Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Squirm	By : Alcoholic_Rootbeer Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 28992 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and will not make a profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Hello! So glad to be back in town after a WONDERFUL trip to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter with waymay in Orlando, Florida this weekend! If you'd like to see pics, find my author's page on facebook! (MrBenzedrine, handle is MrBenzedrine89)
Hope everyone loves the longer chapter. :3
~A.
Itchy. I feel entirely too itchy. This blazer, this stuffy button down, my socks, my robes -everything feels constricting. It doesn't matter that I've showered three times this evening in preparation for my night out with her. I still can't shake the feeling there's blood in my hair or dripping between my fingers. I tried to be 'good' this week, but the closer Friday approached, the worse the infectious impulses seeped into my head like a riddle begging to be solved. Everyone knows how difficult it is to remove a song lyric from one's head once it's seeded there -and that is how I would describe my obsession with the demons plaguing my mind. I thought I was stronger than this, but alas…
Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock chips away at the moments I have to spare until I'm to floo myself to her (no doubt stuffy) flat to pick her up. From there, I've arranged for a night in at the Madam Mystique, tucked away in a corner of Diagon Alley. It's flashy, but not entirely so that we'll be spotted easily. After all, she's a War hero, and I'm an ex Death Eater. I could just imagine what the papers would say if they could sink their teeth into a story before we ourselves knew all the gritty details.
Stalking to the mirror in the hall, I check my teeth and loosen the tie around my neck before fixing the knot. I'm not entirely sure why a sudden rush of adrenaline kicks my system into gear. It could have something to do with the fact I haven't been on a date in years. Women, yes. I've had women. Countless woman who throw themselves into my bed, me on top like a fitted sheet. I'm still a Malfoy, after all. Where the money goes, the muff is always sure to follow. Quite literally my father's words to me at some point in my life.
Bubo Bubo, my faithful Eagle Owl, sits on his perch as I step into the drawing room, preparing to set off. He clucks his beak in my direction, and I'm forced to greet the old sod with a pat on the head. His two tone hoot is melodic in my ear. We've been friends since I purchased him before my first year at Hogwarts. While he can no longer run errands for me, he knows he still holds a special place in my heart. He could be the only creature I've ever cared about in my life.
"How do I look, Bubo?"
He ruffles his feathers, and I flash a smirk.
"You're right. A bit stuffy. But then again, so is the woman I'm courting tonight." Bubo shifts on his perch and flaps his wings. "That's right. I said courting." His golden eyes seep directly into my soul, calling me out. "Oh, don't give me that look. To be honest, I'm not sure why I'm doing it either. She's hardly something to look at." Even as I pretend to pinch an imaginary speck of lint off my trousers, I know my words to be false. "But she sees me, Bubo. Really sees me. And she isn't afraid like the others." Bubo Bubo swishes his tail and pushes his neck out, encouraging me to pet him. As I do, I add, "But you aren't afraid of me, are you? Never have been."
As if to counter my words, Bubo pecks my hand and nips the skin between my thumb and palm. I gasp, drawing my hand back as crimson begins to spill down my wrist.
"Really, Bubo?"
He hoots wildly in response, and I fish out a wrap of gauze from the desk drawer across the way. I won't have time to fish out a healing potion, so I wrap my hand and narrow my eyes at the owl.
"You're an arsehole."
"Hooo."
"Yeah, yeah… I know… so am I." With that, I step through the floo, leaving an agitated glare in my companion's direction. "You're lucky I don't have a craving to kill owls, Bubo!"
Merlin help me, she looks absolutely breathtaking. It's a simple button up blouse, blue pencil skirt, and four inch heels, but she wears it all so well I can feel myself growing a tent in my trousers the moment she steps into the light of the fire.
"You clean up nice," she says, gathering a beaded bag off the sofa.
My mouth his arid as I counter, "I don't know if I can recall a time I've ever looked dirty before." Except in the dungeons, with blood on my hands. Except when my victims scream for mercy. Then, I look like the dirtiest man on the face of the planet. I wonder if she enjoys the color red as much as I do. Of course she would. She's a Gryffindor. "You on the other hand…" I gesture to her attire. "You look…" Ravishing. Tasty. Delightful. "Lovely."
Her eyes widen, and she steps up to me, purse slung over her shoulder. There, she places a cool hand on my forehead. "Are you feeling ill? I do believe that was a compliment."
"I'm taking you out for dinner and drinks. If complimenting you is toeing the line on pleasantness, I have terrible news for you." From inside my blazer pocket, I fish out a pink parchment scrolled up tight. "It's about to get a lot more pleasant from here on out."
A satisfied smile flitters over her features, and she plucks the scroll from my hand. "I'm impressed."
"I'm a Malfoy. We only aim to impress."
"So I've noticed." She slips the scroll into her bag -which must be bigger on the inside, because there's no way it would fit otherwise. I offer out my arm, and to my delight, she slips her arm around mine. "Just so we're clear," she says, staring me in the eyes, "This is dinner and drinks. Nothing else. Two coworkers out for a night."
My signature smirk finds its way to my lips as I tilt my head forward and brush my nose against her cheek. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Granger."
Dinner is delightful, as well as the bottle of aged wine we share in the private, second story balcony overlooking Madam Mystique's flavorful collection of diners. We share a private table up top, away from the prying eyes of the crowd, to which I can tell she is thankful. A stage is lit up against the far wall on the first floor. It's a live performance tonight from a Celistina Warbeck cover artist, which I've recently learned tonight is one of Granger's favorite singers.
"This is wonderful, Malfoy," she says, resting her chin in her hand as she stares over the balcony at the performance stage. "I have to admit, I didn't know you could be a gentleman."
"I'd hardly describe me in that fashion," I jostle, swirling the burgundy liquid in my glass. "But…" I take a chance. "I'm glad you like it, all the same."
She takes a sip from her own glass before she asks, "Why?"
"Why what?"
"It's obvious you fancy me."
The muscles in my neck tense, and I hide behind my glass, turning my eyes on the crowd below. "Did it ever occur to you I might just want into your knickers?"
"It had," she nods. "But then we wouldn't be out where people could spot us together, would we?"
"You've caught me, then." I shrug.
"So… why?"
"Because…" I look down to my cut hand, wrapped in gauze, thinking on what I confided in Bubo. Dare I tell her? Would she laugh at me? Would it flatter her or frighten her shimmering soul? "You're not like the others."
"Others?"
"Women I've dated."
"Dated." She laughs into her napkin, raising a snarky eyebrow. "Word around the office is you don't date so much as make an affair out of sexual escapades."
"Another thing I like about you: straight to the point." I smirk. She blushes innocently, and it makes me want to knock every bit of cutlery off this table, throw her on top of it, and rip her skirt up to her hip. Instead, I run my tongue over the top row of my teeth and think on how delightful she would taste, given the chance. "I won't lie to you. The thought has crossed my mind."
"And yet here we are."
"Here we are."
"Why?"
"Because you want to be wined and dined. You want to be courted. Merlin knows Weasley didn't know how to take you on a proper date-" she scowls at me for the quip, but I trudge on, "-or designer jewelry."
"Yes. Because fancy dates and gifts are what makes a relationship important," she jostles, sarcastic.
"That. Right there." I point my finger onto the table. "You want to know why you, and not some harpy? It's your wit. Your ability to look past my cold exterior and see me for what I really am is the only reason we're here and not back in your flat, playing the horizontal tango."
It's entertaining watching her choke on her wine and spit it back into her glass. "Confident, aren't you?"
"If you looked like me, you'd be confident, too."
"Charming."
With a smirk, I reach over to her chair, tug it inches from mine, and drape a confident arm over the back of her seat. She glances at my hand, which brushes her shoulder with sensual strokes. "What happened to your hand?"
"My owl saw fit to give me a firm lecture before our date."
"Did he?"
"Jealous bastard."
She smiles, relaxing her shoulders. We stare down at the stage together, and, for once, I'm at peace. How long has it been since I've felt this way? Ages.
"So," she leans over and mutters into my ear, "It's a date?"
"Getting cold feet already? It's dinner, Granger, not a bloody proposal."
I'm jostled in the ribs in response. "Ron proposed."
My posture stiffens, but I try to contain myself. "Maybe you don't know how a date works, but talking about your ex on a first one tends to muck up the occasion."
I hear a gentle sigh, and I turn my head to meet her coffee colored irises. "I'm sorry… It's just…" She moves her wrist, which still wears my gifted bracelet, up for us to stare at. "I told him no, two months before..." She stares intently at the bracelet. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is things between Ron and I didn't end because of you. I'm just not ready for marriage."
"Sounds like you're trying to convince yourself."
She leans her head on my shoulder and sighs. "There's too much of the world to see."
"Isn't the point of seeing the world to see it with the ones you love?"
"And now it sounds like you are advocating on Ron's behalf."
I chuckle. "Hardly." Slowly, I reach my hand over the table and slip each of my fingers between hers.
"Ron didn't want to travel," she says. "He wanted to settle down. Have children."
"Pesky little things."
"I'm not ready to be a parent. And neither is he, if he would slip his head out of his bum long enough to realize."
"Are we quite done talking about Weasley for the evening?"
"I just wanted you to know where I stand."
"You're not looking for anything serious."
"Precisely."
I draw her hand up to my lips and kiss along her knuckles. "We're just having fun, Granger." Though in my heart, I know this to be false as well. She can deny it all she wants, but what we have, here, in this moment, is something much more than 'fun'. It feels like a weighted blanket after a long, dreary day. There's comfort with her skin against mine no one else has been able to offer me up until this point.
"Hermione."
"Hmm?"
"If you're going to wine and dine me, you're going to call me by my given name."
Yes, this isn't fun we're having. If only she could realize the full potential of the permissions she's allotted me in this moment. Something inside of me shifts, and my mind lays claim to the witch beside me, spellbound at her voice.
"Very well, Hermione."
"Thank you, Draco."
Would this table support both of our weight if I were to fuck the living daylights out of her on it?
"What's this?" Hermione holds my hand between our faces, noticing the dark patches beneath my nails. Dried blood, I realize. I must not have finished the job cleaning myself like I thought I did.
Horrified, I cover up my mistake quickly. "Dried ink."
She giggles.
"What's so funny?"
"I never imagined you would allow yourself to appear unkempt in any capacity. It's humanizing."
"Sexy. The word is sexy."
And because she has no idea of the sins I wear beneath my nails, she laughs some more, leaning over to kiss my cheek. "Arrogant."
"Delightful."
"Prideful."
I tuck my head to the side, meeting her saucy stare. "Seductive."
Our noses touch. "Stubborn."
"Doable."
The dust of pink along her cheeks is nothing short of enticing, and I shorten the distance between us until her breath tickles my lips. I find myself so enthralled in her presence, I bring her laced hand with mine as I reach up and caress down her cheek in sensual strokes. My tongue darts out across her lower lip, and before I know what's hit me, she's crossed the Rubicon, setting her lips to mine.
Tonight is, most definitely, a win.
Lemons, limes, and horor to come. Hope everyone is ready.
Please leave a review if you could. :D
~A.
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