Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Some Blond Fool	By : AndreaLorraine Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 46886 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Author�s Note: Hey everyone, buckle your seatbelts, a lot
happens in this chapter�including smut!�
Enjoy and as always leave me some feedback!

She recovered slowly, reeling in
her wits and registering that she had best not look guilty.� Then again, Ron had never been the most
observant person; sometimes she felt that he could only understand these kinds
of things if she more or less clubbed him over the head with them.� But in the last few days life had been such
that this would be the one time he figured it out.� She wasn�t going to take any chances.

�� Ron, you
really should have owled or called.�

�� It�s my
flat, I shouldn�t have to ask permission to visit it,� he bit off.

�� It used to be your flat,� she
retorted.� �My name is on the lease, not
yours.� You moved in here.� So, if I don�t want you here, it isn�t your
flat anymore.�

�� I knew
this was the only way I�d actually be able to talk to you,� he said, his jaw
clenched.� His face turned dark, his
freckles standing out like they always did when he was mad.� �Did I interrupt a little date?�

�� Hermione
felt anger spear in her gut.� He had no
right, no right at all, to be judging her.�
�Watch yourself, Ronald.� Take
that tone again and you will be out of here so fast that you won�t know what
hit you.� And you know I can make good on
that.�

�� The muscles
in his jaw twitched.� He knew very well
she could and would make good on that
threat; she had done it before.

�� Fine.�

�� Hermione
sighed and rubbed her temples.� Her head
felt like it was ready to burst.� Why
couldn�t things ever be simple for her?�
She put down her purse and her keys and after two deep breaths, she
looked at him.

�� Her husband
was an attractive man.� Every now and
then it would hit her, that he was in his own way gorgeous, and it always felt
like a tremendous epiphany.� The first
epiphany had led to their first kiss, the second to their first time in bed,
and the third and beyond had landed her right here, right now, married to him
but full of turmoil.� They had never
abated, though.� Less than two months ago
she�d had one.� She had woken up before
him and watched him as he slept, still and peaceful.� For the first time in their entire
relationship, she noticed his eyelashes.�
They were ridiculously long and lighter than his hair, almost strawberry
blond.� It had made her smile; after so
much time, there was still something new, something to notice and fall in love
with.

�� There were other things about him
that she loved and probably always would.�
Ron had blue eyes, but dark blue, like marble.� His hair was longer now that he was older, a
bit shaggier, a bit punk rock.� That reference
was, of course, lost on him.� He was as
tall as any of his brothers, easily six foot three, and no longer awkward.� Ron had become a well-formed man, masculine
where he had once been gangly.� He had learned
a lot, too.� For all that, though, he was
still the same person she�d met thirteen years ago.� The person that had always loved her but
could never manage to express it right.

�� What did you come here to say,
Ron?� she asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

�� A lot of things,� he replied, shifting
from one foot to the other nervously.�
�And you know I�m no good at this, so please just let me talk.�

�� She nodded.� He took a deep, shuddering breath.

�� I�m not even sure what happened in Mykonos.� I had no intention of being with someone
else, none at all.� I was out with people
from work, just relaxing, having a few drinks, and then all of a sudden I was
with this woman and�I don�t know.� I
don�t know what happened.� I didn�t feel
like I was in control of myself.�
Hermione, I love you, and I would never want to hurt you like that.�

�� Why didn�t you just say that two
weeks ago, Ron?� she asked, sadly exasperated.�
�Why didn�t you say anything?�

�� He fidgeted.� �Did you ever�feel like�maybe we jumped into
things too soon?�

�� It was only the physiological limits
of her facial anatomy that kept her jaw from hitting the floor.� He was going to pull this card out now?

�� We were just kids,� he sighed.� �The only thing we had was each other.� We were so afraid of losing that after it
took so damn long to find.� And my mum
and dad have said it was the same after the first war.� Everyone was just in a rush to get married,
to hold on to the people they loved, because they�d all seen how it could end
tomorrow.� Sort of reckless��

�� It had taken a long time to find.� She had known that Ron was in love with her
after the Yule Ball fourth year.� At that
time she wasn�t too impressed with him, but the next three years had formed
them into a unit.� By the advent of the
real war, she was just waiting for him to realize it.� When he did it had felt so good, so right��

�� So marrying me was reckless?�

�� I didn�t say that.�

�� Then what do you mean?�

�� I mean that we didn�t think things
through.� We just did what felt right at
the time.� And maybe it�s not right
anymore.�

�� Ronald Weasley
was talking to her about not thinking things through.� Surely Armageddon was approaching.� She needed to sit down.� He recognized this and got a chair under her
just in time.

�� Hermione�s scattered thoughts tried
to make sense.� It was true, nearly every
couple that had formed during or after the war had married in due haste.� Harry and Ginny bucked the trend for their
own reasons, but it was unlikely that they would ever split.� Eventually they would cave to Mrs. Weasley�s insistences and get married.� And as bad a track record as
fresh-out-of-school marriages had, the ones that had formed in the wake of Voldemort had proved curiously resilient.� Except for hers, it seemed.

�� I�ve been wanting to say these
things to you for about six months,� he continued, sitting across from
her.� �But I�m too much of a coward.� And when this thing with the cheating came
along, I thought�I thought you�d dump me straight away�and I wouldn�t have to
break your heart more.�

�� Tears welled up in her eyes and she
didn�t check them.� �Then why are you
breaking it now, Ron?�

�� This insanity with Malfoy.� Hermione, I
am not worth going anywhere near him
just to make a point!�

�� I�m not making a point, Ronald!�
she shouted.� The wounded anger grew and
propelled her out of her seat.� �Malfoy has been kind.�
He�s been there for me.� Which is
more than can be said for you!�� Never
mind that she wasn�t even sure which Malfoy she was
talking about.� Probably both.

�� He�s a git,
Hermione.�� Ron�s temper was rising to
match hers.� �He knows you�re vulnerable
and is trying to take advantage of that.�
He doesn�t care about you.�

�� Grieving anger churned in her
stomach, filled up her chest, made her want to scream at the top of her
lungs.� It was a level of rage she rarely
attained.� It was terrifying because she
knew it was this kind of fury that had created the term �crimes of passion�;
right now she felt like she could murder him.�
He never changed.� Never.� He only truly wanted her when someone else
threatened his claim.� Otherwise he was
perfectly content to take her for granted.

�� Certainty punched a hole through the
fog of anger.� She didn�t calm, not
exactly; it was more that her ire funneled into decision, suppressing the
out-of-control impulses.� Later she could
scream.� Later she could be an emotional
tornado, breaking things, cutting up photographs, dismantling anything that
would remind her of him.� But right now�

�� If you came for a divorce, Ron,
you�ve got it,� she said coldly.� �Send
the papers.� I�ll sign them.� I don�t want to see you again.�

Six days later

��

�� People had come and gone, mainly her
mum, Ginny, and Harry.� Both sets of
twins that she knew, the Patils and the Weasleys, had come to visit as well.� Harry was here today, quietly supportive, and
she loved him for it because it meant he had picked her over Ron.� That didn�t happen often.

�� That�s it!� he exclaimed as yet
another owl flew into her living room window.�
�I�m making this apartment Unplottable.�

�� Don�t you need a permit from the
Ministry?�

�� I�ll get the permit later.� I don�t know how you can stand them!�

�� The owls?�

�� He looked at her, his green eyes
concerned.� �It�s not healthy to be
getting howlers when you�re in this state.��

�� She shrugged.� �I brought it on myself.� I knew they�d come, just not that they�d
coincide with the worst week of my life.�

�� Oh, Hermione,� he sighed, �I�m so
sorry for all of this.�

�� None of it is your fault.�

�� Harry sat down, knocking over a pile
of mail in the process.� He left it
there.� He�d seen her do the same at least
five times.� He knew her routine by now;
she waited for the howlers to trigger, attempted to ignore them, sorted through
to make sure nothing real or important was mixed in, and then threw the
remainder in the fire.

�� So�Malfoy,
huh?�

�� Hermione raised her eyes to look at
him.� She knew without asking that Ginny
had told him.� The pictures in Witch
Weekly hadn�t shocked him, and the only way that was even remotely possible was
if he knew they weren�t real.�

�� I know you won�t believe it, but he
� they�ve changed.�

�� Harry chewed his lower lip.� �I want to see it for myself.�

�� Ginny�s already sized him up and
approved.� Do you really have to do it,
also?�

�� He looked at her like she was
daft.� �Yes.�

�� Hermione sighed.� Harry would be nicer than Ginny but it would
be terrifically awkward.� There was also
the off chance that Lucius wouldn�t put up with
another rude surprise.� Still, he had
proven himself to be incredibly�

�� He had proven himself to be
incredible.

�� All right.� I�ll ask him to come over.�� She stood up and retrieved her phone.� She�d been steadfastly ignoring it for the
last few days.� She wanted to truly
wallow in her grief, and that meant no interruptions.

�� It had been six days.� She hadn�t contacted him at all, and it was a
curious kind of withdrawal as she�d spent half the previous week with him.� She should have expected a message or two.� The first was the third day after their
�date�.

Am I really that terrible of a kisser?

�� She had driven Lucius
Malfoy to insecurity.�
It was quite a feat, but she felt no triumph.� The next was the fifth day.

Did one of your overzealous fans kill you?

�� That was his idea of expressing
concern.� The third message had only come
forty minutes ago.

I�m coming over.

�� Evidently she wouldn�t have to ask
him to come by after all.� And with him
initiating it, she could hardly be blamed for having Harry there.� He was walking into his own uncomfortable
doom.� Hermione sighed and dropped the
phone back into the drawer it had spent most of the last week in.� It was nearing the time for her to rise from
the mire of her depression, but not just yet.

�� True to form, he made an
entrance.� He knocked, ever polite, but
as she moved toward the door she heard a scuffle and a curse.� When she opened the door he looked murderous.

�� Bloody owls!� he seethed.

�� Hermione had to smile.� In one glance she surmised what had angered
him. �An owl had left a deposit in his
hair.� Draco�s
comment about computers not being able to shit on you popped into her head and
she bit the inside of her lip.

�� I�ve got it,� she murmured.� In a moment the crisis was averted; she used
a spell to clean it up and his pale hair lay glossy and undisturbed.

�� Thank you,� he huffed, not even
bothering to try to regain his lost dignity.�
�You really should make this place Unplottable
like my flat, so the owls can�t find you.�

�� Don�t you need a permit for that?�
Harry spoke up from behind her.� His
voice was even, almost conversational, but he wasn�t fooling anyone.� �And a wand?�

�� In spite of the unpleasant surprise
and the blatant dig, Lucius didn�t miss a beat.� �I have a permit, Mr. Potter.� And a very talented son.�

�� Harry kept his silence, though they
all knew what he was thinking.

�� Lucius�s
eyes lingered on him for a moment, unreadable, and then flickered to
Hermione.� She was sure she looked awful,
but something told her he�d know she was upset even if she looked
immaculate.� She wasn�t sure what that
meant.�

�� What is it?�� His voice was low and cautious.� He didn�t like Harry�s presence, not one bit.

�� Ron and I are getting divorced.�

�� He exhaled slowly as the statement
hung in the air.� �Thank your lucky stars
that the media hasn�t gotten hold of that yet.�

�� Bite your tongue, Malfoy.�

�� He nodded.� �I�m sorry.�

�� Me too,� she sighed.� �Sorry that I wasted six years of my life on
him.�

�� Lucius
frowned.� �It�s not a waste.� You loved him once.�

�� She didn�t know what to say to that,
so she settled for walking away.� Lucius was unused to being dismissed, but covered it well
by closing and bolting the door.� When he
turned back, she was gone.� It was him
and Harry, and though they were only ten feet apart, the friction in the air between
them could have filled a blimp.

��

�� Hermione watched the two of them
from behind a half-closed door.� She
couldn�t talk about failed marriages with Malfoy in
front of Harry.� Harry didn�t understand
and his presence would hinder Lucius�s candor.� Right now she only wanted honesty.� Though she had to give him credit; he�d
already shown more care and emotion in Harry�s presence than she ever would
have expected.

�� Now, though, the two of them were
like animals sizing one another up before fighting for control of the
pack.� It was a man thing, she knew, but
different because of their history.� Lucius had never directly harmed Harry, but he had done
something worse � he had stood aside and watched dispassionately while others
did.� He had supported the quest for
Harry�s death, actively participated in it, and once reveled in dismantling the
Boy Who Lived.

�� And for his part, Harry had sent him
to prison, if Azkaban could accurately be called that.� Harry had sent him to hell.� That hell had followed him, reborn into
unwilling servitude under Voldemort and then
powerlessness when he gave up his wand.�
No matter what grand show he put on, she�d bet her life savings that he
held a grudge.

�� Still scheming, Malfoy?�
Harry said.

�� Always, Potter.�� Lucius allowed a
half-smirk to lift the left corner of his mouth.� �I don�t know much else.�

�� At least you admit it now.�

�� Be glad it is to your favor,� Lucius returned.�
�You know what it�s like when it�s not.�

�� Harry�s hand twitched.� Hermione prayed that she would not have to
prevent Harry from hexing him.� She
didn�t think he would do it, but Lucius wasn�t
pulling any punches.� It was a mark of
his boldness that he would provoke Harry when he was completely
defenseless.� It was also, perhaps, a
mark of how much he�d changed.� Any
sensible Slytherin would recognize a discrepancy in
power and behave accordingly, and while Lucius was
still a Slytherin, it was becoming increasingly
evident that he�d relinquished some of his House�s tenets.�

�� If you have things to say to me,
Mr. Potter, say them.� I can do nothing
to retaliate, but I won�t stand here forever.�
My masochism has limits.�

�� Harry was silent, thoughtfully
so.� After a long, excruciating minute Lucius turned back toward the door; Harry�s voice stopped
him.

�� My sadism has limits, too.� Very strong ones.� But answer me this, Malfoy.�

�� Lucius
paused, turning only enough to show Harry his profile.

�� Do you really care about Hermione?�

�� Would I be here if I did not?�� His answer was quick, ready, raw.

�� She asked you to come.�

�� No,� Lucius
shook his head.� �She didn�t.�� He turned his back on Harry and was out the
door before the other man could formulate a response.

�� Hermione leaned against the door,
eyes closed.� She was relieved that they
had not come to blows.� She was proud of
them, too, for recognizing what they had once been and choosing not to
perpetuate it now.

�� Hermione?� Harry called.

�� In here,� she sighed.

�� Harry stood on the other side of the
door, instinctively knowing that she needed the barrier.� �Is it true?�
You didn�t tell him to come?�

�� No.�
He was already on his way here.�

�� Harry was quiet for a long
time.� Then,

�� Well, I guess that explains how he
got here so fast.�

�� Two days went by and this time he
did not text.� She knew that facing Harry
had been difficult.� The two of them had
exchanged very few words and cloudy sentiments, at best, but the ten minute
confrontation had surely felt like the toil of hours.

�� Though she hadn�t expected any
visitors today (what day was it, anyway?), Harry knocked on her door.� He was in quidditch
robes and looked like he was in a rush.�
Her suspicion was confirmed a moment later when he wrestled a piece of
paper from inside his robe and handed it over.

�� Hermione, I can�t stay, I�ve got a
trial with Oliver Wood�s team, but you should read this.�� He was halfway out the door when he paused
and looked back.� �Malfoy
sent it.� �

Mr. Potter,

It is perhaps a great flaw, or a great
strength, that a Slytherin finds himself unable to
speak plainly in the presence of those who endanger him.� Be it physical danger, emotional, whatever,
it is a fact.� As such this is a cowardly
way to deal with things, but I�m sure you prefer it to another face-to-face
meeting.

Being much younger than me, you are all too
familiar with growing pains.� It is that
time where your body grows unchecked, faster than even it can handle, and you
ache with the exhaustion of it.� Forgive
the poorly elucidated metaphor, but at the half-century mark that is where I
find myself � growing too fast, not wanting to do it at all, tempering my
mistakes and the demons that many do not think me capable of having with an
almost suicidal willpower.� It is an
exquisite punishment, one I alternately love and hate, much like those who
brought it upon me (myself included).

Apologies are meaningless so I will not make
them.� Perhaps the best penance comes in
action.� Know, then, that in the most
colloquial terms, I owe you one.� Call
upon it tomorrow or never, for great or ill; what you ask means little to me.� I will do it.�
You know I have only offered blind servitude to one other, a colossal
mistake, and I am loath to make it twice.�
Not that I believe you have such dark agendas�for if you did, this world
would be a very different place.

But we men are full of secrets, aren�t we?� One favor, Potter, one task, no questions�and
then we are even.� Tabula
rasa, if you can stand it.

Yours,

L. Malfoy

�� In the wake of the letter, she
finally emerged from her flat.� She
showered, beat her curls into obedient submission, put on a bit of makeup to
cover the dark circles beneath her eyes, and dressed in something other than
sweatpants.� It was warm outside, a tinge
of humidity in the air.� The sun would
feel good on her skin.� Besides, she
could use the vitamin D; staying in the house depleted it and that only made
her more depressed, completely independent of everything else.

�� Once outside, she was glad that
something had at last propelled her back into reality.� It was sickeningly beautiful out.� She turned back for a pair of sunglasses;
they felt good to wear because they provided some protection against the story
written on her face.� They shielded her
on both sides.� With them firmly in
place, she felt her back straighten and she breathed a deep lungful of summer
air.

�� A slight breeze blew her skirt
around her knees and heat kissed her shoulders.�
The rhythmic crunch of her flip flops became meditative, laced with the
chirping of birds and the whisper of moving leaves.� She was at Lucius�s
flat before she knew it.� There was only
one problem; he wasn�t answering the door.

�� Hermione sighed, blowing a curl out
of her eyes.� Where would he be?� She tried to put herself in his shoes but
found it impossible; there was no one who could predict the whereabouts of the mugglized, grudgingly repentant Lucius
Malfoy except Lucius Malfoy.� She was just
about to turn away from the door when it was pulled open.

�� It was Draco.

�� Hi,� she managed.� �Where�s--?��

�� She yelped a moment later when his
hand clamped around her wrist and he pulled her inside.� She found herself leaning against the closed
door staring straight into his grey eyes.�
In the wake of the bold move he looked the slightest bit unsure.� He was probably running over his options in
his head; acknowledge the flirtation, pretend that it had never happened,
apologize and offer excuses, try to wiggle out of it � but his body language
didn�t look like he was trying to wiggle out of anything.

�� After a minute he lifted a hand and
gently pulled the sunglasses from her face.

�� That�s better,� he murmured.� His eyes took her in.� They were less fettered than Lucius�s, but still held enough ambiguity to create a worm
of apprehension in her stomach.� And a
worm of something else�

�� It took her by surprise, the warm
flush that spread through her at his appraising eyes.� She hadn�t thought it would be possible to
feel anything remotely resembling physical attraction for a while; the
rejection that divorce entailed had a way of crushing that.� But here she was, eight days separated,
letting his eyes fuck her and enjoying it.

�� Swallowing, she returned the
favor.� Draco
was tall and lean, the epitome of fitness.�
His jaw looked like it had been carved by Michelangelo.� Somewhere along the line he�d found a better
use for his hair products; though his hair was about the same length and the
same impossible blonde, it was styled in a much more flattering, modern
way.� Like his father he wore muggle clothes well.�
He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt but made them look expensive,
which, no doubt, they were.� If she had
met this Draco Malfoy on
the street with no prior knowledge of who he was or what he had done, she would
have thought him damn near irresistible.

�� She would never know if it was her
or Draco that moved first. �Either way, they met at the lips.� His arms slid around her effortlessly and the
pressure of his body against hers was enough to shut off the rational part of
her brain.� She needed this.� She needed�

�� To
be shagged silly?� To be reminded that
she was beautiful, desirable, worthwhile?�
To control him�?

�� He had thrown caution to the
wind.� He was kissing her like a man
returned from a long war, one that had tested his very psyche � an apt
comparison.� His eyes were closed, his
hands restless on her back, and his mouth equally restless against hers.

�� She sank against his chest, luxuriating
in the kiss.� His tongue plied hers,
coaxed it, provoked it, until at last she retaliated and pushed forward into
his mouth.� It drew a quiet, fantastic
sound of pleasure out of him.� That sound
lit her nerve endings on fire in a way she never would have expected.� Every stroke of his tongue, every move of his
scalding hand beneath her tank top was reducing her to a puddle of pure
desire.� She had never felt quite like
this with Ron, not ever�

�� He broke the kiss with a heavy
breath and his mouth went to her neck.�
She gasped, tilting her head back automatically.� His lips were like two feathers, tickling and
driving her to a madness that was not at all funny.� The searing of his tongue along the column of
her neck made her draw a shaky breath between her teeth.

�� Through the fog of arousal she
registered that he was pushing the spaghetti straps of her tank top down her
shoulders.� Then his hands went around
her and worked quickly and efficiently on the closure of her bra.� If she had thought for even a moment that Draco Malfoy would be removing
it, she would have worn a better one�

�� Oh, heavens.� The bra fell away, freeing her torso to the
warm air and the even warmer vacuum of his body heat.� He kissed her again, his right hand cupping
her breast, his thumb brushing over the dusky peak of her nipple.� She knew she was trembling.� This was all wrong but all right at the same
time.� The conflict was producing the most
potent craving she had ever felt.

�� She could feel it in him, too.� His heart was beating fast and his expensive
jeans could not contain the obvious arousal against her abdomen.� He wanted her.� Her former worst enemy wanted her badly.� If that wasn�t a heady shot of power, what
was?

�� She realized, as she worked on the
fly of his jeans and watched his eyes darken with desire, that a part of her
already loved him.� She loved him for
changing.� She loved him for daring to
want her in spite of it all.� She even
loved the contradiction of his distant, calculated confession and this very
unexpected, impulsive claim.� It was one
thing to talk about tolerance and equality; it was entirely another to act on
it, to discard his bloodline in his father�s
apartment�

�� For some reason that made her wetter
than the rainforest.� He wrestled her
hands away from his waist and pressed her against the door, the full weight of
his body against her.� She hadn�t
realized that he removed his shirt; his bare, muscled torso on hers promised
more and she was unprepared for how much she wanted it.� His lips rested a centimeter from the spot
where her neck and her shoulder met.� His
warm breath ghosted over the sensitive skin as he breathed, fast and hard.� They were on the cusp of something, something
that was best done quickly and decisively lest they lose their nerve.

�� He released her but only long enough
to propel her to the floor.� That broke
the tentative stalemate.� She tugged at
him, he tugged at her, and in moments they were divested of the last barriers.� The need to touch and taste took over; his
tongue flickered across a taut nipple and she drank in the way he inhaled
sharply, his brows knitting, when her hand found his straining length.� In a tangle of limbs and skin he sought her
center, touching her moisture and lazily spreading it until the pads of his
fingers moved slickly over her clitoris.

�� The feeling was instantaneous and
electrifying.� She squirmed beneath him,
pinned below his body and his hungry eyes.�
She was going to have sex with Draco Malfoy and she was just fine with it as long as
he�kept�doing�that�

�� He did, his fingers making precise,
pressurized circles.� Pretense was
gone.� She moaned and quivered and
watched him watching her, his shrewd, sex-hazed eyes inflaming her as much as
the activities of his hand.� Pleasure was
building upon delicious pleasure and she was dangerously close to what might
prove to be the most intense orgasm of her life.

�� He pushed her to it a moment later,
when he slithered unexpectedly down her body and replaced his fingers with his
tongue.� She shuddered and bit back a scream
as pleasure boiled over into ecstasy, spilling and pooling and exploding
through her entire body.� He held her
there, his tongue merciless, until she could no longer contain the cries that
wanted to rip out of her.

�� She gasped and lay boneless as his body
covered hers once again.� Her mind was
still scattered as she watched him reel in his control, pale eyelashes
flickering over grey irises.� Gently his
hands traveled behind her knees and eased them upward.� She recovered enough sense to know what he wanted,
what he needed�

�� With her cooperation and a practiced
hand, he guided their bodies together.�
She bit her lip, floundering for her own control.� Her insides were still singing from the
orgasm and his intrusion only made them sing louder.� Sex was sometimes overrated; this was not one
of those times.� He felt like the missing
piece of her puzzle as he began to move.

�� Bracing himself on either side of
her, he let instinct do the work.� He
pressed in and out of her at a reasonable pace, his face flushed and
enraptured.� Hermione purred beneath
him.� She was lost in the slick friction
his throbbing sex created, demolished in the wake of the discovery of that
mysteriously elusive G-spot � G obviously stood for Good God Almighty damn it
hell fuck�! �

�� She had no idea what she was saying
and she didn�t care as low moans began to issue from him.� Draco Malfoy mid-coitus was the most amazing thing she had ever
seen, heard, experienced�

�� Her mind spiraled into insensibility
once again as she came, tightening around him, crushing his hard, thick
length.� His arms buckled and he leaned
on her, pressing into her fitful heat, his face against her neck.� Her arms went around his shoulders of their
own accord and the tension she found meant that he was close.

�� He redoubled his efforts a moment
later, rising and grasping the back of her thighs.� He hunted his pleasure, taking her hard and
fast until at last his back straightened, his neck tilted back, and his lips
parted to emit a quiet but unquestionably erotic groan.� She felt him spill inside her, twitching, and
they rode it out together with matching, jagged gasps.

�� Time congealed around them, cradling
them, muting their shocked, sated bodies, and Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger lay in its obliging cocoon.

�� The last hour had been mostly
wordless and the trend continued.� But Draco�s arm around her waist as they left his father�s flat
was an unashamed shout.� This was an unexpected,
if pleasant, turn of events.

�� Where are we going?� she asked
softly.� She didn�t want to destroy the
fragile magic, but she had to know that they could speak like normal human
beings.

�� You were going to ask where my
father was before I, ah...� he trailed off and then recovered.� �He plays football on Sunday nights.�

�� She stopped walking and he nearly
tipped her over.

�� Football?�

�� Yes, you know, that muggle game with the ball you kick with your feet.�

�� I know what it is!� she said and
smacked him lightly on the arm.� �I just
can�t believe he knows how to play.�

�� Draco
shrugged.� �Can�t very well play quidditch, can he?�
He told me he used to play as a child.�
I�ve never seen him, but that�s why we�re going now.�

�� Hermione resumed walking beside him,
thoughtful.� �What else does he do that I
won�t believe?�

�� Well, before he started working he
was awfully bored.� He had to find ways
to occupy himself.� What do you call
them?� Hobbies.�

�� Hobbies,� she repeated, shaking her
head.

�� Now he works a lot, but apparently
he likes football enough to play with this old geezer league once or twice a
week.� There�s the pitch, on the
left.�� Draco
pointed.� They had only been walking ten
minutes, and sure enough there was a sloppily lined field in a park up
ahead.� Even from here she could pick him
out; no one else had a blonde ponytail.

�� Hermione thought she�d mastered her
knee-jerk reactions to the strangeness of the past few weeks.� Now they were back in full force as they
crossed the street.� No amount of bizarre
experiences could have prepared her the sight of Lucius
on the pitch.� She had never seen his
legs but there they were, on account of his blue shorts and the absence of shin
pads.� His hair was tied back in a looped
ponytail; he probably had the most hair of any man on the field.� They weren�t geezers, exactly, but most of
them were probably around forty.� Like
all of them Lucius was sweating, but unlike all of
them he looked good when he did.

�� As she watched the ball came to him
and he skillfully avoided a tackle.� But
he couldn�t avoid the second one as he moved up the field; he went down, felled
by an overzealous defender.� It didn�t
faze him in the least.� He held up his
hands in protest, the way every footballer did when he was fouled, and got the
call.

�� Hermione glanced around.� To their left there was a gaggle of five or
six middle-aged women.� She stifled a
laugh when she realized they were all staring at Lucius,
preening on the sidelines and trying to get him to notice them.� Lucius had noticed
someone, but not any of the admirers; his eyes landed right on her and Draco.� Making an
excuse about his knee (it was bleeding, to be fair), he jogged off the
field.� The pick-up game paused as the
other men scattered for a break.

�� Hermione and Draco
both laughed as the women tripped over themselves to offer him a plaster.� He politely refused, slicing his way through
them en route to his offspring.

�� Vultures,� he muttered under his
breath good-naturedly.

�� Oh, you love it, father,� Draco responded.� Lucius flashed a smile that didn�t deny it and then took a
sip of water.

�� Oi,
Malloy!� one of the other men called.

�� Malloy?� Hermione whispered.

�� Alias,� Lucius
returned, completely serious.� �Just call
me Luc Malloy.�

�� Hermione couldn�t help but laugh; Draco was suppressing a grin.� Some things never changed, chief among them Lucius Malfoy�s paranoia.� It was a good alias, though � unremarkable,
and there were probably fifty Luc Malloys or some
variation thereof in London
alone.

�� Who�re these fine young folks?� the
other man asked as he approached.� �Your
kids?�

�� One of them, yes.� This is my son, Draco,�
Lucius replied before his eyes raked perceptively over
the both of them, letting them know in no uncertain terms that he was aware of exactly
what they had been doing before coming to see him, �and his girlfriend, Hermione.��

�
- 4
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Some Blond Fool