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Atonement	By : emilywaters Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 22665 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Potterverse and all characters within it, belong to JKR. I make no money from writing fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1-One
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-Five
- 6-Six
- 7-Seven
- 5
- 6
- 7
Six

When Draco finally got home, and the euphoria at Hermione's touch finally faded, he felt drained and exhausted. He went into a spare bedroom, crawled into bed and went to sleep. When Daphne knocked on his door a few hours later, he told her he was fine and needed some rest. Eventually she left him alone and went to fuck Zabini, and Draco buried his face in the pillow and cried himself to sleep.

In his entire life, he had never felt so abandoned by everyone.

It was irrational, even ridiculous, but even the memory of crying on the bathroom floor with Moaning Myrtle for company now seemed less miserable than... this.

He wallowed in self-pity for the entire week. The soreness in his body stayed with him, a painfully poignant reminder of Hermione's wrath. Still, he did not heal the injuries. Somehow, even the thought of healing them brought more misery and despair.

For a while, he toyed with the idea of not going back to her at all, but of course, as Saturday approached, he realized that he couldn't stay away. He was drawn to her, against all logic and reason.

He was powerless to refuse.

She waited for him in the kitchen as always. She wore a simple blue dress, slightly wrinkled, and her hair was carelessly gathered in a messy ponytail. He stared at her achingly, but she did not return his gaze.

In absolute silence, he stripped, finding to his dread that his hands were shaking with every movement.

The welts and bruises were still there, marking up his all too-thin body.

�Give me your belt,� she said, speaking to him for the first time.

He handed it to her without objection. Without being told, he leaned over the table, like the last time, and pressed his face against the surface. He heard her walk around him, and the feeling of misery continued to grow. She had said nothing else, but without a single word from her, or a single blow, he found himself crying again, in absolute silence, tears streaming from his eyes.

Mortified, he turned his head away, hoping she would not notice. She reached and grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to face her.

�You are crying,� she said softly.

�It doesn't matter,� he whispered. �I don't care. Just do what you want.� She released his hair abruptly, and he sensed her standing by his side. His entire body was a knot of tension, as he waited for the lash to fall.

The softness of her touch surprised him. For a second, he couldn't understand what happened, as sudden, moist warmth blossomed in a sore spot. Did she... his mind was a mess of confusion. Did she just kiss a faded bruise on his back? No, no, it couldn't be, he was losing it... she wouldn't...

Unceremoniously, Hermione grabbed him by the elbow, and she marched him out of the kitchen, and into the living room. He glanced at her warily, but complied with her prompting, and stretched himself out on the couch, burying his face in the fabric. He sensed her kneeling in front of him, and stroking his hair, with long, soothing touches, until finally, her hand strayed to his back, and her fingers started caressing the faded welts and probing the old bruises.

�Oh god,� he said quietly through the tears. �Hermione, I am so sorry...�

�What are you sorry for now?�

�I ruined it,� he said, �I messed up... I didn't mean to be weak... it was supposed to be about you... for you... I'm sorry...�

�Shush,� she said, and pressed her lips gently between his shoulderblades. �It feels good. Very good.�

�Oh.� Taken aback by her response, he didn't know what to say.

�Why didn't you heal yourself, idiot?� she demanded.

Why didn't he?

�I wanted to remember,� he said softly.

�I am not memorable enough on my own then?� she queried coolly, even as her soft hand continued to stroke his back along the spine. �You needed to walk with bruises all over your arse as a souvenir?�

�It was a part of you, in my body... your anger... your hurt... I wanted to carry it. For you.�

Fuck. His mouth and brain just parted ways, it seemed, as his defenses were crumbling under her tender touch.

�You are an imbecile,� she said, but without conviction in her voice. Her hands and lips continued to soothe and torment his injuries.

�I know,� he agreed easily, in a dreamlike daze. �I don't think I could love you if I weren't.�

He tensed the moment those words fell off his lips. He loved her? For the last eight or nine months, he came to her, time after time, on her terms, and not his, accepting accepted anything and everything from her hand. Maybe it was love, after all. Still, he was quite certain he wasn't supposed to say it out loud.

With baited breath, he waited for a rebuke, or a scathing remark, but she simply ignored his words for the moment. Her tongue trailed along one of his welts, and he moaned shamelessly, surrendering himself to the caress.

It went on and on, for a blissful eternity, her tongue merging with his skin, following the trails left by her anger and derision, and all he could do was sob and moan, in helpless, absolute self-abandon.

When she guided him to sit up, he complied easily, leaning into her arms. His naked body was rubbing against the slightly coarse, cool linen fabric of her dress. He reached around her and ran his hand along her ponytail, carding the strands of her hair through his fingers.

�Is this real?� he asked softly, surprising himself by the question.

�You should go,� she said softly.

�Why?� He forced out a smile. �The night is young.�

�You know what I mean,� she said looking at him intently. �Not just for the night.�

�Oh.� He shook his head. �Why? Are you angry about what I said?�

�No.�

�Then don't make me leave,� Draco pleaded with her. He took a deep breath and placed his hand on hers, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. �I want to give you something else, if only you'll let me.�

�That wouldn't be wise,� she said softly, and stroked his hair again. �In fact, that would be downright dangerous.�

�Afraid that I will overshadow Weasley with my oral skills and break your heart?� Draco teased.

�Not dangerous to me,� she qualified with a small shake of her head, �dangerous to you.�

�I'll be fine,� he assured her. �Honestly! Just let me give you something more. Anything you like.�

She pushed him away abruptly. �Get dressed. Get out.�

�Fine,� he said with a small sigh.

He kissed her hand before he left, and this time, she allowed him.

She avoided him at work, but Draco expected that, and was not entirely surprised. The following Saturday, when he arrived to her house, she wasn't there. That surprised him, and unnerved him, and he sat at the doorstep for three hours, waiting for her. She never arrived, and eventually, he left.

In the weeks that followed, that became a solitary ritual of its own. As he approached her home, he felt as if he had crossed an invisible boundary, and entered a different world. He would arrive at the usual time, on Saturday evening, ring the doorbell, and receive no response. Then he would settle on the porch, and hug his knees, waiting for her to arrive, which she never did, of course.

As he waited, he thought of her. Her voice still echoed in his mind, and his body recalled her touch, alternatingly igniting and soothing his skin. Sitting down on her porch, thinking of her, remembering her, those were his Saturday nights, and he would not trade them for anything else.

It did not occur to him to give up, because he knew that eventually, she would come, and he would see her again.

�Enter.�

Her voice startled him, as after six weekends of fruitless loitering at her porch, he had nearly forgotten what it was like to be admitted into her home. She was sitting on the couch in the living room with a newspaper in her hands.

�What are you doing here?� she demanded, without looking at him.

�Thought you might need a hand with scrubbing the floors,� Draco quipped cheerfully.

�It's over,� Hermione said firmly. �You are forgiven, all right? You've earned your absolution. Now, please, leave and go back to your normal life.�

Draco shook his head, and simply stared at her mutely.

�It's dangerous,� she repeated again, but he could tell her resolve was weakening.

�It's not,� Draco said softly, and his hands reached for the buttons on his shirt, undoing them slowly and unhurriedly. He stripped before her in silence, and he could hear her breath beginning to quicken. His eyes were focused on her face, and he did not see, but heard the newspaper drop to the floor.

�I can't give you what you need,� she said firmly, looking directly at him.

He did not avoid her gaze.

�I know,� he said, and his throat felt tight as those words left it. �I am not asking you to. I am only asking you to allow me to give you what I can.�

Her dark eyes flashed at him briefly, and a small nod from her was all the encouragement Draco needed. He knelt before her, and placed his hands on her thighs, burying his face in her lap, inhaling her scent. His fingers kneaded her flesh through the coarse, cool fabric of her linen dress, sending tremors down her legs. He shifted on the floor to change position, and took her bare foot in his hands. He stared up at her with a devilish smile, and pressed a small kiss to her toes. She gasped slightly, and he stroked her heel, enjoying the sensation of the slightly calloused skin against his fingertips.

�You like that, hmm?� he asked, pressing another kiss, this time to her ankle.

�No, it's absolutely repulsive,� she said dryly, with a touch of amusement in her voice.

He grinned again. �I will just keep practicing then, until I get it right.�

His kisses followed along her calves and and up her legs, while his fingers continued to half-massage half-caress, enjoying the involuntary tremors he was eliciting with every touch. He lifted her dress gently, revealing the smooth, flawless skin of her upper legs. He pressed his face to the inside of her thigh and kissed it. She smelled young. She felt young to the touch, and as he inhaled her scent, allowing it to enter him, he felt as he was he was getting younger with ever breath he took.

He grasped her hips and licked inside her thighs, allowing his tongue to make small moist circles that moved closer and closer towards his ultimate destination. She froze slightly under his touch, and only her labored breathing, and the sudden gush of sweet, maddening scent betrayed her arousal.

He reached for her knickers and pulled them down, and she lifted her hips slightly to aid him. For a few seconds he simply stared at his prize, the pinkish, fragile folds of flesh showing amidst the neatly trimmed pubic hair. She tensed slightly, and he lifted his gaze discreetly to look up at her. Her expression was unusually vulnerable and wary, with every insecurity and terror of the past written on it for him to see. She bit her lip slightly as she stared down at him in silence. Was she bracing herself for another rejection from him? Was she expecting him to hurt her again? He hoped not, but he did not dare to delay.

He dove into her, and allowed his tongue to stroke those tender folds of skin, caressing, teasing, and savoring her unique flavor. Draco had tasted his fair share of cunts in his life, but none of them had tasted this sweet and delicate. He almost said so out loud, but an instant later, her fingers grasped his hair and twisted it, pushing his face further in, and all rational thought was lost. He slid his hands under her buttocks and gave them a gentle squeeze, and she arched herself upwards to meet his mouth. He licked, tasted, kissed, teased and sucked, the tip of his tongue flicking against the tiny, hardened nub that was almost pulsating with need and desire.

He felt her body go rigid in his arms, and a loud gasp emerged from her lips. Her fingers clenched his hair furiously and her fluids drenched his face. He froze as well, unwilling to lift his face and admit that his task was complete.

He felt her stir beneath him. Her fingers released his hair, and a mere instant later, she shoved him away. He fell back to his knees, and looked up at her. Her face was flushed, but she had already regained her composure, and her expression was that of the usual calm neutrality.

�I can go all night long,� Draco advised her, wanting nothing more than being allowed to do just that, to make her climax over and over again.

She shook her head, and then he understood the danger that she spoke of. He had managed to find yet another way to lose himself to her, to find another chain to bind him to her. He had become addicted to her pleasure, to the tremors of delights and quiet sighs of joy he was able to elicit. He was willing to beg, pitifully and shamelessly, to be allowed to do this again and again.

Her finger touched his lips, and she lifted a small droplet of her own fluid with her fingertip.

�You look debauched,� she said with a small, amused smile.

�Only for you,� he quipped lightheartedly, but the remark came out more serious than he had intended.

The hem of her dress fell down, the coarse, cool barrier separating them again.

�Get dressed,� she said impassively. �Get out.�

He opened his mouth to argue, but a stern gaze of her dark eyes stopped him, and the words never left his lips.

�Fine,� he said.

To Be Concluded...

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Atonement