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Wake of War	By : sshgdifferentfan Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 4060 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling. I am not making any money from publishing it.

Chapter List
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2. Unwanted Desires

“Talking to yourself, Granger?”

Hermione snapped her head towards the voice, to discover Draco Malfoy, the only other Slytherin seventh year returnee, standing on top of the bedrooms' stairs, wearing nothing but a barely-covering-anything pair of Slytherin green boxers. He looked… good, extremely good -- mouth-watering good if she was perfectly honest with herself and she was, most of the time. And then there were those boxers.

Damn, cursed Hermione, trying and failing to stare at anything but his groin. Those fucking boxers that left absolutely nothing -- but the exact colour, of his not really flaccid and not yet too hard erection -- to the imagination were actually making her drool and she hadn’t done that in -- ever. I don’t drool!

Yet, despite the drooling and the vivid daydream already going through her sick mind -- the kind where he was pounding her through the sofa -- he was still him. Still Draco Fucking Malfoy and no matter how fuckable she found him -- and at least half the female students at Hogwarts, maybe even some male students and some of the faculty -- he was also the guy she detested the most -- second maybe only to Voldemort himself. And how could she not hate him -- though ‘hate’ was definitely a much too strong of a word, especially when taking into account those fucking boxers and the fact that he did changed sides in the war -- when he had been the one to first call her a Mudblood, the one to first drive her away from everybody and later the first one she took revenge on -- Malfoy the bouncing ferret was even funnier the second time around, especially since she'd been the one to turn him this time -- it had even worth the one hundred and fifty points Slytherin lost because of her and the detention with she got with Filch.

“Not good, Granger” Malfoy went on with a smirk that said all too clear that he knew, condoned and loved every minute that her eyes stayed glued to his crotch as if a Permanent Sticking Charm had been cast on them, “people will start to think you're nuts or something, especially since you seem determined to spend every night sleeping in the common room. The war’s over Granger!”

“Planning on asking me to spend my nights somewhere else,” she teased ignoring the last part of his comment and stretching her aching limbs, more than likely giving Malfoy a pretty good view of her cleavage in the process -- who ever said that robes couldn't be sexy didn't know Madam Porskoff and her dangerously low cut necklines.

“Humph,” sniffed Malfoy, starting to make his way towards the couch -- and her. “Been dreaming about me much?”

“Not really! Haven't any nightmares recently.” Hermione said starching again, this time the other way and not at all of Malfoy’s benefit. She really was stiff.

Who wouldn’t be, she mussed as a popping sound and a flash of pain from somewhere around her left hip made her squeak. Been at it for what, three -- four hours? No wonder!

“Is that so?” said Malfoy taking the seat next to her on the two seats sofa, the grin obvious in his tone.

Hermione tried to ignore him, but probably because of the late hour -- she was fairly tired -- or maybe because of a sudden unset of dementia her mind kept going back to those boxers and soon enough the eyes followed. He was stretching his legs -- his perfectly toned marble like legs -- and crossing his ankles making the bulge hidden behind those boxers stick out even more. Or was it not an illusion at all but his actual reaction to being this close to her, or her obvious interest in that part of his anatomy? She didn’t know, but, damn, he was hot.

“Then tell me Granger, is Weasley the one you dream of or maybe Potter?”

“Oh sweet Merlin, you caught me!” She mockingly gasped, dragging her eyes for his groin to his face and grabbing her chest right over her heart. “And how's Pansy these days by the way?”

And there was the other reason why Malfoy’s boxers and anything they his was a no go, no matter how much she looked and drooled and thought about what stood behind Malfoy’s Slytherin green, there was always Pansy Parkinson. The girl was a definite slag -- their fifth year she had screwed through fifth and sixth years Slytherins before Christmas, after losing her virginity at Halloween; and to Malfoy no less -- and Hermione could have sworn, back in her fifth year, after a nasty row with the girl, that she had some hag blood also, but that really wasn’t the point. The cross of the matter was that Parkinson was his fiancé -- slag, hag and all, she was still his and he was hers -- and that made took him off her ‘to shag’ list on principle alone.

“Not lonely,” smirked Draco stretching his arms high above his head and then slowly lowering his left one over Hermione’s shoulders, “she has needs and with me cooked up in this place, she finds others to satisfy them. Just like I do…” He purred. His hand, the one draped over her shoulders, started caressing the spot where neck meet shoulder and though she liked it terrible -- a little too much actually; she had no idea that spot could spark that much heat from an almost innocent touch -- she slapped it off. “Argh! Watch the nails, witch!” Or maybe she scratched it off -- she never could tell now a days with nails a little bit longer that she was used to wearing them; though it seemed to make a wicked weapon when dealing with touching creeps.

“Watch the hands, jerk!”

Hermione made to stand, got barely half way to being even slightly erect -- she was still crouched in an awkward position -- when Malfoy’s hand shot out of nowhere and roughly grabbed her around the waist dragging her down. Her body hit something hard instead of the softness of the sofa covering she was expecting and it took her mind almost a minute before realising the she was now on his lap, his barely-covered lap, his boxers covered lap.

Merlin help me, I need a shag, she thought as her back came crushing down to his chest -- his naked chest --and she felt the long, hot hardness under her arse. Apparently Malfoy was now completely hard.

I really, really need a fuck!

She closed her eyes, wishing against her better judgement that barely there piece of cloth he was wearing simply vanished, along with her own clothes if possible and at the same time wanting desperately to be anywhere but in Draco Malfoy’s lap.

Get off, you idiot, get off! NOW, Hermione kept yelling to herself even as she felt Malfoy shifting her a little onto his lap, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist and pushing his groin up into her completely covered arse. At that moment, the only thing that she seemed capable of doing was grinding right back into him.

Get off!

She wanted to obey -- she wanted it so much she could almost feel her mind breaking as the two forces, the one that wanted to obey and the one that wanted to let this, whatever this was, happen, fought for dominance -- but she didn't. She just kept on grinding onto the piece of silk covering his burning shaft, growing more and aroused with every second that passed.

His hands tightened on her tights as he pressed her even harder onto his lap, making her legs slide down on either side of him. He fumbled for a second with the folds of her robe, before she felt cool air hitting her already damp knickers and his slightly calloused fingers stroking the inside of her naked tights, making their way to where she wanted them most. She was in heaven when first one, then a second finger reached the side of her knickers, alternating caressing the skin where crotch meet leg with or brushing his knuckles to the fabric. With every stroke he was advancing closer to the damp spot that she silently willed him to touch, though she knew -- barely but still -- that it was the worst desire she could have had.

Please, of fuck… please… a little, just a… FUCK!

And then he was there, both fingers stroking the not so small wet-patch, pressing ever so harder, touching her just as she wanted – no, needed – him to touch her, making her moan loud and clear. Her head dropped back on his shoulder and suddenly there were lips there, brushing and kissing as those two magical fingers stroked her still covered folds or rubbing or pinched through the thin material her painfully erect clit.

Merlin… FUCK!!!

“F…uck!” she gasped as a burst of fiery electricity exploded in the middle of her core, soaking her already wet knickers.

She was on fire.

She was dying.

She was alive.

She was loving it and hating it at the same time, though somehow she couldn’t for the life of her remember why was she supposed to hate it.

She was in heaven.

“Like that, do you?” he panted as his lips trailed from ear to shoulder and back again, sucking and licking and kissing every millimetre of skin he could reach.

She would have answered, but as she opened her mouth to speak, those fingers of his, slipped by the side of her knickers, reaching the soft, wet folds. He didn’t linger, not even a second, before sliding down her slit and going strait for the prize.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

“Fuck… oh FUCK!”

“That’s it Granger… let me… show me,” he choked on his words and pressed his fucking amazing fingers to her exploding clit even harder, making her moan so loud she was sure the whole castle had heard her, never mind the entire Slytherin House.

He pushed, rubbed, circled and pushed so more as wave after wave of pleasure crossed through her body, her inner walls fluttering like mad with the delicious feeling of letting it all go and then, just as she thought he’d given her all that he could, his other hand slithered its way past her waist, to her crouch and past her knickers and without even a second hesitation he plunged two fingers into her tight, dripping opening.

There was a moment of complete silence -- or maybe for that particular moment she simply blacked out or something, not that she cared anymore -- when everything stopped: time, space, even the orgasm she was already well into and then just like switching an on and off button back to on, everything came crushing down making her scream as if her life depending on having that scream heard all the way to the continent.

***

It was a while yet, before her body relaxed enough -- her legs were still shaking and her arms felt like jelly -- to slump onto the body behind her. She was barely aware of who the body, the laboured breathing in her ear and the hands still caressing her over sensitised clit belonged to and she like it like that. This way she could simply pretend that he was just another faceless stranger, the kind you meet in a pub, have a couple of drinks with, get pissed and fuck the living daylights out of, never to see him again. But reality was a bitch and as relaxation settled down, doing away with the fog that surrounded her mind, Hermione finally realized what she just did and who exactly she was actually thinking of doing -- or at least repay the favour too -- and as if a spell had been lifted the rational side of her mind went into gear.

“Let me go!” she spit out and before she could ever register the gesture Hermione was out of his lap and a few feet away from him in a blink of an eye -- robes settling down around her, covering all proof of what had just transpired. She turned towards him with a rage full expression and a ready to hex wand in her hand, a hex already playing itself in her mind, “If you ever, and I mean EVER, do that again, I'll Diffindo your dangles off faster than you can cry for mummy! You get that, Ferret?”

“Oh, come off of you high horse. You liked it.”

“Of course I liked it, you moron. I haven't been laid in longer than I care to remember and you have all the right parts and…”

“Why, Granger, how nice of you to notice and give a bloke a compliment!”

“Yes, well too bad it wasn't,” she sneered. “That was me preparing to verbally eviscerate those right parts of yours.”

“Tease!”

She was inches from his face in a blink of an eye -- never had she moved this quickly, but apparently rage and mortification had their perks -- her wand digging into the flesh of his neck. She was fuming.

“You fucking son of a bitch, try that again -- scratch that -- try to come within ten feet of me again and I swear, Malfoy, the only thing they’re be sending back to Malfoy Manor will be your pathetic prick and a hand full of blonde locks for identification.” He seemed to have a hard time swallowing -- be it because of her words or the wand crushing his windpipe she had no idea and couldn’t care less. “Get that?”

She would have said more, but before she had the chance to, he was on his feet, pushing her wand hand away and storming off the stairs, cursing under his breath about 'Fucking bitches' and 'cock teases'.

Idiot… you fucking, moronic idiot
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Wake of War