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Mudblood Fever and Lingerie	By : Tnteacups Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 36612 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters within. I am not, nor will not be making any money from 'Mudblood Fever and Lingerie.'

Chapter List
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A Ring and a Confession

Hermione filed into the school with all of her friends, having met up with them on the train, coming back from holiday. Ginny had already asked her about Italy, and had been telling her all about Christmas at the Burrow. She was telling Hermione about what the twins had given her from the joke shop, when Hermione felt a shiver go up her spine, and turned to see Draco Malfoy walking right next to her, chatting with Goyle, as though he hadn’t noticed she was there. She felt the back of his hand brush against hers, lingering a bit too long to be accidental.
The crush of people on all sides was keeping anyone else from noticing the action, but Hermione’s heart sped up, and she glanced at her friends, hoping they didn’t notice. Ginny’s eyes were on her, her eyebrows wiggling, telling Hermione silently that she’d noticed the blond right next to them. Neither drew attention to him, or to the fact that he was bumping into her occasionally, seeming oblivious in the packed hall.
When they parted ways, he finally looked over, for barely a second, out of the corner of his eye, and cut right in front of her, pressing his hand to hers as he passed, and giving her friends a dirty look as he and Goyle walked in front of them, heading toward the dungeons. Her fingers closed automatically around the small piece of paper he’d pressed into her palm, clutching it silently as they walked, and stuffing it quickly into the pocket of her robes, to inspect later.
When they made their way to the common room, Hermione sat heavily in a chair next to the fire, her friends surrounding her, and Ginny sitting next to her. She pulled the slip of parchment out of her pocket, and pulled a book from her bag to hide it in, opening the book for cover, and unfolding the note inside.
The empty classroom, after dinner.
She knew he’d meant the one in the dungeons, where he’d opened up to her. She wondered if he wanted to talk, or if he wanted to get rid of spare energy, hoping it was both. she balled the paper up and threw it casually into the fire, turning her head back to the book, to distract herself until dinner.

Draco slid silently into the classroom, having fallen behind the rest of the Slytherins heading back to their dungeon. He sat at one of the desks, waiting for her to arrive, and staring at his hands.
The creaking of the door announced her arrival a few minutes later, bringing his attention to the figure coming towards him.
“Need help with your homework, Malfoy?” She asked coolly, sitting in the chair next to him.
“I’ve already finished it, Granger. Bet Potter and Weasley can’t say the same, though.” He said, standing from his chair, and circling behind her.
“You’re probably right. And I suppose they’ll need my help, then.” She stood, as if to go to her friends, but was stopped short by his hands around her waist.
“I have something else I need your help with…” He growled in her ear playfully, turning her to face him. He could see the humored sparkle in her eyes in the torchlight, and leaned in, touching his lips gently to hers, appreciating how easily her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and how readily she kissed him back.
He didn’t want to admit how much he’d missed this. The closeness, being able to at least see her every day, even if he couldn’t always talk to her. His father had made terrible company in comparison, and his mother had been far too inquisitive. Hermione was warm, and seemed to be just as eager to see him as he had been.
“How was your holiday, Hermione?” He asked softly, using her name like a caress.
“It was pleasant. My parents and I traveled to Italy, so it wasn’t dull, but it was… Lacking,” she finished, squinting at the word as though it weren’t quite right. “Yours?”
“Same as always. Terrible.” He said, shrugging, and trying not to think about it. It’d been especially terrible this year, but he wasn’t sure she would understand.
“It’s always terrible?” She asked, frowning, and cocking her head to the side.
“Well, the gifts are rather superb, but… The family part is always unpleasant.” He said, recalling past christmases with a larger family. Those had been even worse.
“I thought you liked your mum and dad.” Hermione frowned harder, not letting him brush the past off as easily as he’d like. He sighed, and pulled slightly away, looking into her face better.
“Do you really want to know about that?” He asked, making a face to express just how fun of a topic it would be.
“Yes.” Hermione replied without hesitation, her eyes widening with interest.
“She’s actually interested in me…” Draco thought, absorbing the details of her face, and marveling in the interest. He pulled out his wand, and barred the door from passerby, before pulling Hermione toward an empty desk, and sitting down in a chair heavily, weighed down by thoughts of his family.
“I told my mother about us.” He said, his stomach tightening into a knot as he watched Hermione’s reaction, hoping she didn’t laugh at him, or worse.
“In the abstract, or…?” Hermione prompted, leaning against the desk in front of him, listening as though it were a lesson from a professor.
“As much as was tasteful,” he said, giving her a knowing grin. “Nothing too intimate, but she knows we’re… Intimate,” he said, sticking with the gentle word. “I told her how I felt…” He cringed away from that memory, refusing to admit he’d blurted to his mother more than he’d told Granger, herself. “She wasn’t even disappointed,” he said, shrugging. “She promised not to tell my father, though. He would be furious.” Draco said, absently twisting a ring around his finger.
“That doesn’t sound like an awful holiday.” Hermione said, prompting him to continue when he paused too long.
“My mother is usually fine, until she gets too curious, or overprotective…” He said, making another face. “It’s my father that usually ruins the holidays for me. Especially this year. He kept going on about blood purity, and… All I could think about was you,” Draco admitted, his face fell into a downcast scowl. “I used to admire him. After this, though…” He gestured to the air between them, “I couldn’t listen to him talk without wanting to shout at him.” Hermione looked at him sadly, understanding his anger.
“He seemed more childish than anything.” Draco said bitterly, twisting the ring angrily on his finger.
“What’s that?” Hermione asked, staring at his hands, noticing the fidgeting.
“Nothing.” He said tiredly, clasping one hand over the other, and hiding the ring.
“Draco, don’t.” Her voice was stern, and he stared into her brown eyes, taking comfort from the kindness in them.
“My father gave it to me.” He said, pulling the ring from his slim finger, and holding it out for her to inspect. Her fingers were soft against his as she took the ring from him, holding it up to her face in the dim light.
“If father could see us now…” He thought, staring at the muggle-born girl holding his family crest. She was probably the first non-pureblood to touch it, ever.
“It’s the Malfoy family crest,” he said, holding out his hand for her to drop it back into, and slid it back onto his index finger. “He went into a big speech when he gave it to me.” He said, remembering how the speech had set his nerves on edge. He’d tuned it out, thinking of brown eyes, and soft skin.
“He’d said quite a few things about the responsibility of our lineage, carrying on the name, et cetera.” Draco scoffed, and stared hatefully at the ring. It was a reminder for him of every disappointment he’d been to his father, and the future disappointment he seemed destined to inflict. Perhaps the Malfoy name would die out with Draco himself.
“You were right, Granger. In potions, when you said my blood is evil.” He stared at the floor, feeling tainted, and foul.

Hermione stared at the top of his blond head, her features scrunched into a confused scowl. She barely remembered saying it to him, and she felt her heart wrench with regret. The mood had changed so completely, from the fluttering in her stomach when he’d said he’d told his mother about them, to the feeling of her innards falling a mile as he sat there, morose, and broken.
“I’m sorry I said that,” Hermione said, sitting in the chair next to him. “I don’t think it’s true. Not anymore, anyhow,” she said, knowing she’d believed it at the time. “I’ve seen you change, Draco. The past couple months, you’ve been different. You can be different, and you’re trying. That proves it’s not your blood, it’s just poor upbringing.” She said the last with a note of harshness, wondering how anyone could teach their child to hate so completely.
“What if you’re wrong? What if I’m destined to be like my father, and grandfather, and everyone else in my family?” He said, looking at her with a face so full of anger she pulled back.
“Do you want to be like them?” Hermione asked, staring steadily into his watery eyes. He was on the verge of tears from how badly his family legacy was hurting him, and she couldn’t stand to see him suffer any longer.
“No.” He replied, his face twisting with discomfort as he said it, unsure of himself.
“Then don’t be. You’re free to make your own choices. So make choices that are different from theirs. You’ve already started, you just have to keep going, and get a little closer to who you do want to be every day.” She said matter-of-factly. It wouldn’t be easy for him, but she believed he could do it if he really wanted to. He looked hopeful, his eyes still shining with worried tears, but the way he looked at her made her squirm with discomfort.

Draco hoped she was right, and she looked so convinced, he couldn’t help believing her. He would change, for her. He would prove her right, and prove his father wrong.
“Thank you, Hermione,” he said, feeling embarrassed by the tears in his eyes, and suddenly childish for his capriciousness. “I’m sorry for acting like a baby.”
“You’re not.” She replied, smiling at him in a way that made his stomach flip. He slid from his chair, kneeling on the ground next to her, and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his face into her stomach. Her arms folded around his shoulders and head, silently comforting the distraught boy. He breathed in the scent of her, a different smell than the hogwarts bathwater she used. It was sweeter, with a note of citrus to the floral bouquet.
“What did you do in Italy?” Draco asked, mumbling the question into her shirt.
“Sorry?” She asked, unable to decipher his words.
“What did you and your parents do in Italy?” He lifted his head to ask, but placed it right back when he’d finished, closing his eyes to listen to her answer.
“Oh. We went to Milan for a few days, visited a few museums, and Sempione Park, lovely place. Then we went to Rome for a week, and toured the city. I tried to throw a muggle coin into every fountain we passed, but I ran out of coins on the first day. We saw the Sistine Chapel, the Colosseum, the Pantheon, so many places I can hardly recall.”
“What’d you do for the rest of the holiday?” He asked, tilting his head away so she could hear.
“Well, we had to travel to Italy, and Muggle’s can’t travel by Apparition, or Floo Powder, so it took up quite a bit of time. I spent about three days at home, though, for Christmas.”
“What’s it like?” He remembered her telling him of how different muggle bathrooms were from those in his own house, and wondered just how differently she lived when she wasn’t at Hogwarts.
“My home?” She seemed surprised by this question, and he nodded into her belly, ignoring the ache beginning in his knees as he knelt in front of her. “Well, it’s rather small, since it’s just the three of us. There’s two bedrooms, and an office. We have a kitchen, a living room, and just one bathroom,” she sat up straighter, and leaned around him, jostling his hold on her as she reached into her bag. “I brought a muggle magazine.” She said, pulling it out of her bag. Draco pulled away from his embrace, and took the offered booklet, sitting back in his chair as he inspected it.
“What’s wrong with the pictures?” He said, poking at one still-life, and flipping a page to inspect another.
“Muggle pictures don’t move.” She explained, watching him look through the magazine.
“What’s this?” He asked, pointing to a picture.
“That’s a washing machine. You put clothes and soap in, and it washes your clothes for you.” He opened his mouth to mention his family’s house-elf, but decided against it, reminded by the button pinned to her bag that she didn’t care for house-elf treatment.
“How about this one?” He pointed to another still image, frowning at the picture, and tilting his head back and forth, hoping to make sense of it.
“That’s a child’s bath toy,” She said, inspecting the duck-boat. “They come up with all sorts of silly things.”
“Muggle children play in the bath?” He asked, looking up into her frowning face.
“Wizard children do, too.” She said, looking confused. “You didn’t?”
“No. The bath we had together was the first bath I’ve had fun in. Usually it’s either washing, or relaxing.”
“Did your parents allow you to play at all as a child?” Hermione asked, irritated.
“Yes. I had a playroom, and everything I wanted. Except when I was in lessons.” She nodded, understanding early lessons, and leaned on the table, staring absently into the magazine as he turned pages.
He absorbed the images of the muggle world, staring in awe as he read descriptions beneath appliances, inspected happily smiling children, and whimsical adults. By the time he’d reached the last page of the booklet, he couldn’t form words to describe what he was feeling. He stared blankly at the last page, letting his new understanding sink in. The muggles had found ingenious ways around their lack of magic, almost like a magic of their own.
“Hermione… You grew up with all of this?” He asked, marveling for the first time at how difficult the transition into a witch’s life must’ve been for her.
“Well, yes. But it wasn’t so bad without magic. Just different. It was a good childhood.” She said, staring almost wistfully down at the glossy pages, as he stared amazedly at her.
“I envy you.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he blushed pink in the torchlight as she looked up at him, curious.
“Envy me? I can’t imagine your childhood was that unfortunate, spoiled brat that you are.” She teased, her lips lifting in a smile. He wasn’t thinking, just moving, leaning across the small expanse between them, pressing his lips to hers gently, lifting a hand to brush her hair aside, and cup her face.
Hermione kissed him back happily, her lips parting slightly under his in anticipation, one hand balling into a fist in her lap, the other resting on his shoulder familiarly. Draco could feel her eagerness, and deepened the kiss, capturing her lips between his own, and pulling her from her chair, to the floor. She sprawled underneath him, her hands clutching his shoulders, her legs tangling with his.
He tangled his fingers in her thick brown hair, kissing his way down her throat, pulling her robes up with one hand. She helped him to remove her clothing, lifting her black robes over her head, and unclasping the white bra she wore, kicking her shoes off as he pulled down her matching panties, and kissing his way down her legs, touching as much of her soft skin as he could.
When she lay naked underneath him, he moved back up to kiss her, kicking his own shoes off, and pulling impatiently at his own robes, undressing hastily as he slid against her, pressing into her, and kissing her in a slow, mesmerising way. She welcomed him readily, kissing back in a greedy manner, grabbing at his hair, shoulders, and arms.
He entered her slowly, like their first time, staring into her eyes as he filled her, watching her pleasure fill her face. Her breath caught in her throat when he settled deep within her, stopping his hips in place, to stay inside her. Being near her made him forget how unhappy his family was. Being with her like this, he couldn’t even recall anything outside of her brown eyes, warm skin, or flushed face.
“Having trouble?” Hermione grinned up at him as he stared down at her, her voice teasing, her hips wiggling against his, inviting his own movement. He felt the words stick in his throat, and lay against her, burying his face in her hair, hiding the swell of feelings she invoked, and moved swiftly to distract her. Her voice came out in a soft moan as he jerked his hips back and forth, her back arched against him as he slid slowly in and out of her. He squeezed his eyes closed, breathing in the scent of her hair, taking in the unfamiliar shampoo scent overlaying the smell of her skin. He loved the way she smelled, the way she felt, the sound of her voice.

Hermione closed her eyes, enjoying the slow warmth of him on top of her. She moved her hips in time with his. She could hear her own moans, but couldn’t stop them, they kept coming out as though they were a part of her breathing.
Soft lips pressed into hers, kissing gently, moving at the same slow pace as their sex, making her feel giddy, and relaxed all at once. Draco’s hands on her were still, unmoving as he held her, and as she kissed him back, she realized that he felt differently. He felt calmer, more patient than usual, and worlds more gentle. He wasn’t speeding up, or thrusting harder, he was staying slow, tender, unlike their usual jaunts into each other’s fantasies. Loving.
The word that popped into her head surprised her into stillness beneath him, and she opened her eyes, staring into confused silver orbs, wondering which of them the word fit. Was today different because she felt differently, or because he did?
“What’s wrong, Hermione?” He asked, looking stunned that she’d gone so still. She stared up into his confused look, the worry in them, and smiled knowingly.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing is wrong.” She said, lifting her head to meet his lips in an intense kiss, leaving him confused, but unworried as she showed him just how much she was enjoying him. Hermione pulled his face back down level with hers, so she could whisper in his ear as he resumed thrusting slowly into her.
“I love this…” She panted closing her eyes to lose herself in the sensation of their mingling skin. It was familiar, and exciting, her body moving against him on it’s own, while she absorbed the feeling of his bare skin, the smell of his hair, the sound of his breath against her neck as he kissed gently in response to her words.
If she hadn’t been lying on a cold stone floor, she would almost call it romantic, the way Draco held her tightly to him, the delicate way he kissed along her jaw, the slow way he made love to her, alone in their own world.

Draco felt himself edging closer to orgasm, each unhurried thrust pushing him an inch closer. He paused, shifting his legs, pulling away, and taking her with him as he sat up and pulled her on top of him. She followed his guiding hands easily, curling her legs underneath her, and straddling him as he lay all the way back, letting her take the lead.

She took only a moment to adjust comfortably on top of him, and as she began moving her hips over his, he slid a hand between them, rubbing her toward a swift climax. He stared up at her as she braced her hands on his chest, her head dipping as her mouth gasped for air, and her whole body began to twitch slightly over him, her walls squeezing all round him,
“I love you.” It’s barely a whisper of his breath against her skin, but it made her heart pound harder in her chest, her breath catch in her throat, and her body tense against him with surprise. She kept her eyes closed, and clutched him tighter to her, letting the confession sink in, the heat from his words seeping through her, echoed inside her own head.

Draco felt her surprise as though he could read her mind, her body so expressive that he paused to take in the look on her face for a second, trying to read her reaction. He wouldn’t blame her if she found his admission offensive; he didn’t even think he had a right to feel the way he did, but he DID feel she deserved to know, nonetheless.
He held in the urge to apologize, refusing to take the words back. Instead, he pushed them into her, one slow stroke after another, letting his emotions flow to her, sharing it between them, and making the connection more solid as she returned his every movement. He kissed her again, letting his lips add more of his thoughts to the mix, kissing her delicately, running his hands softly down her body. She responded playfully, nipping at his lower lip, and sifting her fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at his scalp, as she slid back and forth against his hips.
He groaned against her lips, relishing the sensations of her hands and mouth on him, and her obvious eagerness at his confession. Instead of offensive, she seemed to find it inspiring, and was using her new inspiration to torture Draco until he couldn’t think anymore. His fingers dug desperately into her thighs, his face twisting with enthrallment, as he forgot about his apprehensions, and his trying to be gentle, and charming. She stole his thoughts away, and left only his need for her, warping his moan into a soft growl as his careful restraint unhinged.
Draco held her to him, and thrust upward, hard, fast, and wild, his eyes rolling shut, and his fingers pulling her hair back, and forcing her to arch into him. Her voice caught in a high pitched whimper, encouraging him to go further, biting at her arched neck, and rolling her over, regaining his position of free-movement. He used his weight to thrust harder, making her curl against him, and mewl with uncontrolled bliss.
He was sweaty and shaky by the time he finished, his muscles feeling like electrified jam, his breath almost painful in his throat. He held Hermione to his chest, her panting breath cooling his sweat-slicked skin. He kept his eyes closed, trying to force his arms to stop shaking, and slow his heartbeat back to a safe rhythm as Hermione’s finger traced patterns across his chest and stomach.

Hermione lay against him, catching her breath, and tracing the lines of his muscles, his pale skin hot, and his chest moving rapidly with his needy lungs. His fingers trembled slightly against her shoulder, betraying his exhaustion, and making her smile into his ribcage. She’d gone beyond shaking, and couldn’t bring herself to move more than her fingers, too spent to care about lying on the floor, or curfews. Her eyes were trying to drift shut, and she fought to stay awake. The only thing imperfect in her small, isolated world was her stomach. After a few moments of being still, it’d decided to start twisting uncomfortably with hunger, reminding her of how little she’d eaten at dinner, too nervous to be hungry. Her nerves were relaxed, but her hunger had caught up, and tripled. She tried to ignore it, and kept gently stroking the lines of his chest, forcing her eyes back open every time she blinked.
“Hermione…” She grinned at the way her name sounded in his voice, warm, and adoring. "Would you like to sneak to the kitchens? You sound like you’re starving.” Hermione felt her whole face burn with embarrassment as her stomach growled again, audible to them both.
“I’m fine…” She mumbled, ducking her face to hide the blush spreading across it.
“Well, I’m hungry, so I think I’ll go anyway. You’re welcome to come along if you like, of course.” Draco said teasingly, slowly sitting up, still cradling her to his chest. She kept her face down, hidden by her hair, and nodded silently, hating how her stomach kept making noise. She and Draco slowly stood, helping one another to their feet, and pulling their robes on. She noticed how Draco leaned heavily on the table as he pulled his robes over his head, his legs still a bit shaky as he redressed.
“Are you okay, Draco?” She asked, her fading blush returning as his name slid off her tongue. His earlier confession still lingered in her mind, tinting all her words with that extra knowledge.
“I’m great. Just a bit tired. I should be fine once we start walking.” He said with a self-assured grin. She grinned back, and took his hand, using her other to unlock the door. They walked hand in hand down the deserted corridor, silent and wary. It was at least an hour past bedtime, and they knew that Filch wasn’t the only one prowling the corridors, looking for students out of bed.
A/N: I'm so sorry for missing last night, guys! Have this long chapter to make up for it! <3
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Mudblood Fever and Lingerie