Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Pareo: Obey	By : kateofallpeople Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 59757 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 9
Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, characters, etc. I sadly make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 4
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- 6
AN: Hello, all. I know some of you are here from my first chapter posting on FFnet, but a great number of you are here specifically from AFF! This is my first fic posted on the site (and really, the first of this nature) and I'm very pleased to share it all with you. The idea came halfway from a challenge in the forums, but was also significantly tweaked by myself to write something more my style and more in tune with exactly the idea I have for this fic. I won't keep you much longer, just wanted to say my hellos and thank you all for the wonderful support and all those glorious hits and reviews. This chapter begins right where the last one left off, the end of the last chapter is in italic at the top as a reminder. Pretty standard. But a nice, super long chapter with lots of brain thoughts and a nice bit at the end, heh. Enjoy!

"Tell me, Granger, what you think of all this."

Her lips moved without her permission. "It's strange. I don't want to like it, I shouldn't like it. But I'm curious. And some parts of it... some things, I like." She kept her eyes closed, unable to say such things to his face.

"Good. Then I'll continue to teach you, to feed your curiosity. What you don't get with Ron Weasley, you'll get with me. And as long as you cooperate, you'll like it. The second you act or speak against me, though, our meetings will begin to revolve around me and my needs with little to no regard for your comfort. Are we clear?"

"Yes." Her eyelids kept together, struggling to stay closed instead of to open and watch his reaction.

His hands released her and she stayed put for a long moment, preparing to open her eyes and face him. When she finally got the nerve, however, she turned to see that she was alone. He'd gone.

His mouth ached from where he'd snogged her senseless, if only for a moment. He hadn't, in truth, meant to do that. But he'd claimed his ownership over her mouth as he had over her control. It was by no means slow or sensual, it had been rough, spontaneous, hungry. How odd, he thought, that he now hungered for a dirty little snog with a girl the likes of which he was raised to hate. The things he did to her, the times he did them, were all in the heat of the moment. It was hard, being who he was and being used to the likes of Pansy Parkinson throwing her cat at him, to now be without any companionship whatsoever. Not, of course, that it was any excuse for the way his body grew more excited with every moment spent alone with her in a dark classroom or hallway. That was all up to the man downstairs, and unfortunately a second brain caused him to do things that, previously, he would have rather killed himself than do to Granger.

But oh, that pert little bum. That smart little mouth. And that glorious, indomitable, alluring curse that befell her. Whoever placed it on her was long dead, she'd said. Killed right after he'd placed it on her. But the everlasting obedience of Granger was something that Draco would have to thank this man for in the afterlife, if the end of this school year and the quick searches for a simple empty bloody room wouldn't kill him too soon to really get to know her curse and her wants and needs.

In truth, his return to Hogwarts was exactly as he'd stated. He could have fought against them in the war, he could have supported the Dark Lord and flee the country afterwards. That hadn't seemed like the smartest move, nor the one that most closely resembled his life goals which were, firstly, to stay alive and lastly, to remain comfortable and not get shoved off to some desolate country to spend the rest of his miserable life with only his mother and father for companionship. When the time had come to make a decision, and his parents had urged him to join them and go into hiding, he'd refused. Basically told them to sod off, really. He'd broken no laws, committed no real crimes. If he were ever persecuted for his loyalties in the war, he'd make it all very clear - the Dark Lord forbade him from returning to Hogwarts that year, even to watch over other students. Draco himself had been trapped in Malfoy Manor with dozens of Death Eaters and among dozens more murders. He'd never killed, only harmed when forced. Once, he'd been under the Imperius curse and told to use the Cruciatus curse on a young mixed blood couple who had been discovered by Snatchers. His heart wasn't in it, and the crowd around him gave up and went back to whatever it was they'd been doing before.

He wasn't about to hold hands with Potter and spout any nonsense about love and equality, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and realize he'd have to make a new life for himself, probably with a bit of careful planning and fifty white lies. His alliances were only to himself. McGonagall had called him into her office personally, the very first night of the year. Apparently she'd been shocked to learn that he'd actually accepted his return to Hogwarts, and actually boarded the train, not a single dark artifact in sight. He'd laughed, simply musing that a life on the run was no life for him, and since then she'd taken to staying out of his business, except when that business pertained to the fact that he was still, technically, Slytherin prefect. A pair of head students had been chosen from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, probably due to the fact that they were least likely to cause trouble and most likely to do whatever the old Headmistress told them to do. Draco huffed - he was one to talk. What little free time he had between classes, homework, and regular prefect duties, was now delegated to drawing up maps and routes with Granger, studying in the library, or a rare walk through the grounds. In a way, he was doing exactly what she wanted him to do too, without so much as a word. Mostly he did it because that was the routine, but a small part of him held respect for a woman her age who could run a school, battle off ten Death Eaters herself, and get eight people his age to do exactly her bidding without as many words.

He'd left Granger on the tower. In truth, he hadn't expected to meet with her that night at all, but the way her skirt flipped up at the sides, tilting with her hips as she walked... it had been too much. He remembered flipping up the back of that very skirt, smacking his hand hard against her rear. His previous sexual experiences included Pansy, a blonde Slytherin girl two years younger with long thin legs and very little curves, and a foreign Dark Lord sympathizer's daughter, his age but somehow much more sexually advanced. Clearly, wherever she was from, it was a much more casual thing than it was here. It started with her, three years ago, locked in a room in the Manor with a bottle of Firewhiskey. He'd been drunk, so she hadn't known he was so unsteady because he'd never been with a woman before. Pansy had come next, in sixth year, partially out of boredom and partially so she'd shut up about how he always ignored her. It was the last one though, towards the end of sixth year and the following summer in the Manor, when he learned he'd be stuck there for quite some time, that the last girl had come into the picture. Sarah. Her mother was a Death Eater, her father had left before he could receive the Dark Mark and had gone into hiding. She was smaller, more like a girl than a woman, but angular and well-skilled in luring in a male. He'd shagged her within the first weekend of her making herself known to him, and it had continued until she'd run off to join her father, wherever he'd gone. She was the one who wanted it hard, dirty. Pansy had gone as far as suggesting candles one evening, that had been the evening his interactions with her had ceased. Sarah had been the one to drag him into a coat closet in the manor and lift her skirt for him. Sarah had been the first to go down on him. He'd been far from having feelings for the girl, being as young as she was, but it was hard not to think about a girl who had done such things. At the time, she'd seemed like a gift. Now, he thought with a chuckle, he realized she was just a bit of a slag.

Granger was far from a slag. She was a prude, and she was prissy as all hell. But she'd back her arse up against his hand, and it was progress. In truth, the moment he started realizing what was wrong with her, he'd laughed. Leave it to stubborn, headstrong Granger to get hit with a curse forcing her to obey all commands. And leave it to himself, trying only to regain a sense of normalcy, to discover said curse and not have a damned idea what to do with it. It had only been that first night on patrol, when he'd ordered her into the practice room, that he'd begun to get an idea. There had been jokes, of course, between Slytherins. Most had heard that at some point in the previous year, she'd been on the hunt for the Horcruxes alone with Saint Potter. Naturally, a horde of dirty, insinuative jokes ensued. They'd shagged, she'd picked him over Weasley, the like. But Draco himself had sensed otherwise. Granger was just as wound up as she'd always been, and that was because she needed one thing: release. Well, he'd be damned if he could only give it to her through orders, but the experiment and premise was enough, in itself, to tempt him. The nondescript door in the hallway had settled it - there were things he wanted to know, there were things he wanted to investigate, and what better way than to make the famous Gryffindor bookworm lose all control. He thought about it now, hands stuffed in his pockets, just a few steps from the portrait hole that would lead him to the common rooms he now called home. Granger, unwound. Granger out of class, the top button or two undone on her shirt, her tie loose, her wild mane of curls mussed. There were some girls who would look like a hot mess in any such state, but he knew that there was something different about it, in relation to a girl like Granger. Seeing the bookworm undone would be something that, he knew, most men (like himself) would love to see. Only a small part of him spoke out against the rest, saying that it would be that much more enjoyable if it were all of her own free will. If he wasn't forcing her to do it. He pushed that thought aside. Thoughts like that had a time and place, and this was not it.

How long could this last? He wasn't sure. There was an entire school year ahead of them, full of patrols and long nights. She couldn't tell on him, he couldn't say a word. It was, for now, their little secret, one he intended to keep as long as possible. She'd said it herself. She was curious. Some things, she'd liked, even though she hadn't wanted to. He had a feeling he was the first to see, truly, this side of Granger. Her pathetic boyfriend clearly wasn't adept at figuring it out, since the mention of anything physical with Ron made her cringe.

He climbed through the portrait hole, smirking when he saw Potter, the Weasleys, and a small group crowded around them at the fireplace. They were missing a member of their little party, and if they only knew that just minutes ago, Draco had her against a wall, her tongue sliding against his own, making her pant in little short breaths while her chest pressed against him. If only they knew about last week, outside the castle, or why she'd been walking like she'd sat on something painful two nights before. If only, if only.

Hermione had spent most of Monday pretending that everything was fine. She knew she'd have patrol again with Malfoy that night, she knew something would probably happen. She knew that she was already behind in at least Charms, probably also Potions. Harry had asked her if something was wrong, sensing her detachment from the group and from himself and Ron, and she'd been a step away from confessing it all before she held her tongue. With something this serious, something as serious as her very will and mind, she wasn't sure even Harry could be trusted. Draco Malfoy knowing was bad enough. Although...

Yes, she'd walked away from their encounters feeling used. Yes, she'd been ordered to do those things or to let those things be done to her. Just last night, he'd pushed her up against a wall and groped at her for moments on end. She realized later that night that he hadn't ordered her to stay still, hadn't ordered her to not fight. She could have fought. She didn't. She was being completely honest when she admitted to being curious, to liking some of what happened. She'd been forced to be honest with him, but at that point she was already honest with herself, so she didn't fight that very much, either.

For someone who had fought so valiantly in a war, she could not fight the will and the roaming hand of a man that wanted to show her things she'd never known before. Even if that man wore a little too much hair product and was a bit demeaning, at the best of times.

Unfortunately for Hermione, however, her continued detachment on Ron's part only encouraged him. He seemed to think that Hermione distancing herself from him meant that he must chase after her with twice the usual effort, and though she hadn't had to worry about him trying to touch her on Hogwarts grounds, she'd still have moments where he'd place his hand on her leg, or on her lower back, and she'd simultaneously jerk away and melt into his touch. She didn't want to be intimate with him, but she still loved him. Was that even possible? To love someone so thoroughly, and in such a special way, that physical interactions weren't a part of the picture? She loved Ron, she loved his quirks and the way he loved her too. Why wasn't that enough? And why, especially, wasn't that in her mind when she'd been bucking against Malfoy's hand, wishing her underwear were gone, or...

"Hermione?"

Ron, who was sitting beside her, looked at her with his eyes narrowed.

"Yes, Ron?"

"We've been trying to get your attention. Harry and I can't figure out what Slughorn means about emulsions reacting something or other, with different consistencies... I don't know."

She smiled, glad to be part of a conversation that would distract her from the war that was happening in her head.

"Emulsions are harder to incorporate into thinner potions. If you make something lighter, like the consistency of water, and add something thicker - think something like Polyjuice potion, though you'd have no reason to ever mix that with anything else - the emulsion, which usually includes an oil or a thicker ingredient blended with something thinner, will either float or sink based on its weight as relative to the original potion."

Ron stared at her like she'd spoken gibberish, but Harry seemed to get what she was talking about, or had at least decided to make something up that sounded close to what she'd just said. She explained it to Ron once more, in even simpler terms, and was 'rewarded' with a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks, love. Got stuck on that one..."

"It's the only question, Ron. You got stuck on the entire assignment." She rolled her eyes. It was one essay. NEWT level Potions wasn't something Ron should have been involved with, ever.

She stood, announcing to the two boys that she'd be going upstairs to change into warmer clothes and to shower before patrol, after which she'd go straight to bed. Neither protested, and as soon as she turned to leave them she found herself wiping at her cheek. So much for loving every part of Ron - the little wet spot he'd left after kissing her cheek seemed to burn her skin.

She took a mind-meltingly hot shower, letting the water scald her skin and scalp. She could have waited to shower until after patrol, but by then the temperature could drop five or so degrees and the heater in the dormitories could be off, leaving her dripping wet and freezing. Showering before patrol was clearly the more favorable of the two options, even if she wished she could take this shower after Malfoy handled her, however he handled her.

She ran her hands over her arms, her chest, her stomach, slowing to a stop just over the patch of slight hair growth Malfoy had commented on the night before. He was absolutely right in why it was there - she hadn't been doing anything at all with Ron, and had just gotten a little lazy with her usual hygienic upkeep. She'd been keeping the area clean for years, but a year on the run before the war had kept her from upholding her usual standards. Harry had walked in on her changing once, during the period where Ron had left them, and had stopped to look at her for a fraction of a moment before turning and leaving, muttering an apology. She'd immediately been embarrassed about the hair, and had even gone as far as to having a few minutes of conversation with him about hygiene in which she referenced, jokingly, the patch of hair that he'd seen. The blush in his face told her all she needed to know - that he'd looked at her and hadn't been disgusted. After that he made sure to announce his entry before he got anywhere near the bathroom of the tent or Hermione's corner where she changed by her bunk.

Now, she grazed her fingers over the hair with mild disgust. She had a razor in the little bin she carried to the bathroom, and shaving gel, if she could... there. Found it. She'd take care of this little problem and remain on track with her previous maintenance, if for no other reason than it was significantly less itchy than having hair. Also, she thought with the tiniest hint of a smirk, she was interested to see how Draco would react to her having shaved of her own accord, after his comment. It was a little forward, but she had to have some way of surprising him and momentarily gaining the upper hand after he accosted her like he did. Mouthing off, she remembered, wasn't the best plan. But this was a small, subtle way of holding on to her own will, even if it was something that would also please him.

She toweled off, used a drying charm on her hair, and layered appropriately for the mild weather in a skirt, tights, and a sweater, pausing only briefly when picking underwear to slide on. Did she wear something he might like in hopes of throwing him off guard or even pleasing him enough to keep from being completely used for his pleasure? It was like he'd said Sunday night... in your favor, even. Then she remembered what he'd said just before that. With something like Pareo going against you, it's better to just make things as pleasant as you can. She scowled, grabbing a rather unused pair from the bottom of the little bag within her trunk. She'd only ever worn them after she'd first bought them. Ron didn't even know they existed, but Malfoy would.

Most of the night would be spent patrolling the old path, but this week would also include writing out a new path to try out on Thursday. If the new path were successful, they would catch more students. More students to catch and turn in or reprimand meant less time spent alone. Less time for him to give orders. Hermione vowed, pulling on her boots, to get that map finished as quickly as she could.

He was waiting for her just outside the portrait hole, as usual. The Fat Lady was looking at him with clear contempt, and he had sneered back at her once before Hermione swung the frame forward.

"I apologize if I broke off your little staring contest, but we've got work to do."

He raised his brows, face otherwise unchanged. "Indeed we do." He started walking before she could say anything else, leaving her to walk quickly enough to catch up to him.

He said nothing. He did nothing. No orders, no commands. Her core ached, her head ached. Part of her wanted to know what he had planned, part of her was disgusted for even thinking about it. The first hour passed with not so much as a word from him, and it was hard to hide her curiosity. They twice walked past a practice room or empty classroom that he'd previously forced her into. He'd glance momentarily at the door, and continue on as if nothing were wrong. Another half hour passed, and with only thirty minutes left in patrol, he sighed, looking at yet another doorway she'd barely noticed before.

"In."

Part of her was excited. She suppressed a grin. He had almost made it seem like nothing was going to happen. Shouldn't she have been happy in that case? Why was her heart beating out of her chest?

He shut the door and locked it behind them, loosening his school tie, which he wore with only his white shirt and black slacks and belt. He hadn't changed before patrol, though she'd seen him at one point that evening rushing through to exit the common room. Perhaps he'd been busy elsewhere. Who knew. She couldn't be bothered to think too much about it, because he was summoning a chair and table from the opposite side of the room, placing them down in front of him before he dropped into the chair with none of his usual decorum, letting out a sigh.

She didn't dare speak, or breath. She could upset him, and that could go one way or another, good or bad.

"I had no plans for you, tonight, Granger. I didn't."

"Why?" It was out of her mouth before she could stop it, and her immediate embarrassment was clear. For the first time, and in some sort of strange relief to her, his mouth quivered into the ghost of a smirk.

"Why? Why, Granger, were you anticipating something?"

She didn't answer, he didn't force her to. These encounters were torture. She was curious to know what would happen, what it would feel like, how much he enjoyed it or if she was just his little pet. She wanted to run. She wanted to sit on his lap again. She wanted to snog him senseless and also to hit him harder than she had in third year.

He looked up at the ceiling, shoving his hands into his pockets. "This is a rather odd situation, isn't it?" The smirk was back, and whatever mood had fallen over him before was all but gone. Hermione let out a little breath, relieved. He seemed less calm now, which in a way that only made sense when relating to Draco Malfoy, made him seem less volatile. She nodded, humming her agreement from between her lips.

He looked at her, standing again, hands still in his pockets. He stepped so close to her she could smell him again, woodsy and almost peppery. "You understand now, at least, that this little arrangement is completely under my control. You're learning. And I'd like to teach you a whole lot more than I've shown you so far."

She said nothing, moved nothing. Part of her feared what he meant, part of her ached to know what it might feel like to truly want.

"Little Granger. Bookworm, prissy, prudish Granger. Well, as prudish as you can be when you're hiding cheeky black panties under your school skirt."

Still nothing. She waited.

"What do you want, Granger?"

"I don't have any idea. This situation is as new to me as it is to you, though I'm guessing you have infinitely more experience than I do in this realm."

He chuckled, circling her, eying his prey. "I have more experience, certainly, though not so much as common gossip suggests. I have been with precisely three girls, two of which I will never see again and one of which I hope I never have to. You know the latter, of course, and in that case the rumors are true. I did involve myself with Pansy Parkinson, though more in an effort to shut her up and to also please myself. She no longer attends Hogwarts school, and I am glad for that. The other two were mostly trivial, flings. I have enough experience with experienced enough girls to know what to do, what I like. I don't know, exactly, what you like. But this isn't really all about you, is it? I'm the one with the command, you're the one with the curse."

She parted her lips, breathing hard. "What is it, then, that you want?"

He seemed to contemplate the question for a moment before shaking his head. "You know the answer to that. I want you to entirely lose control. I want to see the bookworm unbound, so to speak. Doesn't that idea excite you, even a little?"

"Yes."

"I didn't force you to answer."

"You didn't have to. I know what you're doing, Malfoy. I'm not an idiot. While you're using me for whatever form of pleasure you're pursuing, part of this is definitely about me. Part of this is about pleasing me, releasing me. Don't pretend it's not."

"You're being rather feisty..."

"Only in terms of the truth. It isn't accusatory, isn't rude, it's only the truth."

He stopped circling her, standing in front of her and slipping his hands from his pockets. Her hands dropped from her hips and he grabbed her wrists, holding tightly. "It is indeed the truth. And you'd better remember it. I'm not being excessively cruel. I'm sure you know, given your levels of anxiety and your smarts, that I could do much worse with this curse than what I am doing. I could force you into public humiliation, into adultery of the worst kind. I could force you to kill, to hurt, to betray everyone you love, and I could do it all behind the fact that, if directed, you could never tell anyone that someone was forcing you to do all of it. Instead, I flip up your skirt and comment on your panties. I make you want something. And isn't that, in comparison, a good thing?"

"It's hard to compare the two. One is the end of my life-"

He interrupted, "And the other is the beginning of discoveries you'll be glad to have made, one day. You still stand by not wanting to do this, but liking parts of it? Tell me what you're most afraid of."

"That I'll anger you and you'll make me do bad things. Or that you'll want more from me than I'm willing to give." She sealed her lips, but tears did not even threaten to come. Her pulse was racing. No, if she didn't have this curse and hadn't already experienced what she had, she'd never consider that she might be involved with Draco Malfoy. But she had this curse, she'd experienced those things, and a sick little part of her had liked it. He was right. It was, in some twisted way, for her own benefit.

He dropped her wrists, standing back. "What did you do before patrol tonight? Study? Hide?"

Damn him, always asking the right questions. "I took a shower and shaved."

His eyes betrayed his controlled demeanor. "Oh. Well, I see." He chuckled briefly, letting his fingertips graze the material of her non-school uniform skirt. It was a favorite of hers, soft and just a little swingy. "Or well, I don't see. Yet. Did you shave for me? Tell me."

"Yes, sort of."

"Sort of?"

She smiled. He hadn't ordered the truth from her, so he'd get the full brunt of her mind. "I shaved so that I could knock the stupid grin off your face in a moment of surprise, as I just did."

At this he laughed, a full laugh that seemed completely out of character for him. "I'd like to see you try... If you weren't such a stuck up little thing, Granger... well, that's for another night. I want to see. Let's see if you can knock the grin off my face with what you've got hiding under there. Sit up on the table, face the chair."

She did as instructed, knees tight together. He shook his head.

"How am I supposed to inspect you if keep your legs shut?"

"How are you supposed to inspect me with my tights on?" She cocked her head to one side, waiting. Ron had put his hand down there, but had never looked. She had used a mirror once or twice to make sure she wasn't highly irregular looking, and deemed herself normal. Irregularity, in this case, could have been a major move towards not being bothered anymore by Malfoy, but she wasn't sure that was her end goal, and not so soon.

He nodded, sitting on the chair and facing her knees. His hands ran up the backs of her calves, slowly over her knees, her outer thighs. His fingers reached, pressing softly into her hips until he reached the tops of her tights, edging his fingertips over the band. He looked up at her, keeping eye contact while he pulled the fabric down. He paused when he could pull no further, and with only a small prompting (Lift, Granger) she lifted her hips off the surface of the desk and lowered them as soon as the fabric has passed her rear. He pulled them down over her thighs, the air of the room cool on her skin. He let go then, taking them one leg at a time, lifting her leg to straighten while he pulled the tights off from her toes. He was undressing her, in the least vulgar way she could think of, given the situation. She trembled.

But oh, the panties. He still had those to find, and she grinned as his palms landed on her thighs again. He pulled her knees apart slightly, running his hands up her legs until he could flip up her skirt, bunching it around her hips. It was then that he saw them - not racy whatsoever, but that would be the draw of the thing. They were similar, really, to her pair from a few nights before, only pure white, considerably smaller, and a tad scrunched on the hems. She heard his intake of breath and what sounded like an uttered swear. His fingers spread, feeling the skin on her thighs, his fingertips playing with the edges of her panties.

She dared not say a word, for fear of interrupting this. There wasn't a trace of disgust on his face, not a trace of the composed, controlling man from earlier. His curiosity equaled hers, she was pleased to see, and her presentation was not unappreciated. He groaned.

"Girly little things, aren't they? Well, well. We'll have to do away with these, though I think I'll keep them intact, for another day. He hooked his fingers on the tops, sliding them down her thighs, over her knees, her ankles, off her feet...

Until she was naked from the waist down, legs shut again. He nudged at her knees but she did not immediately respond, so he had to tell her to spread her legs a little and let him get a look at her. The moment the cool air hit the moisture between her legs, (moisture that had most certainly showed through her panties, probably enticing the groan) she knew she was a goner. It was only a matter of time before he could force her to do almost anything he wanted.

Shit, she was perfect. Shit. In a three-deep row of girls ready to throw themselves at him, he'd never taken a moment to appreciate a demure woman, a woman who could be alluring without being a slag. White ruched panties were girlish, yes, but the little damn damp spot between her legs and the way the fabric had pulled against the apex of her thighs... that was attractive in a way he'd never known he wanted. Paired with her usual wit being redirected towards sarcastic avoidance of sexual topics... she was making this extremely hard for him to draw out and enjoy. Truth be told, he wanted to take his time with Granger, to build her up and make her really curious before going all in. She was a virgin, but she'd been touched. But never, he knew, never like this. She'd been touched in the way that young people touch each other when they have no bloody idea what they're doing, in the inexperienced and unappreciative way that he expected Ron Weasley had done. Now, he had her legs open to him, sitting on a table, while he sat up straight in the chair in front of her. She was totally exposed, looking straight ahead at the wall, her breathing shaky.

It was all he could do to slow this down, to restrain himself. He already felt the pressure in his pants that meant he could burst free if given the chance. He was roused, not quite fully hard. If he were, he could...

But not tonight. He tossed her panties aside, looking a little closer at the marvel before him. She was perfect. Pale lips, nothing wriggling or hanging out from between them except a tiny hint of a nub, peeking through near the top. She had indeed shaved, though it wasn't immediately apparent that she'd ever had hair at all, she looked so smooth. He brought his hands to the tops of her thighs, letting his thumbs run down over the mound of flesh, down to the lips, all the way to the bottom, towards the area the damp spot had come from. She was wet, that was certain, and since removing her panties it seemed to have only spread slightly upwards and around, glistening a little against the dim light of the room. He let his thumbs run over that spot, and was nearly startled when she was, jerking around a little at his touch.

He paused, waiting to see if she might jump up, protest, but she did not. Or could not. He couldn't be sure. Instead she took a deep breath, closing her eyes, her bottom lip tucked between her rows of neat, straight teeth.

He continued his ministrations, running one thumb through the dampness, spreading it upwards with his touch. He dipped the digit between her lips, pressing slightly against her. He heard her breaths, light and shaky, the only noise in the room. Her head was tilted back now, her chest arched into the air. She was waiting for him to touch her in the exact spot that she wanted to be touched most. She wasn't fighting it, not hard anyway. Her hips slid forward an infinitesimal distance, hardly a movement at all, but it caused his thumb to slide upwards, and he felt the little protrusion against his thumb.

She drew a deep breath, pushing her hips forward into his hand. He slid his thumb over her clitoris, back and forth. He started slowly, teasingly, until she began to buck against his hand. He dropped his thumb, instead using his first two fingers on his dominant hand to rub her quickly, while the first finger of the right hand lowered itself to her opening, teasing around the entrance. He was using his knowledge as best as he could, given the situation, and she was panting again. He was hard as a rock, and each little moan of pleasure that came from her sent his cock twitching in his pants. If she kept up like this, without even knowing...

He slid a finger inside of her, causing her to wince slightly. She was tight, very much so, and his mind became temporarily clouded with that notion. Tight. Wet. He slid his finger all the way in, to the knuckle. His fingers weren't particularly wide, but they were a bit long, given his height. He slid another finger next to the first, pressing against her opening until she allowed him in, two fingers doing two different actions on two different places of her. He worked his left hand over the outsides, those soft pale pink lips, while the two fingers he could squeeze into her pumped away, slicked by a wetness that was because of him, because of what he did to her. Her breathing steadied, running in time with the fingers that dove into her, curling slightly so as to hit the very best spot. He could sense her building excitement quickly, her mewls of pleasure turned into whispers without words and movements of her hips into his hand.

She could have gasped, she could have said nothing. Instead, as her orgasm tensed her entire body and rocked through her core, she said his name.

"Oh, gods, Draco..."

He came in his pants. A quick spell could fix that, clean up the mess, but who cared, at that moment? Granger's head was still tilted up towards the ceiling, eyes closed and cheeks flushed. Her chest rose and fell visibly while she caught her breath. His fingers, still inside her, felt the pulsation of her inner walls around them, and they became even more totally coated with her fluid. When he finally removed them from inside of her, she cursed.

He took the next moments of relative calm to stand and grab his wand from the side of the desk, silently clean the mess in his pants, and straighten his shirt. In the time it took for him to do that, Hermione had shut her legs like a vice, her eyes wild and locked on him. He didn't say a word, couldn't. He...

"What did you just cast?"

He blinked. She saw that?

"Nothing. Nothing. Just... nothing at all."

"I saw you do a spell."

"I was cleaning off my hand, alright?"

"Then your magic's awful. I can see your fingers from here." She covered her mouth with her hand, and he laughed. She had a quick mouth. She was right though - he hadn't cleaned his hand yet. Damn her.

"I had another... mess to clean up. Don't mention it."

And oh, she wouldn't. Now that he'd said it, he knew she wouldn't. But stopping her from mentioning it was not the same as making her forget it, though he doubted her curse could do that and he didn't have the balls to put a memory charm on her. It would have to be good enough. She grinned behind her hand, lowering it to rest on her knee. She said nothing as as she slid off the desk, grabbed her tights from the ground, and slid them back on under her skirt, straightening it and heading for the door. She thought it would be that easy, did she?

"Not so fast. Stop."

She whirled around to face him, but could not step forwards or back.

He let out a huff. He could have just let her go. He could have just... but he hadn't. She'd said his name, for gods sake. How could he just let her run off?

He began slowly, carefully. "If I could... if I hadn't just... well, let's say things did not go as planned. This was not supposed to be all about you. I hope you enjoyed it - it won't be frequent." He stepped forward, gaining control of his words once more. "But since I can only do so much, I'll just make one last request of you." He grinned, and he knew by the roll of her eyes that she knew it would be more than just a request.

"Tomorrow you'll attend your classes as usual, Granger. Every single one. And you will not - I forbid you to wear panties. Any at all. No tights, no panties under the robes and under that skirt of yours. Tomorrow after Dinner we will meet to work, very briefly, on maps. The only thing that will not relate to the maps is when I ask you about your day, and when I do you are to answer me in full detail, to whatever extent I please. Is that clear?"

She nodded. He released her with a simple verbal cue, and she was gone. Patrol would be over anyway, by at least a few minutes, and he'd at least allow her to return to the common room in peace. Gods knew she'd left him in a disturbed state, calling him by his name while she arched against his hand. He knew she still loathed him. He knew she still was disgusted by the entire premise. But at the same time, he knew that he hadn't completely forced her into all of it, and that she'd never once cried out or tried to escape. The curiosity bunched up in that messy little head of hers... it was going to be the end of him, he was sure.
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