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Long Time in the Making	By : T-W-O Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 11238 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I own nothing of HP nor do I profit in any way from these missives. I almost own the laptop I'm writing this fanfic on, tho'.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Having seen his father incarcerated, his mother reduced to a depressed mass of perpetual fear and his arm maimed (with a living dark emblem) in crazed repayment for Lucius’ error at the Department of Mysteries, Draco shored himself up for the task at hand and assured his mother he’d succeed. A suicidal mission seemed completely consistent with the shite his life became.
Never as brave as he pretended, Draco strategically chose to withdraw from interacting with his enemies and friends alike, fearful one of them would betray his awful assignment and consign his mother to death (or worse). In between failures to accomplish his mission, the weight of anxiety drained his waning confidence. Thanks to his prior reputation and behaviours, the only people who noticed were bloody Gryffindors — one who suspected he had murder in mind and one who suspected he was scared out of his tree.
Sick with failure after another fruitless session with the non-working cabinet, Draco leaned back onto the sink to update Myrtle on the hopelessness of his life in general.

“Mother sent a note to be ‘cheerful’ “ he told the floating apparition, “because everything will ‘work out’. Aunt Bella sent a howler screaming at me not to be a fucking loser like my cowardly father. And the cabinet STILL isn’t working because —”
“Can I help?”

In reflection stood Hermione Granger in a place he’d never noticed her before.

“Why the fuck are you here, Mudblood!?”

Undaunted, she kept a steady pace towards him.

“This is the Girls’ bathroom, Draco. Why are you here talking to Myrtle?”

The moody spectre whinged — “Why shouldn’t he talk to me?”.

“That’s not what I meant, Myrtle,” the kindly prefect corrected.
“How did you find me?”
“Mafalda. She gossips with Myrtle. Loves to rub my nose in her pure-blood status. Do you want my help?”
“No, Granger, I’m fine on my own!”

Tears dashing down his cheeks in an avalanche said otherwise.

“Not from where I’m standing. I know you’re after someone in the school. The questions are ‘who’ and ‘why’? Is it me, Draco?”
“You’re not important enough for the Dark Lord —”

She interrupted his lousy lie.

“Harry’s hellbent on stopping Voldemort. You know that. You know I’m helping Harry. Is it me you’re trying to hurt, Draco?”
“No…” he mumbled out, hoping to end this miserable day in a manner that kept his mother and himself breathing.
“Talk. To. Dumbledore,” she commanded as her soft hand stoked his back under his rumpled shirt, said shirttail having wriggled out during his gymnastics to fix that damned nonfunctioning cabinet.

The heat coming off Hermione, Draco noticed, raised his body temperature for the first time since they’d held him down and carved that writhing tattoo into his unblemished flesh. Abandoning it all gained greater appeal in the confines of that haunted bathroom — if anyone could save his mother from their hideously misplaced loyalties, Dumbledore and Hermione Granger would top his list. Hope rose steadily in his chest…
… until reality and cowardice returned in equal parts.

“I can’t, Hermione… The Dark Lord will kill my mother! He’s punishing my father and He Will KILL her if I fail!”

Having never used it before, Voldemort’s worst Death Eater witnessed the power of her given name on his lips as she invaded his space, shoring up his quavering knees and wavering will to live with a simple kiss. Warm arms engulfed him, letting him cry it out with a human and not a ghost…

…and that led to the kiss that changed the future.

Her body tingled in ways it never had when Ron was snogging her and not Lavender Brown. Limited experience had no impact; her body used instinct to fold into him, escalating the tingling to a slow burn. The rumble of a groan in his chest gave her head control again.

“Why me, Draco?”

Discussion shadowed another mind-numbing kiss.

“Because you embarrassed me about the brooms. Because you hit me for being a little shite about Buckbeak.”

On its own, his hand skimmed over her stomach, headed for her breast. On arrival, his thumb lazed over the small nub protruding through her jumper.

“Because,” he confessed, “you know what it’s like to be hated.”

A moan, wanton and frightened at the same time, escaped her and the arm he’d snaked around her pulled her into the evidence of his interest. Something good was about to happen to him — and he decided that was bad for his situation outside of this bathroom.

“Because you’ve always known who you are. Because you know what I am and yet… you’re here.”

Hermione’s hand accidentally grazed Draco’s distended zipper and both succumbed to the situation. His hand breached the boundary of her skirt and her knickers, the first young man to do so.

“You’ve always been… kind. And brilliant. And very… very… pretty, Hermione.”

A single instant of unwanted clarity struck him again and he hesitated. Hermione gathered her thoughts first. Much rode on their next decisions.

“What about Pansy?” she whispered through the haze of unaccustomed arousal.
“She’s a Slytherin. She understands competition.”
“What about Ron?” she asked him instead of herself.
“Despite my stunning looks, I’m not into Ron.”

Arrogance made an ideal shield in these situations.

“Draco, I’m… I’ve never…”

Her soaked knickers vanished as he lifted her by her bum. Her intimate scent alone wiped her blood status clear out of his head.

“Wrap your legs around me.”
“Draco!” she barked “I’m a —”
“I know, Hermione,” he brusquely cut her confession off, “I won’t hurt you,” and he protected them both (lest he create more people relying on his nonexistent courage and ingenuity) before placing himself at her entrance.
“Do you trust me?”

Worrying her lip, she nodded twice then rushed out with —

“Just do it. Please…”

However awful the year had been, he’d gained (for no reason he could fathom) something tangible — her trust,.

Desperate, anxious and alone for the first time in his indulged life, Draco’s only recent comfort came from his most obstinate opponent. That thought propelled his hips forward to impale her. Her sudden inhalation confirmed she’d been breached; he held himself unmoving until she adjusted to the first-time fullness within her.

“Should I stop?” he spoke to the tears on her face.
“No. I’m a bit… tender.”

Nipping bites to her ear distracted her from the stinging of her broken, bleeding virginity.

“I promise I’ll make this good for you.”

For once in his pampered life, Draco realized, he would apply himself to someone else’s enjoyment. After a Silencio and a Disillusionment charm followed by a locking spell, he stripped them bare and set to exploring her body. Learning about her settled him, as did the gift of her first orgasm driven solely by the rhythm of his own pleasure instrument inside of her. Air whooshed from her lungs with his release, when it came, from within his smothering embrace. Anxiety and loneliness escaped with the seed that painted her canal.
Lightly stroking his cheek with the backs of her fingers, Hermione confirmed their singularly irrational act hadn’t made things worse for him — “Feel better?”

“Yeah…”

Telling the truth was infinitely easier than tracking lies across multiple situations.

Unwilling to add to his burden, the compassionate Gryffindor gave him an out — “We don’t have to —”
“I want to see you again.”

His decision required no real thought: this would be — she would be — his refuge until he could whisk them all away from the half-blood, snake-faced psychopath architecting Draco’s death by “misadventure”.

“Draco, I don’t think —”
“Good!” the mercurial heir flung back, “Don’t think. Meet me. Wherever you feel safe.”
“Let me help you, Draco…”

He could not accept her assistance so he’d settle for the rest of her.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Long Time in the Making