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Water	By : kissherdraco Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 183151 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Water
Chapter Eight
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sexual References, Strong language

Thank you to my wonderful betas, Jen (http://jenl3227.livejournal.com) and Dina (http://dianoram.livejournal.com), for correcting this chapter.

Disclaimer: All these characters belong to JKR. I own nothing, much to my dismay, and make no money whatsoever out of this story!

Chapter 8.

Ron was waiting.

It wasn�t the patient, let's sit back and see wait � it was the ever-frantic, ever-remorseful pacing up and down and around by the Gryffindor fireplace wait. The thin film of sweat on his forehead told him that he shouldn�t have let Harry go.

Because Ron knew. Ron knew where Harry was going when he left the common room. But he was almost certain that Hermione would greet him with an earful of frustration, whack him several times with her schoolbag, prod him with the pin on her Head Girl badge perhaps, and then send him on his way. And he would be back. And then the formalities would follow, �I told you not to go�, �I know but I had to�, �And what happened�, �Hermione told me to get stuffed�, and so on and so forth on the way down to dinner.

Ron would mutter �Malfoy isn�t worth it,� a few times.

That�s what should have happened by now. That�s how it went.

But Harry wasn�t back. And everyone had already gone to dinner. Except Ron. Because Ron was waiting. Very slowly panicking that his best friend, his ridiculously highly likely to blow a short fuse best friend, was out there screaming his head off at Hermione. And Malfoy. The one boy in school most likely to be giving him a hard and brutal fists-style answer back. Because Hermione couldn�t stop everything with smart words.

Ron took a deep breath.

Unless maybe Harry went somewhere else? Maybe he didn�t go looking for her?

Ron preferred that scenario. Ron definitely preferred that scenario.

What if he was underestimating Harry? He wasn�t completely dense after all. It doesn�t take the most observant of a bunch to predict how Hermione would react to him turning up, what with bag beatings and badge pokings.

That�s if Hermione was still there.

What if Harry had found Malfoy? Not Hermione. Just Malfoy?

No one else there.

No one to break it up.

�It� being the inevitable.

Bloody hell, Ron, you stupid twat.

Whether or not he was wrong about this, he wasn�t staying there to find out. And if he was wrong, if nothing was happening, then he�d call himself a sissy git at a later date. But not now.

Now he would just find his wand and race the hell out of there, down to the dungeons, find Harry, find Hermione. Bring them back. Away from the bastard. Sort this out. Be the sensible one. Try and hide the fact that he wished Hermione had never, ever become Head Girl. Because so far, Ron knew things hadn�t been the same.

But just as he reached to open the door in front of him, his mouth fell. He stepped back. Blinked.

He was right.

�Harry��

And fuck � he was right.

�Harry, what the bloody hell�?�

�Not now, Ron.�

�Tell me you didn�t. Tell me you didn�t just do what I think you did.� He rushed over to him. Hand on his shoulder. Hand off his shoulder as soon as Harry winced. Then Ron�s eyes snapped to the dried blood smeared straight across Harry�s face, down to the fresh blood still falling from his lip. �You did� You found him, didn�t you?�

�Did she come back here?� Harry was looking around the common room. Quick glances into every corner. �Hermione? Did she come back?�

�What? Why? No� What the��

�We were on our way up here � afterwards � and she just � we argued. She left.�

�Malfoy did this to you?�

�Don�t, Ron. Not now, alright?�

�Yes, now! You�re going to tell me what the hell happened! �Cos, Merlin, Harry.� Ron wasn�t going to be kept in the dark about this one. He wasn�t going to adopt the leave-them-to-it strategy. �You should come upstairs.�

�You should look for her, Ron. She won�t want to speak to me.� His hand moved up to wipe the blood away from his nose. �Do you know the password for her dorm? She never gave it TO us, did she?� He almost laughed. �We should have that password, Ron.�

�Bloody hell, Harry. Was this Malfoy?�

Of course it was bloody Malfoy. It was hardly Hermione, was it? And she was gone. What had happened? What the bloody hell had happened? He was right. He should never have let him go.

Damn you, Ron, for being so right.

Harry was touching his jaw with his fingers. Ron lifted his arm up and over his shoulders. �Our room, Harry. Let�s get you to our room.�

�I just� I just lost it.� Harry was shaking his head. He allowed Ron to help his bruised body up the steps. �I just completely lost it.�

Of course he did. Why the hell did you let him go, you stupid git?

�I know. I should have stopped you,� he mumbled. �But I thought� I thought if that�s where you were going then Hermione would sort you out. Because she always sorts you out, Harry, and I just thought, well I thought it was about due time for another��

�None of that matters now.� Harry wouldn�t stop shaking his head. �I don�t care, Ron. I would have gone either way. I just� I wanted to tell her what I knew. What she needs to know. But not like that.�

�Like what? What does she need to know?�

�I heard Parkinson.� Harry cringed at the final step into their bedroom. �After I left here, I heard her in the corridor. She was talking about Malfoy. About Hermione. What he� feels about her��

He let Ron place him on the edge of his bed, wincing with pain.

�What he feels?�

�She said that Malfoy wanted Hermione. That he � you know � wants her.�

Wants her? Wants Hermione? �What the fuck is that supposed to mean?�

�I couldn�t just� You know, Ron, if that was you and you heard that � you would find her. You�d need to find her. Because you know Malfoy. Any chance to take what he wants. You would have gone, wouldn�t you?�

�Yes. I wouldn�t think twice.� He hesitated. �Was that what was happening? Was that sick fuck hurting her?�

�I don�t� No. I don�t think so. He was shouting. Just horrible, messed up things at her. I barely heard. I just� he was��

�Had he touched her?�

�No.�

�Was he about to?� Ron stared at him. �Harry?�

�I don�t know.�

Ron frowned. �Okay. So, why are you�? I mean what��

If Malfoy wasn�t touching Hermione � if he wasn�t about to hurt her � then wasn�t it glaringly obvious? Hermione was handling it.

Like she always handles it.

And Harry had interfered.

Like he always interferes.

�I was just so angry, Ron. I�m sorry. I don�t know.�

�Is Malfoy hurt?�

�Yes.�

�Well that�s good, I suppose.�

�Ron, you should go and find her. Try.�

�No, Harry.�

�What do you mean no?� A frown suddenly deepened on his face.

�Because she�ll want to be alone. And the sooner you learn that, the better.� He shook his head. �Bloody hell, mate, it used to be you giving me the lecture. So just leave her. Just until tomorrow. We should let her cool off, and then we�ll see.� It was that tone, that strangely sensible tone he was using again. The one he hated with a passion. Merlin. What was this place doing to him. What was it doing to the three of them? �Just talk to me about what happened, yeah? Just tell me why you�re like this.�

�It�s him, Ron. It�s just him.�

But there must be something else.

There had to be something else.

�Harry?�

�Yeah?�

�I just want you to be honest. It�s me. So just tell me.�

And then we can sort it out.

Then we can make it all normal again.

Normal. Yeah.
*

A beat was playing in Draco�s head.

It was low and loud � some of it words, but he didn�t quite know what. Just a sound. It was unfamiliar. And he wanted it to stop. If only he could tear it out and shove it in the air around him. Out of the inside. Into the outside.

These past two days had crawled by in the mud and rain and sordid air, leaving bloody footprints behind that were deep crevices. They had felt like a breath he had taken and never released. One that he�d sucked through a puncture in his chest and into his lungs.

And how dramatic.

How poetic.

Just so profound and metaphorical. That hole in his lungs.

Don�t you think?

And a shame, too. A shame since it was complete and utter bullshit. All of it.

About days as long as years, and footprints deep enough to scar. About lingered breaths. About hate and poverty. Deprivation. Dispossession. Addiction. Compulsion. Any more words?

Any more allegorical wonderments and intensely sharpened tongues? Any more air?

How about this one. His need for her was like his heart leaking. Leaking out of his eyes, out of his ears, nostrils, mouth. Seeping out of the pores of his skin.

Oh my. That is some deep air. Too fucking deep, Draco. And who�s around to congratulate you for it?

Blaise had seen him on his way out. The students � all those kids � were filing back from dinner.

Draco wondered what they had just eaten. Probably meat. And then he remembered how he wished he liked meat more than he did. But it always took too long to chew. So he would just pretend. Though he didn�t like it. Funny that. Odd that he pretended. If you don�t like something, you don�t like it. Why pretend?

�Alright, Draco? You look like you�ve just hurled yourself off a cliff.�

�Sod off, Zabini.�

�Fine.�

�Are you eating that?�

�What?�

�That apple.�

�Not right now.�

�I missed dinner.�

�Have it, then.�

The core lay beside him on the ground now. It was browning and wet on the damp grass by the lake.

Draco wondered for a while. How did he look in that moment? Did he look like Potter had looked? Bleeding and pouring and breathing and agonisingly bent in two?

No one had said anything to him. No one apart from Zabini, who only gave him a bloody apple for it.

And if he was Potter? Oh, if he was Potter. Flocks of bloody morons would gather, he was sure. Let�s all try and be the first to mend the Boy-Who-Should-Have-Died-A-Fucking-Long-Time-Ago. Call for Madam Pomfey, carry him to the hospital wing in a basket full of silk.

And here was Draco. Lying down in the mud, beside the lake, in the deadly cold of a dark, distant night. All he would get was a truck load of slags desperate to touch his blood and lick it off their fingers.

And Snape, of course. Snape so almost saw him. Perhaps he even did. And that would be his Head Boy title gone. Gone completely.

His stomach lurched.

And good. Because then being Head Boy still meant something to him. He still had something else left inside that didn�t have to scream touch and taste and fuck and Granger to grab his attention. Good. He almost wanted to run inside to tell the bitch.

See? You don�t have me like you think you do, Granger. There are still things left that don�t scream your name. Things that have nothing to do with pain, fathers, blood and scars. There�s still a small part of me that�s here for me, Granger. Did you know that? I don�t care how small that part is, because it�s there.

It�s there.

Barely. But it�s there.

And that�s why he was hanging on.

Barely. But hanging.

Hanging onto Head Boy. Hanging onto the day he felt the Malfoy money rub between his fingers and work its magic to get him the fuck up and up and up and out of this place.

Draco dug his fingers into the ground beneath him. He felt the cold wet sink underneath his fingernails. How strange he must have looked, walking out like this. Walking here. Spreading himself on the ground and closing his eyes.

How mental. How absolutely fucking mental. And to think that an hour ago, two or three... What had been. What was.

Then Draco felt it pulling him back under.

No. Please no. Fuck off.

And he was there again. Standing in that room with Granger.

Beginning to ask himself the same questions. Same silent answers. Same thoughts that made his grip slip. Made Head Boy and hot-burning-money creep from his grasp.

What had she thought? What was she thinking?

Where was she now?

Granger.

No matter how many things he found to hang onto.

Granger.

His fingers sank deeper into the mud.

Of all the Mudbloods in the school� Of all the Mudbloods in the world, he hated her the most. Hated and needed and craved her, like a rich blood sauce dripping over his tongue. Mind-numbingly immoral. He was sure that was all it was. The hate and the need. And the immorality of all the things he had to do to her.

And if he could only get rid of that crudely basic need, he would be left only with the abhorrence. The safe and controllable. The proverbial disgust. He would be alone again.

Alone with his father. To deal with it all. Maybe one final punishment. But no more Granger. No more Granger to destroy his head and fuck with his cock. Drag his eyes to her mouth, her moist and ripened and reddened lips, her neck, the exposition of blood, the walls of her wet and swollen throat. And inside it all. His breath. His tongue. His fingers. His cock. That heat, that soaking wet heat. Dropped to her knees, fingers wrapped around him, tongue leaking all over him. Lips dripping, bleeding. Tight. And hearing her choke beneath him.

And then Draco was hard again. So easy. So easy for him to get hard. Just tongues, just the thought of tongues. And sometimes...

Sometimes just the thought of her eyes.

How split-through-his-brain fucked was that?

But Granger�s little mouth. Granger�s little mouth cracking, jaw breaking, hands squeezing, as he drove himself hard. And fast. Harder and faster and deeper into her throat just to feel the back of her. Scrape the very inside of her. And all the while her lips, her lips so tight he could�

Draco had moved a hand to his cock. He was rubbing it through his trousers. Fiercely. And he hadn�t even noticed. He had fallen into himself. As soon as he�d thought what it would mean to do those immoral things. Wicked. Depraved. Deliciously, deviously hedonistic. Immoral things. And necessary. That word that kept emerging.

Necessary.

And Granger would moan. It wouldn�t be deep. Not like Pansy. But she would moan, muffled screams, high, taut, indulgent.

Divulging all those dirty little things within her. Those things that made her wet. Cream herself. Those things that made her want to grab his fingers and shove them inside her.

Ride him. Then feel his tongue. Piercing. Ride his cock. Hard and bloody. Granger.

Granger.

Draco�s mind had collapsed in on itself. So quickly. So painfully. The walls were fusing. And he was trapped inside it, with her, with her wet and raw and ripping skin. Nails scraping. Teeth tearing.

Grabbing the back of her hair. Pushing her so hard around his cock, her brain bashed against the sides of her skull. And her soft fingers, curling around his shaft.

The thoughts weren�t enough. They weren�t nearly enough. He couldn�t see it. He couldn�t feel it.

These thoughts. They aren�t real.

And the only image in his head, the only clear and authentic and meticulously placed part of her as he came in his trousers against the ferocious and frenetic heat of his hand, was staring at him through his skin. Her eyes.

Those eyes.

Your eyes, Granger.

Draco lay on the grass. Panting. The cold air scolded and stung the breaking tissue in his lungs. It filled his nostrils and buried itself inside his head. Ringing. His mind was ringing so loudly.

The waves of revulsion began to hit him. Look at him, lying in the mud.

Wanking like a twelve-year old kid.

And coming over her eyes. Her fucking-scrape-them-out eyes. And in no less than a minute. A sodding minute. It was all wrong. Every single thing about it, to the bone, to the very core.

And where was she now? Probably letting Potter make it all up to her. Probably letting him kiss that filthy mouth of hers better. Saying sorry. Sorry for being such a bad, bad boy.

No. All he had to do was obliterate the need. Once that was gone, once that was done, he was free. That was the only problem. The need to feel her. The need to have the forbidden.

That must have been it. Because Draco was so used to having anyone, anything, whatever he wanted or needed or used till it broke. It was his, and he�d take it. Everything but her. She was the untouchable. The muddied untouchable and he should be able to have her.

And the problem was he couldn�t. It was simple. All he needed was that.

To be able to.

Have her.

Just once. Just quickly. Just enough to satisfy. And then he would make every single part of her pay for what she�d done to his head.

Yes. It made sense. It was a plan. A royally fucked up Malfoy plan. Disgusting beyond words. But that � the parts about blood and heritage and unspeakable revulsion � he would deal with later. Right now, there was only one way.

Slowly, cacophonously, the beat returned to play.

*

Hermione sat against the wall, knees up, back slumped, eyes fixed and staring directly in front of her at the door.

She�d been staring at it for what must have been an hour now. An hour since she�d shaken off Harry�s grip, shouted things about overreactions, steps too far, the pity of violence, and, the part with greatest emphasis, the importance of leaving her the hell alone.

The corridors had been empty as she walked through them. She would have ran, but she had nowhere to run to. And when she passed the noise in the Great Hall, her stomach contorted into a nauseous yearning for it. For that place. That safe, conventional, charismatic curtain of youth draping the doors.

That was where she should have been. With Ron. With Harry. Happy.

Instead she had passed it by like the unfamiliar. Passed it by as if she would infect it with the despondent disorientation that clung to every breath she sucked in.

Draco wasn�t in their common room. Her body begun to shake less, and her feet begun to carry her up the stairs towards her bedroom. Mechanical.

Just get there, go to bed. Wake up and think about this in the morning.

Just sleep.

She closed the door behind her. Locked it. Several charms, maybe three. Turned back and stared at herself in the mirror opposite. Kept staring. Dark circles under her eyes and streaks of black down her cheeks.

It was enough to make her look away.

And then what followed. Shrugged off her robes, unpinned her badge. Dragged the red ribbon out of her hair and let it fall. Once more at the mirror, pale, and then back again.

Why did she ever think she was lucky to look like this? Why was she ever pleased she changed? Grew up. Became.

Now it was different. It wasn�t like it used to be, before, when she felt plain. Young. Now it was...

What the hell is that staring back at me? Who is this?

So wrong, all your fantasies, Granger. How can you ever expect to look anything other than hideous? Not with these fantasies. Not with these thoughts.

That had been the realisation, reflecting back at her in the glass. The swelling to swollen suffocation of realisation.

Things were getting worse. Things were only getting worse. And doing nothing was everything she wanted to do, and yet nothing she could. Nothing was not an option. Nothing, was making it worse.

But she hadn�t wanted to think about it then.

She hadn�t wanted to dissect the last few days. Weeks. Didn�t want to analyse the thoughts, the expressions, words, tone, touches. She no longer wanted to close her eyes and see him, see frosted blond and pale ash-filled grey painted and spat on the back on her eyelids. Her mind was run raw.

What fantastically rational words could possibly come to her? What new lease of life and hope and chance of things ever ending in anything but a palpable need to cry? To cry and cry and drown in the blood that endlessly boiled under her skin whenever he was around.

Him.

It had been a moment of despair.

All these moments. Together.

Hermione stood there. For a minute. And drank it all in.

And then suddenly, perhaps sooner than she had hoped, a loud whimper, fresh tears, and a long, hard stumble back onto her bed. Head falling down, pressed into covers, blanket scrunched between fingers.

Heaving.

�I want�� Something, away from here. �Please, I just want�� Anything, anywhere but here.

I just want something normal.

�I just want home��

But this was her home. Or at least it used to be.

And so on. So on and on. She let it out. Let all out. Sobbed so hard she had to swallow down her heart. Because she was losing. She was losing the battle to keep things normal. Keep Harry. Keep the three of them together. Family. Push out the thoughts of kisses and touches and desperation to feel. Keep Draco the hell away from her and her family and her life.

So she cried. Cried to herself, silently, where no one would ever know. Cried about all things Head Girl should have meant. And then cried because she was crying in the first place.

Because she wasn�t delicate. She had never been without control. She was glaringly tenacious.

She was Hermione.

And she wouldn�t give up on anything, not that girl inside her, she wouldn�t accept the obstacles or disputes or impediments. She�d straighten up, look towards the moral, good, the guidance of others, and head on.

Ignore everything else. Be Head Girl. Live the dream.

�They made me Head Girl.�

Be as happy as she was when she�d spoken those words. Cry the tears that she cried then. Of anticipation, happiness, joy.

Sort out all the chaos around her.

Sort out Harry. Because couldn�t he see what he was becoming? She told him she was fine. And even though she wasn�t � even though she was so far from anything fine she could weep her body dry � Harry should have listened. He should have listened. Because now it was all so much worse than it had to be.

Look at Harry now. Look at what he had let Draco talk him into doing. Wasn�t he stronger than that? Hadn�t all the years of evil and temptation and complete and utter fuck-ups branded it deep and hard and fierce onto his skin? Things never end well like that. Things never get sorted with brutality. Not physical, fist-bashing, throat-cutting brutality. And was she so disillusioned to think that Harry knew this?

She didn�t know what the hell was going on with Malfoy, and she didn�t have the words to explain it to anyone. Not her feelings and not his. But none of whatever it was was to hurt Harry. None of it was about him. He was making it so much harder for her. Her bleeding excuse for a heart felt under permanent threat of eruption. Why couldn�t Harry see that? He was her family. And he was hurting her.

He wondered why she never came to him about any of it. Couldn�t he see? This was why. This and so much more.

And then there was Draco himself. The desperate need to sort out Draco.

What was it? What was it that he wanted from her? His words � so many words � seeping and flowing and spitting through his teeth. And so much blood. So much talk about blood, about wanting and needing and fucking, dying, crying over blood.

She didn�t know what to say to him. She couldn�t twist her mind around his presence, she couldn�t help but hate him. Hate him for taking away the control. Because there was such a lack of control. She was completely and utterly helpless, and so close. She had been so close to letting him touch her again, reach her, suck her, pull her down to the ground. And she hated that she would touch him back. Lick, bite, scrape her teeth against his skin. Breathe in those frighteningly beautiful touches. And tremble.

Because she always trembled. She had forgotten how to stop. And it was all because of Draco. In the same room as her, or outside of it, or behind the walls, across the tables, around the corner � all the while sneering, staring, marking, hating, slashing invisible words all over her skin.

She so badly needed to eliminate that tension. That rank rampant tension that was there simply because they couldn�t touch each other. And she�ll never say the words to him. She�ll never admit it. Because he was cold and empty and wicked. He was a Malfoy, with Malfoy blood, and that only screams sin and darkness and depravity.

Whatever he made her feel � whatever fucked up, messed up, twisted and wild things between them both � he was the enemy.

And that was the final, the last, the bottom line. He was the enemy. And she couldn�t have him.

Hermione realised this, as she lay crying on her bed. Crying it all out.

And as she did � as the tears flowed out of her eyes and stained her pillow � that desperation crawled back up her legs, into her stomach, clawed up her throat and made her tears even heavier. Because that desperation wouldn�t stay away. It wouldn�t leave.

It was there. And she didn�t know how to stop it.

So now, here she was, sitting against the wall. Knees up. Back slumped. Eyes fixed and staring directly in front of her at the door. Because after the sobs quietened, after a long hour of despair washing over her in pallid waves of exhaustion, she swallowed.

She swallowed it all down, and sat up.

Because yes. Things were getting worse. And yes, she was dry and drier and hurting inside.

But no.

No, she wouldn�t give up. She wouldn�t give in. She was tired and embittered, but she wasn�t gone. Not just yet. That girl inside her, the Head Girl, the Hermione Granger � she was still there.

He couldn�t break her.

Not like this. Not this way. She had her words. She had her words and she would wait for him. Wait for him to come back. Because there had to be a way. Hermione wasn�t ready. She wasn�t ready to forget about rationality and reason and hope. Not yet. Not like this. And so she would wait. She would wait for him.

Wait for the enemy to return.

And she noted the situation � this waiting. This waiting for Merlin-knows what. She thought to herself how ludicrous it all was, her sitting there, up against the wall, staring sharp blades through the door on the opposite side of the room, because she had no idea what she would say. But words had to come. They absolutely had to come and slowly attempt to establish an end to this.

Because that was the final, the last, the bottom line.

You�re the enemy.

And I can�t have you.

*

Draco decided it was probably best that he returned to his room.

He was shivering, violently. Sniffing and wheezing a little. The cold, he bitterly acknowledged, was no longer refreshing. It was beginning to sting.

One cleaning spell on his trousers for the thick, sticky come that was staining, but the rest, he would leave. The mud underneath his fingernails, the dirt across his face, the harsh damp of his clothing and the bitter taste of grass in his teeth. That was better off there, for some reason, it just was.

So he left it.

And the corridors were much emptier, as he dragged himself through them. And he didn�t see a soul. It was late perhaps, he realised, later than he had thought. But he was mostly unconcerned. He mostly didn�t care.

Really he was only thinking about her.

Would she be there? Would she be sleeping? Or would she be with them? With Potter and Weasley? Drowning her sorrows in their arms and their beds and big fat gaping mouths.

It only took a mere two minutes. Not long, quick steps, not especially dragged out. And he stood now in front of the portrait, breathing steadily. Calm.

Strangely calm, in fact.

The air outside. It had done something to him. Washed over him, iced-up his skin. Almost frozen the burning inside.

The woman in the portrait raised her eyebrow as she swung open. Because of course, he remembered, he looked devastating. He was almost curiously reassured by the fact. Looking bad, looking awful. There was something that had begun to reflect the insides of his skull. Wearing his thoughts on the outside. Dirty, desperate and pained.

At least it made a change. He wouldn�t have to scream it all out through disjointed, deafening, darkened words. He just looked like them. He was them.

Draco opened the door.

Yes.

She was there. Up against the opposite wall.

Waiting for him?

And she was staring at his body. This outer shell.

It had been enough to make Hermione�s eyes look so wide that it was possible to crawl into them and curl up and cry.

She got to her feet.

That�s right, Granger, I couldn�t be bothered to clean myself up. Isn�t that odd? So what have you got to say about it?

�Malfoy�� her voice was quiet. �What�?� He could hear the hesitation in her voice, the confusion and bemusement.

He watched her eyes skim over his body. She was thrown, quite clearly stumped, by this dampness. This dirt. She was lapping it up.

Lap up the wet robes and the shirt underneath, the muck and mud and grime across his hands, small smudges on his face. And of course his battle wounds. Cut lip in two places, reddened fists, bruised jaw. The slight shiver and soft wheezing.

And then pain she could only see in his eyes, but still noticed. That she seemed to look at the longest.

He stared back at her.

It was strange. Unusual. Because she was walking slowly towards him. Very slowly.

�Malfoy�� she said again. Lost. Lost for words.

I must be looking bad. Look at how close you�re getting. You�re almost forgetting who I am. What we are.

What this is.

She was shaking her head slowly, her lips parted. Shocked, perhaps. She was moving closer still, her arm out-stretching.

Draco�s head began to buzz slightly. That proximity. It was exceptional. The unexpected. The dream. And her arm out-stretched, reaching. Reaching towards him?

Hermione�s hand was shaking as she frowned, fingers hesitant, painfully lingering, cautiously hovering just before his skin. Against his cheek.

Is that her touch? Did she care? Was this her caring?

Draco closed his eyes and slowly turned his head into her fingers.

If he couldn�t see, if he could just shut off all his senses but one � skin-against-skin � then maybe this touch would last longer. Burn hotter. The softness. Lightly at his cheek.

It was stunning.

�Malfoy?� she murmured.

And Draco opened his eyes again, brow low, heart pounding so hard he could almost see sparks in the corners of his vision.

He watched the girl mere moments from his lips. So close. Because she had moved to him. And maybe this meant� Maybe this meant she understood what it was they needed.

Understood the only way to end it.

Draco stared at her. Confused. Hungry. Ablaze.

And then suddenly � brutally � her hand swung back and slapped him so hard and fast that he stumbled backwards.

Shock reverberated through his body, and Draco thrust a hand against the wall, steadying himself.

So no, that wasn�t her caring about him after all.

�What the fuck?�

Her eyes were seething at him. Her breathing was fast.

�Don�t you ever,� she spat, clutching her hand to her chest, �ever�� teeth clenching ��do that to Harry again.�

Potter. Of course.

Why are you so surprised? What did you think she was about to do? Press her mouth into yours and drink away all the pain? It�s Granger. Bloody Granger. It�s both of you. Things would never be that easy.

And you just beat up her best friend.

Merlin. Grab her arms. Twist them back. Do something in return. Close your mouth, at least.

�Do you understand, Malfoy?� she asked, her eyes narrowed. �Whatever is going on between us, whatever the hell this is, you leave Harry and Ron out of it.�

�He was the one that��

�Never do that to him again!�

She moved back now. Moved away from him. So close and now so apart.

Draco growled, �Fuck you.� He lifted a hand to his cheek. �He was the one who threw the first punch. Or have you forgotten?�

�Those things you said to him, Malfoy,� she answered, her frown deepening, �they were rotten. They got right underneath his skin and you know it. You provoked him. Spectacularly.�

Draco stared back at her, took his hand away from the wall and straightened his posture. �Fine,� he replied. �But you know I could have done a lot worse to hurt him.�

�I don�t care. That� that was too far.�

But she did care, he thought, she must have been relieved.

Because he knew that she knew. He could have said a lot of things. Worse than fists and knees and elbows sticking into throats. Words about lips, about mouths, about pulling on shirts and kissing people back.

And then there was silence.

Hermione stared back at him. And for a fleeting moment, things almost seemed severely awkward. He almost wanted to walk past her and up to his room. Because there was something in her eyes again. Unreadable, unpredictable, dark. Something that he�d seen before, when she�d left him alone, left with Potter.

Draco let his bag slide down his shoulder. �What happened, by the way?�

�Excuse me?�

�With you and Golden Boy. What happened?�

Hermione shrugged. �We talked.�

�And?�

�And it�s none of your business.�

Draco laughed. �Absolutely fuck all to do with me, I�m sure.�

Hermione�s fists tightened. He had to stop himself from taking an instinctive step backwards.

�You going to hit me again, Granger?� he spat. �Because I can assure you it�ll be the last thing you do.�

�No. You�re only worth one slap, Malfoy.�

They stared at each other again. One of those moments � those hot, thick, familiar moments shooting through the air between them.

And then she seemed to jump into it, much sooner than he would have hoped for. Draco almost enjoyed the small talk, enjoyed the thickened taste of sexual tension rolling over his tongue.

�Earlier tonight,� she breathed. �It went too far, Malfoy.� Her cheeks flushed red. Deliciously red. �Don�t tell me you can�t see it. How bad things are getting. This isn�t going to end well.�

Was she stupid? Of course he could see. He was falling so fast he could barely feel the light of day anymore.

Hermione hesitated. �Don�t tell me you ever wanted things to go this far, Malfoy. Don�t say you ever intended on things being like this.�

What the bloody hell was she talking about? Never intended?

�I never intended one single revolting part of this fuck up, Granger,� spat Draco. �I haven�t wanted any of it to happen.� Her implication annoyed him. �Don�t forget that I don�t want this anymore than you do. Probably even less considering you�re the one who never gets any.�

Go on, roll your eyes. Fantastic.

�Well if neither of us want it to be like this, then we have to do something. We have to sort it out.�

Draco scoffed. �This isn�t a sodding Transfiguration class, Granger. You can�t work this one out with a heavy textbook and some quick thinking.� The sudden tension in his muscles caused him to wince, and he clutched his side with an arm.

He almost didn�t catch the sudden rush of concern that shot through her eyes. Typical Granger, moral to the very core. Caring for everyone. No matter how backward and depraved. Yes. Everyone is worthy of the Granger compassion.

Didn�t that just make him feel so bloody special?

�What�s wrong, Granger,� he breathed. �Concerned?�

She seemed to catch herself, raising her chin in defiance. �About what?�

�You know about what.�

�No, I don�t.�

�I�m sure.�

And then Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes for what must have been the second time within the minute.

She changed the subject back nice and quickly.

�I know it can�t be easy,� she said, �trying to forget about this. Trying to ignore each other. Trying to stop every biting part of this situation from taking a chunk. But we have to.�

And then it was Draco�s turn to roll his eyes. Quite evidently a popular activity.

Because since when was she so na�ve?

�It�s only this year,� she continued, and he could even note the disbelief in her own words. �And we have to pretend. Just for this year. Just until summer. It�s not forever.�

�Don�t waste your breath, Granger.�

�Shut up, Malfoy. I�m trying to think this through. It�s either that or we go to Dumbledore and resign our positions. I know you don�t want that anymore than I do.�

�And why should it have to come to that?�

�Because look at this. There is no conceivable way we can function as Head Girl and Head Boy when things are so...so messed up. So violent. I won�t let this jeopardise the running of the school, Malfoy, I just won�t.�

�Oh, no. Never. You probably self-flagellate already over all the neglected duties, Granger.�

�Shut up.�

�I bet I�m right.�

�All I�m saying is, if we just try � really try and get through this year, then it won�t have to come to that.�

�What, self-flagellation or resigning our positions?�

She ignored him. �If we�re just mature about this, Malfoy, then maybe it will get easier.� Her eyes narrowed slightly. �Think about it. How difficult can it be to stop mumbling Mudblood every time I enter the room?�

Draco laughed. �More difficult that you�d imagine. And that�s not even the problem, is it, Granger? Let�s not pretend it�s all about names. All about words.�

�Whatever it�s about,� she answered, and he could tell she was trying her best to wear the plastic poise, �I don�t care. Because this can�t go on.�

�So you want to sort this out?�

�Yes.�

�And you�ll do anything to sort this out?�

�Anything within reason.�

Ah yes. The Granger friends. Reason and rationality.

They were about as much use as Potter.

�Well there�s only one way we can do that, Granger,� voice low enough to growl.

But she wasn�t stupid. �Don�t bother, Malfoy. Whatever poison is about to leave that mouth of yours, just swallow it back down.�

�You�ll want to hear it,� he replied, words still deep. �Trust me, Granger. I know I�m not wrong on this one.�

She looked uncertain. Guarded. �What?� She turned her head slightly, almost as if anticipating a punch.

Draco fixed his stare. Say the words. Say them and see. Because deep down inside, she�ll understand.

�Just let me, Granger.�

And then he watched. He watched the growing realisation of his words slowly creep onto her face. Her head lowered, her mouth opened in righteous astonishment. Anger shot through her features.

�You must be fucking joking!�

�Why?� Draco took a step towards her. She took a step back. �It makes sense, Granger. Think about it.� He watched closely as her lip began to tremble so delightfully he wanted to catch it between his teeth and bite down on it. Hard. �That�s all this is, after all. Isn�t it? Need. Lust. Fuck knows why. Fuck knows why I want to touch you. But I do. And I have to. And then this can all go to hell. Because once that�s done, once that need is gone, we can go back. Back to pure hatred. Wouldn�t you like that, Granger? To go back to normal?�

�If that�s normal,� she growled, �then we�re already there. Because I�ve never stopped pure hating you, Malfoy.�

�And yet I bet you can�t wait until the next time I push you up against the wall, Granger.

�You�re wrong.�

�Praying that maybe � just maybe � this time I�ll take it further.�

�No.� He could almost hear her heartbeat vibrating through her words. �You�re so wrong, Malfoy. You�re so wrong. I don�t want that. Why don�t you listen to me? This is what I mean! This isn�t the way � this shouldn�t have to be the way. Why can�t we rise above it, Malfoy? Even you� Even you must be able to see what this is doing. You threw up so hard last night I thought your guts were coming out! And I almost hoped they were. Because your ways � your irrational and immoral ways of sorting this out � they aren�t my ways. They aren�t mine. And they�re so far from anything I want it�s absurd! I don�t want that, Malfoy, I don�t want it.�

�Yes, you do,� he murmured, taking a second step towards her. She forced herself up against the back of a chair. �You do and I don�t care if you deny it. Because I know. I know this will all fuck off if you just let me. Just let me, Granger.�

�I would rather die, Malfoy.�

�I don�t believe you.�

�You should,� she frowned, voice quivering. �Because� Because I...� Her voice trailed off. She was concentrating on his steps. His steps were getting closer.

And they both knew what happened when he got closer.

Her fingers wrapped around the side of the chair behind her. �What you�re saying isn�t right. Violence and sex and screaming and hatred aren�t the only ways to make things better.�

�What world are you living in, Granger?� he hissed. �Who the hell do you think I am? I�m a Malfoy, don�t forget.�

�How could I?� Her knuckles were turning white. �But wherever this is � whatever you are � I�m not touching you. Not again. None of it�s right. It�s wrong. Completely and hideously wrong.�

Draco laughed. �You want to, Granger. Don�t pretend.�

Don�t let her pretend.

�How many times��

�Why do you keep saying that? To me? To yourself? Even I�m admitting it, Granger, and you�re a Mudblood! For me, this is so wrong � so against everything and anything I�ve ever been taught � but I�m willing, Granger. Because I know � I understand what it�s going to take for my head to clear. For you to stop clouding it, filling it to the fucking surfaces of my skin. This is so much harder for me, Granger, so much harder��

�How dare you! How dare you presume to say this is harder for you! You have no idea what�s been going through my head!�

�Then let it go. Let�s both let it go, Granger. Together.�

�No.�

�Yes.�

Tempt her. Whisper twisted temptations. Elation, enticement, attraction, excitement. Make it happen. Get it over with. Make it happen, get it over with, get her out. Stay out and stay out and stay out. Then you can go back. Scream at her about the filth in her blood. You can finally stop faking that right now, it�s not so important.

�When you�re up against the wall, I can feel it.� Draco�s tongue flicked out and across his bottom lip. �I can feel the heat radiating off you, Granger. The slick, wet, warm heat of your insides.� His cock twitched. �And your skin. Screaming at me to touch it. And I know that�s all you want. My tongue. My soaking tongue on your��

�Shut up.�

�Have my hand reach into those wet little knickers of yours. Peel them off and drive my fingers so hard inside of you��

�No.� Hermione was shaking her head, her skin blazing.

��twist and turn and lick them dry, Granger. Kneel down for you on the floor, Granger. On my knees, breathe you in��

�I said shut up!�

�Breathe in that wetness, dripping, creamed inside-out wetness. Just enough to want to bring out my tongue and��

�Stop! Just stop!� Her chest was rising up and down so fast it made him lightheaded.

Fuck, she looked...

So angry.

So vulnerable.

�You want me to. You want me to push your legs apart, Granger. So far apart it hurts. And open you up to me. Drenched and sodden. Hard and brutal. Pinning you down. Bury my face so deep into you I�m covered in it.�

�No��

Draco was growing harder by the second. These thoughts. These thoughts.

�I need that taste, Granger,� he growled, words coarse inside his throat. Parched. �I need that taste, and you want to let me have it. I know you want my head in between those ripe and reddened thighs, Granger, my tongue so hard and fast you�ll scream, just licking, licking and��

Draco froze.

Because maybe, so quiet he wasn�t sure, a sound had escaped from her lips. And slightly, so slightly, her thighs had rubbed together.

Fuck.

He needed her. He needed everything about her.

He lunged towards her, pausing mere inches from her face.

�Let me touch you, Granger,� he breathed. �Just let me.�

She was breathless. �Malfoy, no�� But she didn�t move away.

And suddenly the need to feel her touch on his own skin overpowered him. It consumed him. He began fumbling with the fastening on his robes.

�Malfoy� stop��

But she didn�t move away.

And because she didn�t move away, he kept going.

�You want me. I know you want me. We both know it.�

Draco�s damp shirt had melted into his skin. He knew she could see straight through it. The blood and the mud and the purple-yellow bruises.

She looked at it as if she were looking upon an addiction. Her teeth, they ever so slightly bit down on her bottom lip.

Fuck. Those lips.

None of it was enough. He had to feel her touch him. Now.

�Touch me.�

He saw fear, intense apprehension, uncertainty flood her eyes.

No, Granger, it doesn�t have to be there. Just anywhere. Anywhere.

�I need you.�

*

He needed her.

The words were like every other word he had just spoken. It latched onto her skin, and burned. Scorched a hot, biting, fusing, roaring trail down her body.

And she was trembling. She was melting.

But she couldn�t let this happen.

She was shaking her head, still biting her lip.

His eyes shot back down towards her mouth, and he licked his lips again.

Her stomach had never spun so fast in her entire life. Her heart was bumping so turbulently against her ribs, something would snap at any moment. She was terrified. Lusting and terrified. Wanting it, wanting everything he had said but too ashamed, too mortified at the words, at the thoughts, at herself.

No one had ever said those things to her before�

No one had ever done those things to her�

Draco was tearing down the buttons on his shirt now. His soaking, bloodied, muddied shirt. The sound of wet cotton ripping filled the room as his eyes flashed with frustration.

It hung open. And Hermione was at a loss of what to think. No words apart from wrong. So wrong. Too wrong. And beautiful.

He grabbed her wrists, wrapped his fingers around them tightly, and wrenched her hands up towards his chest.

�Get off me!� she spat, because she would never, never give into this. She wasn�t like him. This wasn�t the only way to get him out her head. It couldn�t be the only way.

It was too easy. And it�s always the wrong things that were too easy. Always the wicked and depraved and immoral things.

�Touch me.�

He forced her palms flat against his skin. His eyes closed. His breathing was rough.

Her hands stayed there, stiffened and pressed against him. His skin stretched out underneath them. And then she could feel, so painfully, so mind-numbingly soaked inside her, his darkened nipples harden beneath her hands.

And surely, it was nothing. She�d seen so many bodies. So many male torsos, all those Quidditch matches where the boys got too hot, all the times she stayed with Harry, with Ron, all those embarrassing, self-conscious, youth-flooded moments she�d spent around the opposite sex...

But nothing seemed to compare to this.

This. Fucking beautiful.

So electric it wasn�t normal. Something wasn�t normal.

Something was too different about him.

And she couldn�t pull free. So her fingers pressed against him further. She almost drew her face closer to his skin, almost breathed it again, stared at that skin with such wonderment, such frantic, panicked, desperate wonder. All the dried blood, dirt stains, pale pink.

She felt the fierce beating of his heart thudding under her touch. It was so wild it scared her. So fresh and feral and frightening. It pulsated so raucously through her fingers, up her arm, across her neck, and down. Down to her own.

And yes. They were. They well and truly were. Hearts beating in unison.

Two people. Barely adults. Standing in that room. Shirt open. Hands pressed against it. And breathing. Breathing so hard and loud and close it was unnatural.

And Merlin. His muscles. Damp, sullied and hardened. Swelling, flowing, heaving underneath her hands. He jerked on her wrists and pulled her in even further. Even harder. And she stumbled forward, their bodies crashing as she dug her nails into his flesh. Angry. Upset. Distraught.

No. Think of what he is. Think of what his father was. What his father did. What they all did. Maimed and murdered and raped and slaughtered. Think of it all.

Stop doing this. Stop making me touch you. Stop making me feel these things.

Suddenly his hands released her wrists and all within a moment his arms had wrapped around her waist, lifting her up. Her feet � no ground � couldn�t find the floor.

She was completely caught against his skin and in his arms, wriggling against his grip. And in a second, split right down the fucking middle of a second, Draco swung her around and crashed her body onto the desk beside them � paper and ink and pots and books to the ground � and her head fell back hard against the wood.

Hastily, he positioned his body above her, torn cotton hanging open, breathing vicious, harsh metal eyes through white damp hair.

Her lips parted as she tried to take in the sudden change of position. She was beneath him, whimpering, her chest heaving so hard she felt the fabric of her shirt threaten to rip against her skin. Her arms were out-stretched, her wrists pinned above her head.

Draco weighed down upon her. �I don�t understand,� he was murmuring, �I don�t understand why you�re so dirty. So knee-deep dirty. I wish you weren�t, Granger.� He pressed down on her hard. �I wish you weren�t.�

No. No, pull away. You said those things, now mean those things, Hermione, don�t let this be the end. This isn�t how it ends. Not with your body. Not with his.

Don�t do it.

Don�t let him.

�You can feel it, Granger,� he breathed, somewhere into her hair, and then came the devastating movement. The hard and spectacular grind of his hips against hers. The feel of it. The feel of him. Solid, throbbing, hotter than her. �Now tell me you don�t want me.�

The enemy. I can�t have. The enemy. I can�t have. I don�t want. I don�t want you and I can�t have you.

�I don�t want you!� she almost sobbed it, nails digging in harder into his shoulders.

Please stop holding me here. Please stop pressing into me, heat next to my skin, hot and damp and blood rushing fierce.

�I don�t��

�You�re so beautiful,� he growled. �So fucking beautiful it�s foul, Granger. And once I�ve had it. Once I�ve had it, you can forget. We can both forget, Granger. Go back to normal.�

Draco stared into her eyes one final time. Perhaps to see if he could find anything telling him to stop. But she knew it was useless. Fucking mind-shatteringly useless. Every burst of brown in her eyes was screaming at him to touch her. To keep going.

And so he did. His mouth found the skin of her neck and his tongue and teeth and lips moved against it.

Merlin. Did she feel it. The hot, wet, burning desperation that flushed over and across and between her thighs like a rabid animal.

*

She was wriggling, writhing, half moaning, half screaming, but still � until he knew � until he knew for sure that she didn�t want this, he was never going to stop. Even if he wanted to. His tongue licked and his teeth scraped against the pulse underneath her skin. Whispering words, sucking blood up to the surface, sucking and biting...

�Beautiful� disgusting��

He was completely gone, completely buried in the curve of her neck, lips latching on so fiercely. Every whimper of frenzied pleasure was a triumph.

He let go of one of her wrists, thoughtlessly unravelling, and moved his hand over her shirt, flattening his palm against her breast.

Fuck. The feel of her. Let me hear those sounds, Granger. Make them for me. I need them, need you.

And then he lifted his face from her neck, both hands to the buttons over her breasts now, ripping down them in a swift, fast, brutal motion. And oh� oh Merlin... fuck�

�Fuck, Granger��

Those breasts, those beautifully heaving, bursting breasts, frantic and alive and screaming beneath that dark satin of her bra. He didn�t even notice the colour � just dark. He didn�t even notice the shape, his head was too far gone and his mouth was too soon pressed into it, tongue wet against the fabric. He could feel her nipple harden beneath it.

No, too much� Too much and I can�t take it... Just let me inside you, Granger, I need to feel that part of you.

His hands left her breasts, moved down, brushed roughly against wild skin, towards her thighs, under her skirt and over the tops of her legs.

�Let me�� he was growling against her skin. �I want��

His hands began to wrench her thighs apart, pulling them open, tearing at them, swearing at them, get him in them, between them, wrap them around his waist and pull him in closer...

And slowly, lips still buried against the pulsating movement of her breasts, thoughts still mesmerised and roaring with the moans from her lips, her thighs began to yield to his force, began to move apart, slowly, accommodating, giving in. And as soon as he could, he shoved his body violently between them, pressed it into her, pushed down so hard his cock throbbed violently and Draco groaned, so low and so deep it vibrated their bodies � anxious, frenzied thoughts of fuck fucking fuck she�s right here, she�s this close � Head Girl- and you�re here up against her, hard and there, there. Her prized and precious pussy, soaking through her knickers. Feel it. Feel it. Those wet, so completely Granger soaked knickers.

A sound escaped her throat. Desperate. Insane. Low, half-stifled because � it was obvious � she didn�t want him to hear. She didn�t want him to hear that she was hot and wet and ripened and ready.

But Draco knew. He knew because as soon as he released her hands, they did nothing- they did nothing to push him away. And he could smell her dripping and needing and begging him to touch her, use her, work her up and waste her. Because that�s all this was- he kept saying, kept telling himself- a fuck, a hard and brutal heart-shattering fuck.

Her whole body was screaming yes.

*

Yes. Hermione knew now. She knew it somewhere in the back of her blurred, fizzing head. That line that he had so precariously touched � that line bordering rape � was no longer. Because she knew that now she had consented, feeling herself arch her back into him desperately. Despairing consent. Consent for what she still didn�t want, but needed, like he needed it, so that it would go, leave her alone and never come back.

And so here she was. Devastation, desolation, mingled in this wreckage of bodies, his mouth moving up her skin, moving up to her neck- burning, something burning all this time- I hate you- lips pressed up to her jaw, and then nearer. Fast, determined, deliriously longingly desired. His lips reached hers, mouths crashed, and he kissed her.

He kissed her and then she realised. She realised that her lips hadn�t touched his yet- not since that night, not tongue-against-tongue, lips fused together. And she knew what had been missing for the last heated moments. Knew why it was like it was- why they were like they were � why this frantic moment, this harsh misunderstanding and drowning, suffocating, overwhelmingly hot mouth � was here. Knew why that mouth was on hers. She could barely breathe.

His feral moans, tongue thrashing against hers, mouth pressing so hard her head hurt against the desk, thudded against the wood, and fuck-surely-fuck it would splinter, cut her, slice her and there would be blood, even more rich rampant blood as his teeth bit down on her lip once again, and that pain- tongues clashing frenziedly � that pain she had felt the very first time, it returned with a rush of brutality, sharp, forbidden teeth, pulling her lip into his mouth. She could feel it swell, feel the blood rush to the skin, and he knew, he bucked his hips, shoved his cock into her once more because he knew. That was her blood against his tongue. Mud-filled and ready. Blood in his mouth.

She could taste the dirt on his skin. Bitter soil pressed into the pores of it. And she concentrated on this- wanted to desperately concentrate on this � ignoring his hand, his fingers, travelling up the underneath of her thigh � just concentrate on it. Think of the dirt so you don�t think of the touch, because then you have to stop it. Because it�s wrong.

She was consumed by the incredible weight of his body upon her. His hand was sliding up to the point between her thighs, touches damp, wild, reaching the edge and oh no, no, don�t let him, don�t let him feel you like that.

*

The feel of her. Draco couldn�t stop his hand from shaking, his tongue fervent and deep and bursting in her mouth, pulling out, and now licking along her jaw line. One, long, trailing lick of his tongue, and mimicking fingers, sliding, finally, so fucking finally inside drenched knickers.

�Wet for me, Granger, so fucking wet for me��

She was so warm, so hot, so tight he almost wanted to sink his teeth into her and drink her dirty blood. Drink it all. Blood trickling down his throat. How wrong. How fucking bad, Granger�

She was this beautiful and she was this wet and it was all for him.

Lips, fingers, tongues and breath, so much heated breath. Wet. Need. The ending. The fucking solution.

Draco had never felt anything like her, so necessarily open and waiting and- what it would be like- what it would be like to touch the inside of her.

Slowly, as slowly as he could painfully manage, he pushed two fingers inside her, sliding them into her as far as they would go. She almost screamed, stifled another scream, arched her back wildly, writhed against him- oh fuck, Granger, fuck, you�re killing me. His mind felt as if it were splitting. She was clenching, pulsating, throbbing around his fingers.

��killing me.�

She wriggled her hips and it pushed Draco�s fingers impossibly deeper. His breathing was rough and drenched against the skin of her neck in response.

�...you�rekillingme.�

He brushed his thumb over her clit and- oh no, no no, I can�t handle that noise, Granger- circled it, pressed down, circled it again.

Draco was staring at her now. Staring at her flushed and naked skin as she squirmed beneath him, rolled her hips and moved herself around his fingers. Her eyes closed. He continued to move his thumb against her clit, moved it, hungry, hard � so fucking hard and near and fuck. He was so close. It would be all over, he would come in his fucking pants if this didn�t stop � so dangerous and so near her.

And then with his other hand, fingers still deep inside her, body still shaking around them, he reached to the zip on his trousers, unfastened, tugged down, and groaned � fucking growled so low and deep inside his throat � as his cock, so painfully, skull-splittingly hard, released from his trousers.

He positioned himself ready to move into her, impale her, ready to slide his cock all the way into that wetness. Hot wet tight�

But then suddenly he noticed.

Her eyes. They were so wide. So fucking wide. The terror seemed to overwhelm the arousal in her.

The realisation hit him so hard in the face that he froze.

Underneath the tremors, underneath the fingers and the tongues, underneath the dark and dirty breathing- her body had completely tensed.

No. No, don�t� Not now. Not now, Granger. I�m so fucking close and if I can�t do this then....

Don�t look so terrified now.

But she did. And she was trying to hide it. But that only made it worse, so much worse that Draco could barely understand why.

He looked down at her.

He could almost feel the wall of muscles clench tighter around his fingers. It drove him wild. But it was a sign- a sign he knew devastatingly well.

Fuck � fuck � tell him she�s just nervous, this girl, wet and panting and stiff underneath him. Don�t bother asking her. Don�t bother asking her, you�re a Malfoy, you shouldn�t care, and you�ve never cared before. Look at how far she�s let you go, look how much she�s let you do. Don�t ask the question.

But he fucking had to. Why, he didn�t know.

Draco tried to form the words, tried to ignore her body, skin, wet heat around his fingers, hard cock against her flesh.

�Granger�� voice so hoarse, breathless, barely audible this close to her lips. �Have you� Have you done this before? Or would this be your...� He trailed off, frustrated. �Would this be your first time, Granger?�

And suddenly, suddenly something burst and flowed and stained her skin even redder than it was before.

Merlin. No.

Don�t say yes.

�Yes.�

*

Hermione watched in horror.

Something in Draco�s face changed so fast she barely had time to understand what it was.

A murmur left her lips as his fingers slid slowly out of her.

What, Malfoy? Why do you care? Why? We need this. You said we need this. And look at me. I�m so ashamed. I�m so deliriously hot for you, just please � please finish what you�ve started.

And with that shame, with that beaten shame she knew she would cry over later, her fingers reached down to his hardened cock and wrapped around it.

His groan was so deep, her body shuddered.

�What?� she whispered, still wet, still burning, still needing. �Malfoy?�

And as she began to stroke him, something shot through his eyes and he grabbed her wrist.

�Stop,� he rasped. �Don�t.�

�What?� Her cheeks were burning now.

Humiliation.

Why?

What was wrong with her?

What had she done?

And then those words. Those two, mortifyingly degrading words.

�I can�t.�

He can�t?

Hermione�s heart jolted so hard it shook her body. Immediate anger splashed onto her skin.

Fine. Fine. You bastard. You fucking bastard.

Tears were threatening her more and more.

She shoved her hands into his chest, pushing him off her. The weight of his body disappeared as he shakily placed his feet back onto the ground.

It hurt.

Like hell.

�What�s going on?� she mumbled, desperately pulling down on her skirt, cheeks burning so fiercely she must have looked ridiculous. �What the hell� I mean what� What��

Stop, Hermione. Don�t ask him that question. You shouldn�t be doing this anyway. Just run. Run away, pretend you�re glad. You are glad, you should be glad- he stopped it- snapped you out of it- ignore the throbbing and the heat and that slick sticky wet that�s rubbing against your thighs.

Draco had stumbled back against the wall. Head down, breathing hard. She could still see the bulge of his cock through his trousers as he fastened them.

He was still trying to control himself.

So why? What the fuck and why?

�I think you should go, Granger.�

What?

She stared at him in disbelief, those tears beginning to fall. Why was he doing this? Was this some sick new game he had planned? Fuck her up, break her into it and then leave her alone, laughing to himself that he could have had the Mudblood bitch if he�d wanted to?

Laughing that she was wet for him?

That she gave in?

No. Merlin, don�t let that be it.

The tears fell violently now.

*

�Just go for fuck's sake!� rasped Draco.

�Malfoy��

�No.�

Draco didn�t want to hear her voice. Didn�t want to see her there. He would lunge back. He would lunge back and slam her into the ground and take her, finish it, fill her to the hilt and end it all so fantastically hard her head would explode.

But no. He couldn�t.

And he felt sick because of it.

Why the fuck couldn�t he?

The hurt on her face was so fervent he could almost taste it. And it was killing him. Please, Granger, don�t look at him like that. He couldn�t� He just�

He couldn�t do it. Not like that.

He watched her turn and run and run up the stairs, stifled sobs, muffled moans, and then the loud, spectacular, deafening slam of her bedroom door.

Draco collapsed, heaving.

What was it? Why was it that he cared?

He�d never needed to be inside someone so fucking much in his entire life. He�d never seen anyone so tantalisingly wet and open and beautifully dripping in all his memory. He�d never. So many nevers.

But...

Granger was a virgin.

No. He can�t be this fucked up.

And suddenly. He hadn�t wanted to be the one to take that away from her.

So fucked up.

Not like that. Not in desperation and despair.

Because in that moment, in that fucked up, nauseatingly broken moment, Draco had cared. Cared beyond words.

And now, that changed everything.

*
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