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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
- 6
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- 8
Oh, if that caretaker could see them, he'd have a fit. That's what she told herself, anyway. Violet had been by just earlier, bringing with her copious amounts of wine and the gossip that had passed throughout the portraits of Hogwarts castle throughout the day. Prior to the disturbance, "The Fat Lady" - or so everyone so brazenly referred to her - had been quite alright. Students in bed for the night, no bother for passwords or swinging open. The night was hers to do with as she pleased.

But she'd forgotten the prefects. It was late, she'd had so much wine, and throughout her roughly forty years as the door guard of Gryffindor Tower, it had certainly not been the first time she'd forgotten about the prefects. She highly disliked when anyone of authority in the school saw her in such a state - hair mussed, cheeks flushed red from warmth and wine.

These students, however, were in such a state that it put the very definition of the word 'mess' to shame. The boy - she'd never seen him much before this year, as he was part of a different House entirely - was sweating slightly, a sheen sparkling low on his wide forehead. His eyes were wide, panicked, and guilty looking, as was the rest of him - arms straight at his side, shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned, and slacks halfway unzipped. He wouldn't take his eyes off his shoes, even as he choked out the password and looked quickly at the girl. She was in almost as terrible of a state as he was - looking as if she had dressed in a hurry, and then run a great distance.

"Trophy cabinet. That's still the password, right?"

"I expect the two of you have a reason to be returning to your dormitories so late?"

The girl - she remembered her name now to be Hermione Granger - nodded. "Y-yes." She stuttered. "We had prefect duties."

"Duties that should have ended well over an hour ago. Nearly two. Have you any reason for being so late? I was under the impression that all students were to be in their beds, and that I would be in peace for the next few hours, at the least."

"The staircase. Moved. Wouldn't let us up." Even as she said it, her cheeks flushed slightly more, and The Fat Lady tutted and shook her head.

"Like I haven't heard that one before. You're lucky I'm as kind and forgiving as I am - other guards, or that idiot knight, would rat you both out and comment on the look of you both. As it stands, I'll let you in with a warning. Straight to bed." She swung forward, noting the silence that followed, and swung shut after a few moments and once they were both past.

It wasn't even worth reporting, though there were certainly channels through which she could do just that. No, it was late and she was so very tired, and they were both of age. It really wasn't her place to meddle, anyway.

"Come here, you."

She wanted to. She did. But...

"Hermione, come on. We're out here, all by ourselves, alone for the first time all year." His ginger brows were raised onto his pale, slightly freckled forehead. His grin was faltering, perhaps in realizing that while Hermione took slow steps towards him, she hadn't yet rushed into his arms. Any other spot on the outer walls of the castle. Any other life. But Ron had chosen this exact expanse of wall, this place that struck a nerve in her and had made her whole face flush with shame. Ron Weasley might think her coloring was due to the biting wind, but she could pick out the exact brick in the wall behind him that she had hit her head on just two weeks prior.

It was the coldest October she'd seen in her entire history at Hogwarts, but no one else seemed to notice. Quidditch tryouts had gone on weeks ago, and despite many rumors of players attempting to switch house teams or form super groups of players, the teams stayed roughly the same as they had been two years ago, with the only real changes being students that had graduated being replaced by the younger students. Ron and Harry seemed to both be happy about this arrangement, but Harry still occasionally joked about what the season might be like if they'd formed a team with Draco Malfoy and the other best players from each of the teams. They realized, of course, that it wouldn't have been fair at all, but since it hadn't happened it no longer crossed anyone's minds. The first practice of the season had proved that Harry's captaincy skills were still intact, though it had been well over a year since he'd last played here, and that Ron's horrid nervousness had all but disappeared entirely. In fact, it was after one of these successful practices that he'd reached for Hermione's hand, pulling her out of doors for a 'walk around the grounds'. He'd barely gotten himself out the door and around the corner without stumbling, but as soon as he'd found a patch of wall to lean on that wasn't directly visible from the front doors of the castle, he'd stopped.

That brick. She thought she might still be able to feel it bounce against the back of her head, and then she thought she might still be feeling Malfoy's hand cradling the back of her head. She opened her mouth to say something, but... nothing came out. Instead, Ron reached forward, pulling her close.

Embracing Ron was far different than being towered over by Draco Malfoy. Ron was all thin, angular arms and legs, and a narrow waist and chest. He held her close to him, stroking her hair, and he bent down to whisper sweet things in her hair. I've missed you. Let's just spend a little time alone. His hands slid over her hips, playing with the hem of her sweater, and as she looked up at him to respond, to stutter out an explanation so that she might be able to leave or, at the very least, move them to a different location, Ron bent down and pressed his mouth to hers.

Kissing Ron was infinitely different than whatever it was she did with Malfoy. When Malfoy did this, she felt both hot and cold, her insides both still and racing. When Ron moved his lips against hers, she felt... comfort. It was nice, really, but she knew that it wasn't what you were supposed to feel when being snogged. Ron's hands slid up under her sweater, and the misty afternoon dampened his fingers against her skin. She pulled back from his kiss, shaking slightly. She wanted to want him. She loved him, but she didn't desire him.

"Ron. Ron, stop."

His hands stayed under her sweater, but his head flew back, smacking against the stone wall. She knew that feeling. "Ow. What... what's wrong?"

Well, she thought, the truth was too much, but a lie was too little. She didn't want his hands under her sweater, but she still wanted them to hold her own hands. She didn't want to be pulled up against this stretch of wall, but she still wanted to just lay next to him and stretch out on a summer afternoon.

"I..." She looked into his eyes and saw the worry there. He already suspected that she was pulling away. "I'm not sure. I just don't know, Ron."

"You've been pulling away since we got here, since the very first day. Doesn't..." He lowered his voice, leaning in to whisper to her. "Doesn't this summer, doesn't the war, mean anything to you?"

She felt tears pool. Of course they did. "Of course, Ron. How could you even ask that? You're... you have to know. I love you."

"But?"

"But..." She could end it now. She could just break up with him. But even in her current predicament, she remembered the tiny, shining part of her heart that thought that she and Ron would outlast anything. "But I just don't want to do this right now. The hurried snogging outside the castle, the wandering hands... I'm not ready for that. I don't think I am, anyway. I'm still not. I just can't... enjoy it, when it's like this."

"You're saying that it's because we're at school? Like, because so many other people are around?"

"Sort of. But there are other reasons, too. I can't really explain it. I just don't enjoy it."

Ron raised his hand to her shoulder, her face, cupping her cheek in his palm. She felt the tears spill over, running down her skin and then his, and he pulled her close to him but only to hold her.

She didn't fall into his arms, she didn't break apart. She spent that sixty seconds regaining her composure, willing her tears away, and breathing deeply. She hadn't broken up with him, because she still loved him. She'd always known that. But could she be in a relationship that was purely romantic, and not at all physical, after what she'd been experiencing now? She knew what it was like to want someone. Could she be in a relationship in which she was cheating, even by force? Her moral boundaries were destroyed, she knew that, but what other choice did she have?

"I'm sorry, Ron. About all this. I just needed to be honest."

"But you still... I mean, do you still want to be with me? Do you still love me?"

She nodded against his hand, pulling away as she did so. "Yes of course I still love you. I just need space." She reached up to grab his hand with her own, smoothing her thumb over the palm. None of this would have happened if Draco wouldn't have found out. She could have been perfectly pleased with a mediocre physical aspect in her relationship. She could have loved Ron Weasley a lot more than she believed she did right now. Instead, she would cling to this last thread for as long as she could, until she found a way to end the curse or to get Draco Malfoy to leave her alone. Until she found a solution to all of this.

Ron nodded, pulling her by the hand back into the castle. "I love you, too. It's fine. I understand."

He smiled, but Hermione saw the sadness behind it. She had to find a way to make this all work. She hated hurting Ron. But was staying in a relationship like this really the best option?

Was this really what he'd turned into? The furious masturbator in stolen moments in the Prefect's bathroom? Draco groaned, shutting off the water and toweling himself off. She'd turned him into this. He was the one with the control, but she seemed to be able to effect him, still. Sundays were relatively quiet in here until later at night. He took what he could get.

Saturdays were officially his least favorite days. Instead of a shorter day of classes and a few hours spent heckling first years or catching up on classwork, he now spent most of these days sulking around and avoiding his dorm mates until he inevitably had to shower, dress, and meet Granger in the corridor for patrol.

Saturday patrols, he found, were the worst. On weeknights if he cornered her and slid his hand up her skirt, and if they were late returning to the common room, nobody but The Fat Lady was the wiser. Saturdays, however, they had a strict schedule to stick to - outer grounds, seventh floor, and repeat. And if he had a single moment to lock her away with him for a short while, he had to carefully watch the time so that when ten thirty came around, he and Hermione were both straightened, clean, and not blushing furiously. Ten thirty, of course, was when they would hand patrol off to Ron Weasley and Terry Boot, and would then scurry back to the common room a dozen paces away from each other, neither speaking a word.

Granger disliked their little trysts on Saturdays for obvious reasons that Draco was starting to dislike, as well. Weasley's obvious dislike of him was not at all lessened by his changed allegiances in the war. For all Ron Weasley knew, Draco was torturing Hermione while they patrolled the corridors alone. He was half right - Draco was doing something to Hermione, anyway, but it certainly wasn't torture.

Three weeks had gone by since Hermione had shown up to patrol looking like she might kill him if given the chance. He still didn't like thinking of that night, because it had been the night he'd done something he swore to himself he would never do. He let his guard down. When he'd made a crude comment about anger not looking pleasing on her face, she'd spat out that it was his fault anyway, and to hell with his opinions of her. It had shocked him, slightly, to hear this, since he'd proven to her that speaking out against him would bring punishment. Instead of thinking this way, he'd been intrigued. He couldn't remember doing anything other that the usual orders, so he couldn't think of what he'd done to make her so angry.

This is all my fault, how?

You ruined everything. I love him, Malfoy! But I can't even touch him without my skin crawling.

You're still not explaining how this is my fault. I haven't conditioned you against him or anything.

Because you... you've done things that Ron can't. I would know, we've discussed this, the one time he tried I felt nothing. But somehow you can make me feel things. Somehow you make it... whatever it is. When Ron tries to touch me, to snog me, I feel nothing but uncomfortable! If it hadn't been for you, for this, I could have been content with decades of mild discomfort, as long as I got to spend it all with my best friend.

I'm sorry I taught you what it's like to want something? What do you want me to say? I can control your body, but you've been the one to make it excessively clear that I don't control your mind. What you think of it, what you feel, that's in your head. That's on you, not me. You want this, I want this.

Tonight, three weeks later, she'd been the one to initiate something. After three weeks of mostly silent interactions brought on exclusively by himself, she'd been the one to start things. Women were complicated, he knew, but none more than the cursed Hermione Granger. She'd rounded a corner of the castle, pointing out a broom shed, and whispered one word. In. She was the cursed one. So why had he gone in without another thought?

She hadn't really made the first move, of course. She still waited for him to give her an order, eyes shut. And he did. But she'd been the one to open the damned door, and he'd step through it if that were her intentions. When he told her to step closer to him, and when he let his arms snake around her waist, pulling her tight against him, she stood on her toes to whisper in his ear.

Please. He'd nearly came in his pants, again, at the sound of it. When she pulled away to look him in the eye and gauge his reaction, he knew she'd see that his eyes were wide with surprise. He certainly hadn't expected that, but if she was in a mood, he would take that too.

Forty minutes were spent shoved up against a wobbly pile of brooms, hands and mouths wandering with only moderate direction in the form of orders. He knew this wasn't a fantasy, she wasn't giving in and throwing herself at him. He could still sense her hesitation. But it was something new, for now, and that was enough. She needed to feel that way, and she'd come to him.

When they checked his watch - and found that they were five minutes behind schedule, and would therefore have to run to get to the meeting place on time - they put on whatever clothing had been peeled off, straightening themselves as they walked up the stairs into the castle. Neither spoke a word, but Hermione pointedly looked away from him for the entire trip upstairs. When they reached the top, and then the spot where Terry and Ron were waiting for them, Hermione carefully explained that they'd caught a student out of bed just a few moments ago and had been forced to walk him to McGonagall's office after Filch was nowhere to be found. In truth, they had found a student wandering earlier, but he'd simply been lost and it hadn't yet been time for curfew anyway.

For a moment - just one fleeting moment - Draco saw Ron's eye flit over to him, narrowed carefully. Were his pants unzipped? Had he put his sweater on inside out? But Ron simply shook his head, looking back towards Hermione, who stood on her toes to kiss his cheek before sauntering away towards the staircase, and Gryffindor tower.

Draco had left the scene feeling like he'd had a heart attack. What did he care if Weasley found out? If the whole school found out? Hermione still couldn't say a damned thing about the circumstances, he knew that. She hadn't yet found any loopholes, any secrets involved with the curse, though he was sure she'd already tried. If Draco himself hadn't been well versed in Dark Magic and in the curses that had been passed down generation through generation by his family alone, he would never have realized Hermione's condition at all. But Hermione had only been able to find out, perhaps, through a very old book that he knew would have been recovered from his family's mansion after the war, after everything had been torn apart and sold off. The largest parts of the contents of the library had gone to the Ministry, and if Hermione Granger asked, the Ministry would kiss her bum and give her whatever books she wanted.

Still, he knew that the tiny bit of information he knew about the curse wasn't enough to reverse it. She couldn't have more information than he did, so she couldn't have found a way out yet.

While he walked away, he checked his zipper and his sweater. Both were in place. His clothing was fine. The only thing Ron Weasley might possibly have noticed was the fact that Draco's lips were slightly pink and swollen, a result of forty minutes of his mouth traveling the planes and curves of Ron's own girlfriend.

He smirked, turning a corner. Saturdays were still awful, still felt like an inspection. But Saturdays were also still a third day out of the week that he could privately meet with Granger, with no chance to be discovered. It was only October. She was already bending to her own desires. November, he thought, would be very interesting indeed.

"You're revolting."

Even as she forced the words out with her own heaving breath, she knew she didn't mean it. It was clear by his reaction that he didn't believe it, either. Her hands were magically bound to the wall above her, and she was entirely naked. He too had removed all of his clothes, and stood before her, touching her only every few moments and not nearly enough to please her. The stone walls around them echoed every noise they made.

"Mhmm." He reached forward, brushing his thumb against her nipple, which stood hard against the cold of the room. Her knees nearly buckled under her. She'd been getting cheeky during their entire first hour of patrol that Monday, and he'd responded by drawing the next half hour into a torturous experience. He'd undressed her quickly, pulling his mouth away from hers only long enough to pull both layers off her head and unsnap her bra before capturing her mouth again. She'd gasped against him, pressing her nude hips into his.

What had become of her? Why did she want this so badly?

He'd been touching her everywhere except where she needed him most. Running his fingers over the flesh of her rear, lightly squeezing a breast or rolling the nipple through his fingers. He'd run his tongue slowly over both breasts for nearly thirty seconds total before pulling away.

This time when he stood back, eyes raking over her form, she gave in.

"Please... please Draco."

"What do you want?"

"Touch... touch me."

"I've been touching you, silly girl."

"You know what I mean. You know what I want."

He raised a brow, closing the distance between them and instantly sliding a finger down her slit. She nearly shouted with the pleasure from the contact, arching her hips up into his hand.

She'd figured, all those weeks ago, that if she were going to have to deal with this, she might as well learn from it. Her relationship had gone to the dogs. She no longer wanted Ron. But what Ron didn't know, for now, could only hurt her.

He slowly slid the pad of his finger over the round nub there, teasingly at first and then with a little more pressure. She moaned against his chest, where her head lay. When he slid his hand farther between her legs to push first one finger and then two into her opening, she felt as if she might fall apart. The stretch left her feeling wonderfully, comfortably full, but she imagined what it might be like if it were something other than his fingers in her...

That, still, would wait. But while he pumped his fingers in and out of her, her fluids coating his fingers and running down his hand, she thought that this was definitely enough for now. She pulled her hips down as much as she could, with her arms in place as they were, and pushed her hand against him, hinting to him that she wanted more. He reached up with his opposite hand, grasping her breast and rolling a nipple between his fingers. She stifled a cry, shoving her shoulders into the wall to better angle her hips. She'd never lost control like this before. She was an animal, she was unrecognizable.

As if he'd sensed her thoughts, Draco pulled back, holding his two moist fingers in the air. "I think we've finally done it."

"What, driven me barking mad?" But even then, she fought the grin as she said it.

"Made you lose control. Look at this." He rubbed his two fingers against his thumb, and the fluid spread between his digits. He looked up at her, raking his eyes up and down her body once, twice. "I had a nasty sort of idea, where I just left you here. Bound. Naked."

Her eyes widened, panicked. "You wouldn't."

"No, I won't. Only because I have other ideas for you."

She pulled against the invisible restraints holding her hands high on the wall. She watched him step in closer again, his erection prodding her in the hip. She ached to know what that felt like, but could she really go that far with him? Would her conscience allow it? Her curse would, of course, but that was almost beside the point, now.

He wrapped one hand around his shaft, stroking gently as he aimed the head of his cock at her slit. She drew breath through clenched teeth, watching as he teased her clit with the smooth, soft skin.

"Granger, Granger... you don't have any idea. I want to. I think I'll wait, for both our sakes, but wouldn't it be nice to just..." He stepped closer, positioning himself at her entrance. Every nerve in her body was on fire, both terrified of the idea and excited. He could just press forward, and no matter how she felt about it her worries would be over, there would be nothing left for him to take from her. Though the idea disgusted her, she wanted it, in a way. Not for him to take her virginity, to fill a role that she thought would be only for Ron. But for him to just do the deed, so that their meetings wouldn't end in a muddled rush of finishes and restraint.

He moved his head against the opening, coating himself with her fluids. He pressed forward, just slightly, enough for his head to slip past her outer lips. She could feel the pressure of his head against her, and was a moment away from bucking forward and trying to make it happen. He pulled back, his cock glistening with her excitement.

"Not yet. Not quite yet. But you didn't pull away."

She didn't dare say a word. She turned away, mouth set in a line.

"Is that what you want, Granger? For me to slip inside you..." He raised her chin with his fingers, which were still wet. "To take you..." He moved his hand over his shaft, slick from her moisture, and pressed it against her. "Like that?"

"No."

"Really?" He smirked. "That's what it seemed like. Well, perhaps soon. We'll see. I'll test you again next time." He checked his watch. "We're out of time now."

She whipped her head around to him. "What time is it?"

"Eleven-fifty."

"Then we've still got ten minutes."

"To walk back in, yes. And for you to... help me out."

"And you won't help me out?"

He shook his head. "My rules, Granger." He reached into the pocket of his pants, which had been earlier discarded on the floor. One swish, and her hands were free. They didn't hurt, thankfully, but her fingertips were a little numb from the blood loss.

He stepped forward, his cock still in his hand. "Finish me."

She stepped in to meet him, her hip cocked to one side. She reached one hand forward, running it over the tip before wrapping her fingers around the base. Her hands were small, she'd always known that, but the fact that her fingers could not reach all the way around him was... interesting. He was thick. How would it work when he finally went all the way with it?

He arched his hips forward into her hand. He was already close, she could tell by the way he moved against her hand and how hard he was.

"Get... get on your knees. I want you to taste it."

"I've tasted it before." Still, her body lowered to the floor, her knees on stone. She opened her mouth as wide as she could, sliding him into her mouth. Head first, slipping against her tongue, then the shaft, until about half of him was insider her mouth. She looked up at him expectantly. Wouldn't he charm her to keep her from gagging?

"Just... stay at the top. Tight lips. Faster."

She did as she was told, sucking and running her tongue against the head and first four inches of him. Her lips were like a vice around him, and he thrust against her mouth. She gagged once, twice, as he pressed in too far, but he carried on. He reached forward, wrapping his hands in her curls, and tilted her head up to look at him. The eye contact was what did it, and he erupted into her mouth.

That same bitter, salty taste. He stayed mostly in the back of her mouth this time, which meant less taste but a heightened risk of choking on it. She gagged a little on the load in her throat before he tapped her on the shoulder, a signal to stand up.

"Now we're out of time."

Hermione felt the wet mess between her legs, and she ached. He wasn't going to finish her, and nights like this were the worst kind. She would rush through the common room, shut herself in her four poster with a silencing charm, and do the job herself. Each time she'd had to do that, it reminded her of the first night, of his first real command. To think about him while she touched herself. Well, he didn't have to tell her as much, anymore. She thought about his body constantly, and it caught her between desire and the desire to vomit.

When they dressed and left the room, Hermione refused to speak to him without an order. He had to know how frustrating that was for her, but he didn't say a word, only paused a moment more to straighten his shirt and tie. She left without another word, and he didn't stop her. As much as she hoped that was a little victory, a small part of her knew that it was less than nothing to him. What did he care if he upset her? He was getting exactly what he wanted from her, and she didn't do a damned thing about it. Yet.
- 6
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