand as she would have been a wand at her throat. As Viktor continued to plunder her mouth, the Bulgarian’s hand slid down under her t-shirt to the front of her belly and trickled lightly upward, just below her small breasts. Hermione's eyes opened and her breath stuttered. She suddenly knew another way in which this could be better. But would Viktor dare?

He would.

Hermione cried against the Seeker’s lips when his hot palms cupped her both breasts and softly caressed her.

"Oh, Viktor," Hermione panted. "I've never — this is …" She couldn't finish the thought. There were no words to describe what she felt.

"I know. Gods, do I know." Draco made a sound that to Hermione's muddled senses sounded like quiet laughter. "Who would've believed it'd be like this, eh?" So low Hermione almost missed it, the Slytherin breathed, "Who could've guessed?"

Skilled fingers pinched her nipples, making Hermione push forward mindlessly, moaning. Oh, gods, oh, gods, oh, gods. She clenched her eyes shut, no longer able to kiss Viktor back as passion flooded her system. Draco massaged her through the lace of her bra, making himself grow hotter, harder, until Hermione was only standing because he held her up.

"That's it, Hermione,” he coaxed. “Let go for me …"

Her eyes snapped open. Hermione had completely lost herself. She had forgotten all thought of space or time. She couldn’t even remember what day it was. All she knew is that for some very odd reason, a flashback of Draco Malfoy had just splashed over her like a pitcher of ice cold water.

Suddenly the rosy, blushed cheeks drained of their color and she stumbled backwards, trying to regain her own equilibrium. She shook her head in disbelief.

“What did you just call me? What did you just say?”

Draco’s mind was clouded with desire. “What?”

“You just said ‘Hermione.’ I heard you.”

Bloody. Buggering. Hell.

Had he called her Hermione? He couldn’t even recall. All he remembered was the warmth of her skin, the jasmine smell that exuded from her neck, and the strawberry tasting mouth of hers. What was she talking about?

“Hermyninny,” he corrected. “I said Hermyninny.”

She was confused. Had she misheard him? She couldn’t even remember where she was, so there was a very good chance that she had imagined the perfect pronunciation of her name. Let go for me. She had heard that before.

Her breath was still short as she tried to fill her lungs, her chest rising and falling. Why in the name of Merlin was she thinking of Draco Malfoy! Was this some sort of punishment for her not stopping Viktor sooner? How could she be thinking of the annoying Slytherin at a time like this!

“Viktor, it’s late,” she struggled to regain control, finally realizing how spent she was. “I’m exhausted. I shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be …”

Draco knew she would blame herself for this because that’s just the type of girl Granger was. She’d beat herself up over it and then try and apologize to the Bulgarian, who of course would have no bloody idea what she was talking about. He had to fix this quickly!

He reached for the robe and placed it around her shoulders, refastening the clasp.

“You know how much I care for you, yes?”

She nodded and smiled weakly at him.

“Then please let us remember tonight without any remorse.” She looked as if she was going to interrupt him so he put up his hand to still her. “I am the one completely responsible for this, Hermyninny. I am older and more experienced.”

He stuffed his hands into the Bulgarian’s trousers, trying to subtly push down the not so discreet raging hard-on that tented below. “I apologize for not being more of a gentleman … but I do not apologize for being attracted to you. Let’s not make this dirty by trying to explain it away. Let’s just …” he paused. He grappled with words, which was unusual for him. It was the knowledge that he had just copped a feel from the unsuspecting girl in front of him that silenced him.

She looked down at the ground and slipped the perfume bottle into the robe pocket.

“Good night, Viktor,” she whispered and walked quickly toward the door. This time Draco did not stop her. His time had expired as it was, and he could barely walk from the discomfort of the Bulgarian’s oversized erection.

He hunched over while he ambled toward the broom closet, feeling as though he were walking on three legs instead of two.

Blaise nearly jumped out of his skin when Viktor Krum pulled the closet door open.

“Draco?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course it’s me, you prat. Why would Krum come looking in the closet?”

In his utter frustration he grabbed his jersey from the bottom hem and pulled it up and over his head. Hermione Granger had completely unraveled him. He nearly blew the entire plan by calling her by her given name! His head swam as he could still feel her lips on his — his groin still raging proof that he found her to be sexually appealing.

He tugged open his trousers as he asked Blaise to pass him his Slytherin uniform.

He should have remembered to remove the Eastern European boots before attempting to remove his trousers. It was at that moment that his body decided to transform. He shook with spasms that the expired Polyjuice potion caused. He stumbled as the trousers bunched down on top of the boots, and between the metamorphosis and the dropped trousers, he lost his balance.

They tumbled with a loud clatter, Draco falling and knocking over Blaise, who hit his head on one of the utility shelves in the small, dark closet.

“Damn you, Draco, that hurt! GET OFF!”

Draco was already upset from what was commonly referred to amongst the lads as “blue bollocks,” thanks to Hermione Granger! He cursed loudly and struggled to get up.

Neither one of them had heard the footsteps just beyond the closet that came to a halt once they had made such a ruckus knocking things down off the shelves. When the door swung open, they could not have been more mortified.

Draco lay over Blaise, with his trousers down around his ankles, shirtless, with the evidence of his preexisting erection. Blaise lay under Draco, head leaning against the wall, eyes dazed with pain.

There above them at the door stood the shocked Bulgarian. His eyebrows were arched, and he nodded with embarrassed understanding. So his suspicions were true.

He cleared his throat, unsure of what to say, he barely managed to utter, “Carry on,” before closing the door tightly. He walked away as quickly as possible, as two loud screams could be heard from behind the closet door.
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Dance with the One that Brought You