Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Pareo: Obey	By : kateofallpeople Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 59731 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 9
Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, characters, etc. I sadly make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
AN: Hi there! I just wanted to let you all know that I've started a thread in the forums for review replies, questions, and any other discussion related to this fic. Please still leave your reviews here, as usual, but if you'd like to further discuss a new chapter or ask questions or just say hello, that's the place to do it! :) If a link doesn't show up here (I'm editing this chapter on another site that sometimes deletes links, booo) then you can click Forums, Scroll down to FanFiction Click Harry Potter under Non Anime/Single Fandom Subdomains, click Het/Male-Female, Look for the thread, which has the story title in it. I've already posted replies to all forty reviews so far and will keep up with them as they come. Here's a very LONG chapter full of good stuff.

Enjoy!

Was his plan to torture her endlessly? She thought so, as exactly eleven days rolled through without Malfoy uttering a single word to her. They were tasked with outlining a new route for prefect's rounds, but he'd apparently finished the task on his own and handed in the plans. McGonagall had approached her in the halls a few days ago with a wide smile and congratulated her on working so well with Draco Malfoy, despite their previous opinions of each other. If only she knew - that he'd intrigued her, that he'd forced her to do things, that he'd now ceased all contact with her in a way that had disgusted her and made her want to scream all at once.

He'd removed her tights, her panties. He'd pleasured her. The next day, as ordered, she wore no panties all day. She'd remembered every sensation, every rub of the rough material of her school skirt against a spot that had ached since the previous night. She'd prepared for rounds that night, mentally thinking through all of the things she'd have to tell him, out loud, when he asked over their plans that night.

Instead, he'd instructed her on an exact time and place to meet. He'd asked two simple questions about the map, one about her day sans panties, and hadn't spoken otherwise until just before he'd left.

Do not speak to me. Do not try to corner me or anything else of the sort. When we resume contact it will be under my rules, for my reasons. You're getting the idea that you have some sort of say in this matter, but I assure you that full control is in my hands, and this is how I will prove it to you. Goodnight, Granger.

He'd left her gaping in a practice classroom four floors beneath the previous Gryffindor tower, angry and alone. Why? Had she done something wrong? Then she became afraid. If she had done something wrong, would he make her do something she didn't want to? Would he humiliate her? He could do anything, anything at all...

But it had been eleven days since then. On patrols he hardly even looked at her, only twitched his head in one direction to teach her the new route that he'd told McGonagall they'd worked on together. She'd followed him silently, anger and other things bubbling at the surface, unable to be expressed because of one stupid order. Do not speak to me. When she finally could again, she'd give him an ear full, and...

Why did she care, anyway? He was a useless little prat who was using her and tricking her into wanting him, into wanting what they did. She was with Ron, and while the past eleven days had been full of trying to find a way around Draco Malfoy's orders to find out why he'd done this, she'd enjoyed the peaceful time with her boyfriend, as well. As usual he didn't push for more, never wanted more than she'd stated at the beginning. He'd snog her in a hallway, and she liked that, but his hand would trail up her side and towards her breasts and she found herself inching away with the excuse that she was behind in schoolwork (not a lie) and that she'd scheduled extra lessons (a complete lie).

It was on the eleventh night that something changed. The previous Monday, Malfoy had pleasured her. That Tuesday, they'd met on the pretense of working on the route, and he'd given her the order. Now Saturday came, and the days classes were mercifully quick, and Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder that could have come from no one else.

"Quietly, Granger. Around the corner."

She did as she was told, stepping quickly around the stone walls into a dim corridor. The sounds of students laughing faded away, until it was nearly silent and both of them were assured that they were alone.

His coat was wet, as was hers. Saturday classes meant not having to wear the standard school robes, but now it meant that their own clothes were soaked through. Both had sat through Herbology classes that day, though at different times, and the rain that had not relented all morning had saturated them both. Hermione had been too distracted to properly dry herself, spell or otherwise, and Draco had only stepped in from class a moment ago and had taken that moment to dry himself with a simple charm.

He just stared at her. It was worse than anger. It was worse than force. Not knowing what came next was torture, and she was surprisingly angry. How dare him use her curse against her like that. It wasn't, she mused, as bad as what else he'd used her curse for. But somehow this was more bothersome. He'd kept her from even speaking to him. She wanted to mouth off, to ask him what the hell he was doing, instead she reached out a hand and shoved his shoulder as hard as she could.

His eyes flew open wider, shocked by the contact. He hadn't expected that? Good. She was only proving that she wasn't some dumb plaything. If she couldn't speak to him, there were other ways for her to express her frustration with him.

He retaliated by bringing a hand back and smacking her across the face, hard. She hadn't expected that. Not at all. The sting that came from his hand was worse than eleven days of silence. It was worse than anything, really. He'd wanted her to realize that full control was in his hands, and he'd just used his hand to prove it.

"How dare you raise a hand to me, Granger. I've made it perfectly clear that this little situation could go much worse for you. You know what I could make you do. To me, to anyone I please. Any time I'd like. Instead I keep this to myself, I do things despite my own logic that please you, that are for your benefit, and you push me? Tell me why."

She felt as if she'd used her vocal chords for the first time in her life. "Because you forbid me to speak to you, and how else was I supposed to say anything?"

"You couldn't just wait? You couldn't let me make sure we were alone? What if a little first year were to walk around that corner, lost after lessons, and see us together in some sort of compromising situation? What if they told all of their friends? The things I do, I often do for the benefit of both of us. Instead you push me."

"And you slapped me. Is that any better?"

"I'll treat you as you treat me. At first you were more than willing to accept this little situation and very nearly willing to make the best of it. But the last time we met, the last two times we met, you've mouthed off and treated me like a monster with no provocation."

"Forcing me to spread my legs isn't provocation?"

"Bucking yourself against my hand wasn't really protesting was it?!" He was angry now, she knew, but he did not lay a hand on her just then. He turned around, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What exactly about this prolonged silence upset you, anyway? Don't you like having control over yourself? Don't you like having a little of your own life back?"

"I don't like being treated like a child or told not to speak to you. I don't like that you force me to do things and then just do away with me as you please."

"What do you expect? That I'm going to go tell Weasley to fuck off, that you're mine now? It doesn't work that way. That's not happening, ever."

"Not that, I just..."

"What, you're enjoying this? You enjoy being adulterous and betraying someone you love?"

She sealed her lips, as angry as he. No, she didn't. But she was curious, and some sick part of her wanted him, and every other girl in her dormitory had stories to tell that she didn't, and that at least, she wanted.

He huffed, turning towards her. "You're incredibly difficult. If I'd have known this from the start, I'd never have approached you. I'd have let you live your life with your awful fucking curse, and we'd all be happier for it in the end."

"Didn't you say before that I've always been difficult? Headstrong, I think you said. You can't blame me for that. You've always known how I am." She stepped towards him, lowering her voice as she stopped just inches away from making their bodies touch. "I will not lay idly by while you put your hand between my legs and then ignore me for eleven days. You already take advantage of my curse and demean me. You may have control of my body but what I think about it, what I feel, that's mine."

She stepped back, appraising the effects of her words. For a moment, he appeared stunned, until he narrowed his eyes and stepped towards her, his body pinning hers against the wall. He stepped back again, his hands moving towards the zipper on his pants. "Get on your knees."

She did as commanded, her head against the stone wall. She knew, she knew from the way he was acting - cold, detached, no longer curious but instead exacting and cruel - that this would not be pleasant for her. Instead of the previous ban on gagging, he said nothing before he told her to open her mouth. She waited with her jaw low, eyes wide. Anyone could see them, and she knew he was doing this publicly on purpose. Most would be warming themselves in their common rooms, but the chances of a wanderer coming back this way were high. She watched him take himself in his hand, stroking himself for a few moments. His large hands did nothing to make his member look smaller - it still looked as big as it had the last time she'd seen it from this angle, and as it grew and hardened under his fingers, her breaths quickened and became uneven.

He gave her no warning, no order to relax. He thrust his member into her waiting mouth with such force that she knocked the back of her head against the cold stone wall behind her head, wincing. Before she could recover, he pulled out once more and thrust roughly back in, pressing himself into the back of her throat. The muscles resisted, attempting to force him out of her throat, but he stayed in place for a moment before pulling out and pressing himself back in again. He did so for purely his own pleasure and without any concern for her, and that was what scared her most.

Seconds felt like years, which again felt like only moments. His speed increased as he cruelly filled her mouth, and she produced enough saliva to lubricate the movement without being conscious of it, a bit of it dribbling down her chin. She didn't dare reach up to wipe it away. Her skull slammed against the rock behind her again and again, causing what she knew would be either a large lump or a lightly bleeding cut, or perhaps both. He slid into her throat, causing her to gag repeatedly with no rest for breath. She began to see red, then black, as her vision faded slightly from lack of oxygen. Just as she began to feel light-headed he pulled back all at once, and she gasped for breath, looking up at him with shocked eyes.

He started down at her with an unreadable expression. When he next moved towards her, he guided her head back towards the wall, but this time he put his hand behind her head as he had the first time. He whispered a command forbidding her to gag, and slowly pushed himself back into her mouth. Though he tugged her hair and slid his hands down to her jaw to better angle her hot, wet mouth, she knew that this was him proving what he could do. He could torture her endlessly, forcibly attack her with no thought to her safety or comfort, or he could make it a bit easier on her and make her hate him just a little less every time her head hit his outstretched fingers instead of the rock behind her. His fingers slid up through the hair at the nape of her neck, and it was almost pleasant, to have her head held like that, despite what else was happening. Within a few minutes she felt him throbbing against her tongue, and when he told her that this time he would come into her mouth, and that she should swallow, she only looked up at him and hoped that her unblinking eyes would convey her agreement. She wouldn't protest. She knew what he was capable of. If she refused, he'd only force it down her throat anyway.

Instead of bury himself deep into the back of her throat as he finished, which she'd expected, he continued moving himself back and forth over her tongue, causing his ejaculation to coat her mouth and tongue. It was slightly bitter, a little salty almost, though not entirely unpleasant. This, she thought, she could handle. She'd heard plenty of times that men liked to finish this way, and she'd wondered the first time he'd done this why he hadn't done it like this. She knew it had been him going easy on her, even then. When he finally seemed to have emptied the rest of himself into her, he began to pull back.

It was instinct, she'd later think. She pursed her lips around his shaft as he pulled out of her, sucking the last of his fluids off of him while he fell out of her mouth. He groaned against the sensation, shutting his eyes while he put himself back into his pants, zipped, and tapped her shoulder. She took it to mean that he wanted her to stand up, and when she did, he looked her in the eye in that same stony, unreadable way she'd come to recognize.

His breathing was as uneven as hers had been the night he'd sat her up on the table and fingered her.

He'd done that, hadn't he? She nearly grinned remembering it. Perhaps he was angry, perhaps he'd been exerting his control, showing her what he could do. But at the very least, he was doing some of it for her benefit, not just mercilessly attacking her, and she knew he had reasons for it, whatever they may be.

When he finally regained composure, he simply stated that his previous ban on communication was rescinded, and that he would see her in two days time for Patrol and for their Prefect meeting. She only watched him as he walked away, curious to find out what their next meeting would bring and whether he'd treat her with care or with reckless abandon.

He had, what? Fifteen minutes? That would be good enough. The prefects bathroom was empty, and would be until the rest of them were out of class. Draco was fortunate to be the only prefect with his last class of the day, Mondays and Wednesdays, completely free to use however he wished. He estimated that the only prefects that would come in anywhere near the end of classes would be the younger sort from Ravenclaw, who were known to rush here immediately after classes to shower and change before studying. But for the next fourteen and a half minutes, the room was his to do with as he pleased, and he took advantage of his time as best as he knew how.

Water streamed over his head, down his shoulders, dripping down his body until it slid over the tile floors and into the drain at the bottom of the roomy shower stall. Steam had filled the stall quickly, what with the high temperature of his usual showers, and he took a deep breath while attempting to steady himself. If Saturday had been a sensory explosion, Sunday had been a maddening silence. Sunday, he'd decided, would be the day he'd leave her alone. She deserved at least one day a week to count on not being cornered or coerced into something. Sunday he'd left her alone. But Monday was different - Monday was a Prefect's meeting, a half-hour in a room in which he'd have to completely shut himself off to the person he became when they were alone, when he was free to exercise his control over her.

It had his cock twitching, just thinking about what would come later, on patrol. He was sure as hell not going to get a hard on in the middle of a prefect's meeting, so he'd have to relieve himself now and hope it was enough to keep his arousal dormant for a few more hours.

Her legs straightening as he slid off her tights... the feeling of triumph deep in his chest as he tossed her panties to the floor. The way she'd said his name as her entire world and the moist walls insider her crashed around him.

He took himself in his hand, allowing the remaining lather from his shampoo to ease the friction, skin gliding against skin. Just a little pressure, and... there. He'd perfected the grip on himself, though admittedly he hadn't been doing this as often as most boys his age. He'd been distracted, previously, with finding himself at the heart of a war that had ended the world he'd known. He hadn't really had the time or energy for a good wank when he'd been fearing for his life, but the last few weeks here at Hogwarts - and his encounters with Granger - had rekindled his sense of sexuality.

His fingers ran over the smooth skin of the head, over and over the most sensitive parts. He squeezed, feeling his palm run over the tip as he pulled away and again as he thrust himself back into his own hand, this time all the way to the base of his cock. He was hard now, there was no denying that he'd been thinking about her in the process. Granger. Her nose in a book, or in the smattering of pubic hair around his groin, somehow he found both to be equally arousing. The veins in his member throbbed against his fingers, pulsing against him as he tightened his grip with his thumb and middle finger like a vice. He was shaking now, jerking against his own hand, prolonging the moment as much as he could. He'd hardly taken four minutes, that was unusual. When the moment finally came, it was to a single, delicious thought in his head - Granger the bookworm, laid out under him in a bed or on a desk, completely naked, her pert breasts bouncing in time with his thrusts into her. He came with a guttural shout, spurting his seed onto the tile floors of the shower stall, while he imagined pressing his dick through her maidenhood and taking her virginity, with his name like a moan on her lips.

He knew she was a virgin, she'd said as much. She'd hardly been touched before. So much for a secret tryst with Potter on their little adventure, he thought, but it pleased him all the same. She didn't want to do those things with Ron. She wanted to be touched by Draco himself. But would she sacrifice something like that to him in the name of curiosity? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he wanted it, wanted her, in a way that was both horrifyingly awful and blissfully wonderful. So could be said for most good things, though, and as he rinsed himself and toweled off, he made a vow to let her make one decision, and that would be whether or not she'd give that to him.

Old Draco would have been disgusted. New Draco wasn't sure what the hell was going on, but somehow he liked it.

The hour between his shower and the start of the prefect meeting passed quickly. His release had left the beast inside feeling satiated and dulled, at least long enough to sit through thirty minutes of Q and A with the Headmistress. Prefects reported catching twice as many groups of students out of bed in the last week and a half than ever before. Terry Boot, who was filling in for a Ravenclaw prefect who'd fallen ill after a bad Herbology mix up, announced that he'd found four separate couples snogging in a single night, each of which had been surprised to see him off the route they knew so well. McGonagall suggested that the routes - Draco had submitted two - be interchanged randomly so as to be the most efficient. Though her message of friendship and getting along was strong and was beginning to affect students, she didn't mean it in a way that would make everyone want to snog everyone from another house, and urged the prefects to try their best to convince other students that sneaking out of bed was not the best choice, and that McGonagall herself would arrange schedules so that all students had a little more free time to make new friends in whatever rule-abiding way they pleased.

Draco held back a chuckle, even a smirk. He did not let his face betray him. How many rules was he breaking while he met with Granger? Probably at least half of them. He turned to seemingly glance around the room and let his eyes run over her, sitting beside Ron Weasley. Ron's hand was not on her leg, as usual. Was there trouble brewing? He hoped so. Granger looked tense, her legs crossed tightly and her usually messy hair pulled back into a strict, tight ponytail, seemingly sitting with the same rapt attention as the rest of the prefects.

But, he knew that this change in schedule could be bad for his plans. If the school were allowed more free time in the afternoons or on weekends, Hermione would surely spend hers with her friends, avoiding him as resolutely as possible. Their visits would be limited to Patrol nights, and after not catching a single group out of bed the last night of the old route, McGonagall would be watching them closely to make sure they were doing their job. If only she knew what happened for at least a significant amount of that time... it would shock her half to death, he knew, and probably get them both expelled regardless of Hermione's reputation.

Draco tapped his quill on a bit of parchment, content to watch droplets of ink scatter across the page while the last few minutes of the meeting ticked away. When they were finally released, all at once and without hesitation, Draco watched Hermione stand faster than any other in the room. She didn't look at Ron, didn't speak a word to him. Instead she took a fraction of a second to flit her narrowed eyes towards his own, grab her things, and bolt out the door before anyone else could leave. Ron stayed behind, gathering his belongings slowly. Draco had half a mind to make a snarky comment about their obvious distance, but he held back. Doing so would only imply that he'd been watching them, or rather watching her, and that was bound to raise questions he wasn't prepared for.

Draco was, uncharacteristically, late for patrol. Hermione groaned, rubbing her hands over her arms in an attempt to warm herself. The nights were growing colder, longer, and more strained. She'd layered a cozy wool sweater over a thermal over a tank top, and tights under her jeans, but it still wasn't enough to keep the cold air from permeating her skin and burrowing deep inside her. She shivered. If Draco showed up, they could start walking and perhaps warm up.

And then what might happen if he forced her into an empty room again? No part of that left the option of keeping all of her clothes on, though she figured that might also count as warming up.

She knew Malfoy had noticed her distance to Ron in that afternoon's meeting. Everyone had. It was, by and large, the new standard for Ron to rest his hand on her thigh, just above her knee, and to write or scribble or eat or drum on the table with his other hand. He seemed attached to her at all times, by one hand on one leg, and it had been just enough for Hermione to keep her sanity. Any closer, any more, and she wouldn't be able to keep herself together. Ron hadn't touched her in the weeks since school had begun, but someone else had. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't explain that something else was happening. Not, exactly, that there was 'someone else' - it was far from what that term implied, but that there was something else happening. Malfoy forbade her from talking about any of it, at all.

No, she didn't want to tell him, even if she could. Which made it especially difficult when Ron cornered her that morning after breakfast on their way to classes, demanding to know what was the matter and why she had been so distant over the past few weeks. She'd seen Harry pass them over Ron's shoulder, a sympathetic smile on his face. When Ron was upset, it was hard to fix. And Hermione couldn't fix this if she tried.

She'd told him something that was, well, sort of the truth. She had a lot on her mind. She had a lot going on this year, more than she could list, and her working with Draco Malfoy for patrol and for building maps had been somewhat difficult to understand. Sometimes he wanted to work and seemed to want to get along, sometimes he was a monster. It was the best she could convey, given her orders, but it wasn't good enough for Ron. He mumbled that they'd talk later and stalked off to his first class of the day, leaving Hermione's heart racing. She loved him, she did. But how?

She paced, waiting for Malfoy. How could she love Ron, at all? He was one of her best friends, and the things they'd seen and done together were not to be taken lightly. They'd fought a war together. They'd suppressed feelings for each other for years. But when the end of the trouble came, and they were at last free to spend their time together and figure themselves out, they'd only had three months of blissful summer to explore their relationship and each other before school had resumed. That day, the one time she'd allowed Ron to touch her from beneath her summer dress, she'd wanted that. She'd been the one to edge the hem of the material up her thigh and to place his hand there, a placement that had become ritual even up until this morning. But when he'd touched her... perhaps because he was just slightly more experienced than she was... it hadn't done a thing for her. The whole thing had just felt strange, and after a few minutes of relative silence and awkward shifting, she shut her legs and straightened her dress. Not another word was said about it, but was there something to the way that Ron didn't protest? Had he not felt anything either? Sex wasn't everything, but a sexless future wasn't healthy, even she knew that.

She heard the portrait swing away, the Fat Lady tutting about the late hour even after Malfoy snapped at her and explained that they were prefects on Patrol. Hermione whirled around to see him, dressed immaculately as always. Who had the time or wardrobe to dress himself like that at school? Who cared?

"We're taking the second new route tonight. Do you remember where it leads?"

She shook her head. She didn't. She might have known if Malfoy had worked on the maps with her, but he'd shut her out of that little operation. He cocked his head in one direction, indicating that she should follow him. They continued in this fashion for a few minutes, passing what were the most used hallways and corridors, through areas where students had been known to sneak out and think they couldn't be caught. Torches flickered as they walked by, the flames disturbed by the movement of two bodies in previously still corridors. Hermione glanced up at him only once, and when she found that his eyes were trained on her, narrowed, inquisitive, she turned away as quickly as she could.

He'd said something rude to Harry a few days ago. She almost never found out, but Harry had mistakenly alluded to his "run-in with Malfoy" and she'd made him give her details. Malfoy had sneered at Harry, as usual, and made a comment about a whole war fought over one stupid saint, and Harry had just let it pass. That had been pretty common for Harry in the last few months. While he was still deeply disturbed, his faith in himself had been renewed. He was positive. He'd defeated Voldemort, saved millions of wizards and muggles alike. While everyone had suffered losses - Harry himself had lost many that had become like family to him - Harry knew that he'd done something that no other wizard on Earth could have done. Hermione knew she should be spending more time with him, but patrol and classes and studying really did make it difficult.

She supposed that Malfoy saying something rude to Harry was just his way of returning to normalcy - as far as the rest of the world was concerned. As far as Monday and Thursday nights went, well, there was nothing normal about that. There was something sickening and disturbing and torturous about it, as far from normal as she knew could exist.

"We've been assigned Saturdays." His voice wavered as he spoke to her, not even looking at her.

"What?"

"Saturdays. For Patrol. McGonagall is apparently pleased with our progress. We don't seem to be tearing each others heads off between classes, and we haven't killed each other in the common room, so she's decided to up our responsibilities to fall in line with her new plan for free time for everyone."

Hermione nodded. She knew that would happen eventually - what better way to prove to the school that they could all get along than to show them that two people who previously despised each other could work together without problem? McGonagall, then, didn't know about the risen lump on the back of Hermione's head from two nights ago. It was still tender to the touch, and it made her seethe with anger when she felt it, but her anger was tempered by remembering the feeling of Malfoy's fingers cradling her head afterwards.

"Do you know anything about the new plan besides that?" She finally dared look up at him, but he stared resolutely ahead.

"A bit, yeah. I helped work it out with her. She asked if I'd like to."

"What's going to happen?"

"It's a bit complicated. Saturday classes are cancelled indefinitely. Since they were just an addition to Tuesday and Thursday classes, it won't really matter, but it means a little more studying during the week. Classes themselves will go down by about fifteen minutes, the time between classes will shrink by a minute or two, lunch will shrink from forty-five minutes down to thirty, but all of that together means nearly an extra hour after classes for studying, socializing. Curfew will be extended a half-hour on top of that. It's her impression that the students need more time together. It's... a difficult time for everyone. But in essence, weekend curfews will be extended as well. Friday and Saturday night patrols will be split between two sets of us, early and late. We've gotten the early shift, which I don't prefer, and we'll be handing off duties to your little boyfriend and his partner, or Terry Boot for now."

"That's... complicated."

"Sounds a lot more complicated than it will be. Just a few minutes here and there. Nothing to fret over. She's right, you know. Students need some time."

"And you've got a soft spot for everyone in school now, have you?" She rolled her eyes, hugging her arms to her chest. She was still chilled, and again wished she owned more padded bras.

"I can sympathize with the loss that many feel, if that's what you're asking."

"My parents are somewhere in Australia with no recollection of ever having a daughter. Harry's godson will never know his parents. We lost students. We lost family. Your parents went to Azkaban, and rightly so."

"I know this may shock you, Granger, but my father was still a father."

"What does that even mean?" She stopped in the hallway, leaning against the stone wall carefully enough so as not to touch her head to the stone.

"I'm sure you remember me threatening the three of you - hell, many more than that - with the idea that my father is who he is. You may not understand this Granger, you and I were raised in wholly different ways, but a father in any case is the one you run to that makes all the bad things go away. Our bad things may have been very different as children, but my father was still the man who protected me. My mother still sang me to sleep until I grew out of it, she was still the one who took me school shopping every year. They're still parents. They're still people. They're just people who did many, many bad things."

She looked at her shoes, at the ceiling, anywhere but at him. She wanted to scream. How dare he? But that small part of her that understood him, that felt the ache of parents far away, knew that he was right. His father was still a father. And for Malfoy, even when the boogeyman had lived within his own home, his mother at least had done her very best to save him.

Nothing was said as Hermione continued to follow him down the hallway, towards a spot where older students were known to congregate after hours. A sixth year group of girls was sitting in the crook of a corner, playing card games and talking in hushed tones about gossip around school. When they saw Hermione and Malfoy, their smiles turned to looks of total fear. They had been caught, which meant at least a week's worth of detentions. Hermione followed the group as they followed Malfoy, all the way to Filch's office to have slips written out. The girls were all in the same dormitory in the old Hufflepuff dorms, and once they were lead back and ensured to be at least as far in as the common room, Draco and Hermione made the long ascent back to Gryffindor tower. It felt odd to be walking there with someone who wore a green tie during the day, in classes. It felt odd to be there with him at all.

In truth, she was split in two. One half of her still despised him, still insisted that he bled green and wouldn't hesitate to hurt her just for fun. That half of her hated him, hated what had happened and what had yet to happen. That half of her wanted to smack him like she had in third year. The other half... well, the other half remembered backing her hips up against his hand, calling his name as he brought her over the edge. The other half felt the pooled moisture between her legs. There wasn't enough time now for him to corner her, to explore any further, and she hated the fact that she hated that at all. The second half of her was corrupted by her curiosity, and that's what frustrated her the most. The second half was actually sort of attracted to him, in the way that she knew had to do with his broad shoulders and chest, his strong arms, his long fingers, his height.

They climbed four sets of stairs before the staircase decided to send them elsewhere. Fantastic. A detour through the castle could take longer, but would be purely walking. Malfoy seemed to know this too, groaning as he lead them through a twisting hallway towards a back set of stairs. That set, at least, was usually stationary and would lead them to a spot not terribly far from the tower.

Those stairs were gone. Disappeared. Malfoy cursed, Hermione stomped on the ground in frustration. It could take ages to get back now. They had to hope that the main staircase would change its mind and allow them back up the right way. That could take an hour or more, depending on the day, but it was their only option for the moment. The castle, apparently, did not want to give them any special passageways today.

They waited by the stairs for... who knew how long? There were no clocks at that level, the nearest one perhaps a floor or two above their heads. Draco estimated that at least half an hour had passed, and they were long past their patrol night curfew. They were only given five minutes after the end of patrol to be back in their dormitories. If they were caught out past then, the usual curfew rules would apply to them, and would likely be worse than that since if they were apprehended, it would be by Filch himself.

He'd almost been glad that time had run out before their return to the dormitories. He'd been glad that their remaining time on patrol had been spent apprehending rule breakers... how sick.

But now the castle itself was determined to keep them out as long as possible. He smacked his hand against the wood paneling behind him, cursing.

"We're going to be stuck here a while."

He watched her nod, her eyes trained on her shoes. "I know. It figures."

What figured? Many things, he supposed. He didn't ask what she meant. They were, essentially, trapped on a floor with nothing but a few storage rooms and a few classrooms. The fifth floor was horribly boring, he thought, especially when you were likely trapped there for all eternity.

Of course, he had some ideas. Just a few. Those doors did open, he knew, and likely one of them would allow enough space for more than Christmas decorations or broken desks.

But somehow the idea of leaving to find an open room, and possibly missing the stairs, seemed like a bad idea. If he took her into a room and started something, and they missed the stairs again... it was likely already one in the morning, it could be another hour at least before they would head back. But what would he have done with the time if he were to just stand here and wait and it took just as long?

He let out a huff of a breath, pulling himself off the wall. "It's clear the castle does not want us to return to our dormitories at this time. We should probably..."

"What, hole up in a classroom? You know how that works. You'd have to force me into it. Order me into it. Whichever. It's already late, what if we miss the stairs?"

"What if the stairs don't move again until morning? We're stuck no matter what. Might as well make it interesting. Follow me."

He heard her all but growl behind him, her footsteps padding along the carpeted floor behind him. The first two rooms were crowded, packed with odds and ends. The third opened to a wall, and wasn't really a door to anything at all. The fourth opened to a large, open room that looked as if it had been blown apart in a rather explosive fashion. Draco waved his wand, moving the debris to one wall, and magicked it away to another part of the castle. To where? He wasn't sure. Somewhere outside, he thought, as that had been the direction he'd intended to send it all. The room, now empty, was completely dark. He ordered Hermione into the room, leaving briefly to retrieve a lamp he'd seen in one of the storage rooms, along with a few soft dueling mats. It would do, for now.

He lit the lantern, coaxing the flame higher with his wand. It was almost like a few proper torches, and he set it to hover just over their heads in the room, casting light to all four corners. Granger stood just inside the door, arms crossed. He laid down the mat and looked at her. When it became clear that she refused to move of her own accord - stubborn little... - he told her to come farther into the room and stand on the mat.

He still had no idea what he wanted. What was he doing here? What would he have her do?

Well, okay. There was that.

Her arms folded over her chest... he knew why that was. He'd seen her turn a corner earlier, the frigid air making her nipples strain against her shirt. He hadn't seen her chest yet, and he thought that tonight he might like to do just that.

"Stand in the light, Granger. Move a little farther back. There. Uncross your arms."

The light shone down over her hair and shoulders, over her sweater and her jeans. When she uncrossed her arms, scowling, he took a few moments to appreciate the fact that she wore unlined bras. She felt no need to wear anything padded or pushy, and that meant that everything he saw bouncing within the confines of her shirts was completely hers, completely natural. He sat on the mat, leaning his back against the wall, and nodded.

"Good. Boots off now, and socks. Take them off."

The jerky movements of her limbs made her kick her boots off in two different directions. Her socks were strewn equally wildly. Her toes curled over against the smooth fabric of the mat.

"Take off your sweater, Granger."

She reached down, crossing her arms and grasping the hem in her fingers. In one swift movement, the sweater was also discarded. A second layer and, he saw, a third, now stood between him and whatever she wore underneath her prudish exterior.

"Remove the next layer."

"I hate you."

"No you don't. Well, you might, but you know I have a... redeeming quality or two. You're the one who attacked me first, Granger, and though I've demonstrated what I can do, I'd like a little apology from you, willingly or not. Next layer, off, now."

She slipped off the thermal, tossing it at him with an air of disgust. He could see her arms straining, wanting to cross. Was she self conscious? He prepared to open his mouth and say something, tell her she had nothing to be self conscious about at all, but he shut his lips again, watching her stand there in a tank top.

"Remove your jeans, Granger."

Her jeans slipped off next, leaving a pair of thick tights on her legs.

"Gods, Granger, did you layer this much clothing to keep me from doing this on purpose? It almost worked, but... take off your tights. And turn around while you do it, I'd like to see you bend over in front of me."

Her face burned red, not from the heat of the lamp just an arm's reach above her head but from embarrassment. He didn't care. He wanted this.

"Closer."

She was within reaching distance when she turned, looping her thumbs over the tops of her tights. She bent forwards, bending over low and slow and pulling her tights over that pert little bum, down her thighs, until she slid them past her knees.

Tonight's display was quite different. Silk, blue silk, edged in tiny lace, covered only half of her bum and strained against what lay at the tops of her thighs. He saw the pool of dampness there, emphasized by the shiny fabric, which made her lips stick to the fabric, all was visible.

"My, my Granger. I'll have to do this again. Stand up straight, turn around. Step back just a bit, I want you in the light again."

She did as she was told, a permanent scowl on her face.

He supposed he could be a little nice about the whole thing. "Now, I'd like you to take off your tank top, slowly. Show me what you've got under there. Give me a little show about it. I'd like nothing more, at this moment, than to see you without that tank top, and I mean that."

Her cheeks flushed brighter, but she reached down as instructed, slowly peeling the tank top off from the bottom. The more space between that hem and the top of her panties, the more excited he got. She had a really spectacular body, which surprised him, given her hesitance to show it off. She'd never worn anything tight in the history of his knowing her, and he wondered why. Perhaps she didn't want that kind of attention - well, she deserved it, but in an appreciative way. He appreciated it.

The flat plane of her stomach was interrupted only by her small bellybutton, not too high or low. She wasn't pasty white, so she had to have worn a bathing suit here and there over the summer.

"You ought to shove me around more often, Granger. I'm quite enjoying this. Marvelous." The hem of her tank top reached her ribs, which didn't stick out so much as just exist there, in shape. Not too thin. Gods, she was perfect, from her display on the table a week and a half prior to right now in front of him. There was no better person to have been hit with this curse, and no better person to have learned the truth, he thought. Her top now reached the bottoms of her breasts, and he could see in glimpses, as she shifted the tank top around her body in a little show, that the fabric of the bra was nearly the same blue as her knickers, just a shade or two off, and still silky. Watching the white fabric of the tank top glide over the satiny blue of her chest was like magic. When the hem of her top finally passed her nipples, covered them, and then uncovered them again, she slipped the shirt the rest of the way off, letting it fall from her fingertips in front of her. Slim shoulders, narrow waist, with a nice curve to her hips. Not too thin or too thick, with nice breasts and a raised bum.

"Well, well, Granger. Now I know why you hide yourself in baggy clothing half the time. Wouldn't want this secret getting out either. It's no surprise that you aren't as attracted to Weasley as he is to you... look at yourself."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment, Malfoy?"

"It is. It is... don't get used to it. But I do love looking at you."

"And what about you, hmm? Just going to sit there in your coat and mock me?"

"I'm not mocking you. It's still a compliment. But I could strip for you, if you'd like."

"Go to hell."

He chuckled, leaning forward to slip off his coat. "No, no. You're saying that it's unfair for you to be down to your knickers while I sit here, comfortably dressed. Fine. I can agree with that." He stood now, slipping off his shoes. He knew he was good looking, he spent a small portion of his day doing whatever exercises he could in his dormitory to keep up his shape. His shoulders were broad, his chest lightly defined above his stomach, a hint of muscle without being flashy. His hip bones dipped in, forming a slight V downwards into an area she'd already seen before. He unbuttoned his shirt, slipped it off, and started on his jeans. When he was down to his favorite pair of boxer briefs, he stepped towards her, arms down at his sides.

"See? Now we're even. Like what you see, Granger?"

"You're not revolting, if that's what you're asking."

He sniggered, shaking his head. "Close enough. I didn't even have to force that one out of you. But there's still a small inequality that we have yet to deal with..."

He eyed her bra, and he knew that she wanted nothing more than to cross her arms, dress herself, and leave. But wouldn't he be helping her, really, if he were to help her conquer her fears a little?

"You can do it or I can. That's your pick."

She stared at him, mouth set in a line. He knew her dilemma. If she did it herself, she knew he'd be watching the whole time, enjoying the show. If she let him do it, he'd be touching her, and while he suspected that she might like it a little, she wouldn't want to admit that to him.

"I'll do it." She reached backwards, swallowing. He watched her arms move, then drop, and the straps sagged slightly upon their release. She reached upwards, dragging the fabric down and...

Her breasts bounced downwards, then up again. Though not terribly large, they had a nice knack for being quite bouncy, and they weren't small, either. He estimated a full C cup. He hummed, watching as she dropped her bra beside her and shook her hair out behind her. The shake of her head caused her breasts to move and shake slightly side to side, and he felt himself growing hard. She'd be able to tell immediately, and wouldn't that help her? Her eyes wandered downwards, lingering exactly where he'd predicted. When her eyes grew wide, cheeks still flushed, he knew he'd done something right, after all.

"I..."

"Granger. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. If I'd have known about this - about these - in years previous, I'd have been a lot nicer to you than I was."

"Because of my breasts?"

"Because as far as women's bodies go, it would be very very hard for anyone to top yours. Certainly no girl I've been with has been this... pleasing to look at."

"I feel like I should say thanks, but you did force me to strip when I didn't want to, so I won't."

"That's fine. I'll take that." He stepped forward, placing his hands on her waist, his thumbs just brushing the bottoms of her breasts.

"You. Are. Exquisite."

He let one hand roam upwards, the thumb just brushing her hard nipple, causing her to draw breath through her teeth. He flicked the hard little nub back and forth, then reached to roll it lightly between his thumb and forefinger. He was fully hard now, her skin under his hand exciting him nearly to the point of combustion. He would not let that happen again.

His hand slipped over her breast, holding it lightly.

"Touch me, Granger."

She looked as if she might hesitate, but ultimately her hand moved forward, pressing against his shaft, now fully hard and straining against the stretchy material. She took in a shaky breath, reaching her fingertips over the band and pulling his pants down, letting them fall to his feet.

His member sprung up to attention, slightly above horizontal as usual. He looked down to watch as she took him in her small hand. He wouldn't press her to do more, she'd do it on her own. His hand grabbed at her lightly, his palm slipping against her nipple, and her back arched slightly as her hand slid down his shaft towards the base. Triumph spread through him, slowly at first and then all at once shooting to every nerve in his body. She wanted him, though she didn't want to, or maybe she just wanted to feel wanted. Semantics. He lifted his other hand to cup both of her breasts, squeezing lightly and massaging their entirety. Her hand, of her own accord, began to work its way up and down his throbbing cock. He dropped one hand, his fingertips trailing over her stomach, down her hips, until they came to rest at the mound of flesh that rested there. He slipped his fingers into her panties, letting the back of his hand push them down until they too fell to the floor.

She gasped, the cold of the room hitting her moist lips. Her eyes flew open, locking with his then shutting again as his fingertips brushed her hot core. She was wet, excited from the prospect of something happening on patrol, excited from being complimented, excited by his brazen acceptance to remove his own clothing. He knew she could feel his fingers gliding through her, made easy by the moisture that had come from her own excitement. It was almost, almost too much. Her hand was inexperienced, though, but he did not dare correct her yet for fear of exciting himself too much. He gave her only one order.

"Don't stop. Faster, just a little faster. Get the whole thing. Yes, oh gods..."

Standing and doing such things, he found, was much more fun than laying down and fumbling around. When standing, he could step forward, as he did then, again and again until she was pinned against the wall.

"Spread your legs a little Granger, I can't get my hand..." Before he could finish speaking, she'd side-stepped just enough to let his hand burrow underneath her. She mewled in pleasure as he slipped a finger inside her, teasingly making a beckoning movement with his curled finger. She arched her hips into his hand, pressing the top of her body into the hand that firmly held her breast. Unbinding the bookworm, he thought, felt better than she would ever know.

"Do you want to finish, Granger? Is that what you want? Tell me." He stopped moving his finger inside her, slipping it out and running the fluid coated digit up her slit while he waited for a reply.

"I... I don't know."

"That's terribly unfortunate, not to know at all... we could go check on the stairs, or..."

"The stairs! Gods Malfoy, it's long past our curfew, we've got to go..." Still her hand would not stop moving over his cock, the order was still in place, and she still pressed her hips into the digit that teased at her clit.

"Yes, yes, then you'd like to finish? Is that what you're saying?"

"Please... I... please." She looked up into his eyes and he saw nothing but fire. In moments such as this, she was hardly the same girl at all. Something had taken over her, lust or something entirely different, and though he knew she was tortured about the circumstances, she ground her hips against his finger. That was acceptance, right?

He pressed two fingers against her clit, rubbing in circles furiously fast. She cried out, no concern for noise or restricting herself, as she pumped away at his shaft. As she ground against his hand, he too became close enough to finish.

She came to the brink in mere moments, a drop of her fluids dripping down her thigh to her knee. She trembled, shouted something incoherent, and then he felt the shudder that came after her climax. As she finished, she gripped his cock tighter and the glorious pressure brought him to a simultaneous end.

His come hit the wall with a small smack, running down to the floor where it pooled. Neither moved for a moment, but when they did, it was quickly and quietly. He'd been mouthy before, as had she, but neither wanted to discuss the elephant in the room - nobody had forced either of them into pressing up against each other, breathing heavy, and finishing together. When they returned to the staircase, clothes mussed, the stairs were back in position, prepared to take them to the tower as if they'd never moved at all. When they reached the common room, each grumbled a low goodnight to each other across the empty room, climbing separate sets of stairs to equally tortured nights absent of slumber.
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