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Daydreams	By : BitterWind Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 8997 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, settings, etc from those books or movies. I do this as a creative writing exercise and do not earn any money from writing this fictional story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Eight: In the Cupboard

Things had progressed far more quickly than he’d imagined.

One: Holding hands discreetly in plain sight of his father. Holding hands with the girl who had once been his enemy. A girl he had almost killed himself. Odd.

Two: Eating dinner by her side. Eating. Not talking. Sitting uncomfortably. Smelling her. She smelled like dessert. Cake, apples, honey, cinnamon. Tapping his fingers repeatedly on the table. Watching her eat the dessert she smelled like. Looking at her. As she looked at him, spooning whipped cream into her mouth. Not trying to frustrate him. Not trying to drive him mad with every lick of the spoon. She seemed quite innocent. He watched her tongue. Wasn’t he supposed to hate her? Seemed that quite quickly he had changed his mind about that. Odd.

Three: Here. Now. In a cupboard. With Granger.

She had eaten. He really had not. Found he couldn't. They didn't speak, as they normally did. Normally they had civil conversation, if stilted, about the lectures they'd attended that day, some together, some alone. They talked theory and tools and optimum uses of potion ingrediants. They talked about the weather. Boring. But calm and acceptable. He'd been surprised at how acceptable boring small talk with Granger could be. She was intelligent, of course, and not as bossy or boorish as he'd thought, or at least wasn't so now. All in all, meals with Granger were a pleasant experience. A truly far cry from any meal at home which was generally silent, or meals here at Hogwarts...before...when all he felt, even at the best of times, was stressed and anxious.
But not tonight. Not after sitting in the classroom and realizing how soft her hands were, but strong too. Realizing that she actually wished to touch you. That knowlede made small talk impossible. She actually actively wished she could touch him.

His thoughts raced around this one idea as she ate.

“Are you done eating?” She had asked looking steadily at him.

He put his hand on his neck and rubbed, looking down at the ground. He couldn’t even talk.

He nodded.

“Good, “ she said.

He looked up. She was sitting up quite straight. Her hands primly folded in her lap. She looked at him for a long, long time. Just looked at him.
He looked back. Back at Granger.

She closed her eyes, lowered her head and shook it back anf forth slightly, raised her eyebrows, and actually snorted, seeming to find some internal idea laughable.

He wished more than anything that he could see her wish right this second.
She looked up at him and smiled, cocking her head slightly. He was taken aback, for this wasn't the polite face she normally showed him. This smile was open and transparent. As if she actually was happy to look at him.
She shook her head again, rolling her eyes ruefully. She stood up and offered her hand. He took it.
She walked him away from the table, into the hall, up several flights of stairs until they had stood before a door he didn’t recognize. She looked at him, her eyes unreadable, opened the door, stepped inside and closed it behind her.

He had stood there, thinking quite unclearly, before he had opened the door and joined her.

And this is where he had found himself. A broom cupboard. Not brooms for flying; brooms for sweeping. He felt them around him in the dark.

For the cupboard was pitch black. He couldn’t see a thing.

Her voice trembled, either from fear, hestation or laughter, he couldn't tell. “I know this is more than slightly ludicrous. Pavarti told me about doing this, a couple of years ago. I’ve never been in here, of course,” she laughed somewhat nastily at herself, “It’s not as though anyone has ever wanted to… you know."

Draco stood there. He could not see her, but he could feel her and smell her.

Hermione Granger had actually brought him into a broom cupboard to snog him.

It was the most ludicrous thing he had ever experienced. He should laugh rudely. He should push past her, go to his room, and take a cold shower to blast away the thoughts racing in his head.
The silence stretched out.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "This was obviously a huge mist-"
He pushed forward, leaning against her, pushing his body next to hers, placing his hands on the wall on either side of her, trapping her. She gasped and her breath was hot on his cheek, causing him to shiver.

“Aren't you afraid? To be here...in the dark...with me?” his voice was ragged. “Aren’t you afraid?”

She countered, quietly, seriously. “No. I believe you have changed or at least have started to change. Otherwise, I would never be here. Never.   No matter how much you make me feel...this way."
He leaned forward, smelling her hair, letting himself, giving himself the freedom to practically bury his nose in it, enveloped in spice and apples. She stood as still as a statue. "I make you feel...a certain way? But not afraid?"

Their conversation had definitely moved beyond discussing the weather.

She repeated his question, "Are you afraid, to be here, in the dark, with me?”

She placed her hand on his cheek. It burned. He turned his face, kissing her palm. She moved it behind his neck. Drawing him down.

Draco lowered his head, and brought his lips against hers. Soft. Soft. She opened her mouth and he tasted her.

One time in his life, he’d thought she was vile, untouchable, unclean and now he learned that she was as sweet as she smelled, with the whipped cream she’d just eaten. He made a strange sound in his throat as he tasted her tongue, and she tasted his.
Feeling her tongue, tasting her, tasting Granger's tongue in his mouth, unlocked something inside of him. He had always held himself in check, his father prided his family on being emotionless, if vile. Malfoy had let himself from time to time brake that strict conformity in order to bring himself to do the things his father and his pure blood had seemed to demand. He had allowed himself to hate, to gloat, to terrorize. But with Granger's tongue in his mouth, he let himself be free to let his body and instincts reign.

It felt glorious.

It felt like flying.

Her hands moved over him, caressing his neck, his ears. His hands found her lower back, drawing her closer, pressing his unaccountable hardness against her and feeling her push her hips against his.
She had felt him. Felt him. And she had liked it.
Inconceivable.
A volcano of feeling rushing through him. He locked his arms around her. Posessed her. She was his. Sweet, warm tongues. Fingers caressing, grasping. In the dark.

Never in a million years, had he thought this would be happening. Was it his wish? Hers? Or just something that no one suspected. No one could have imagined it, dreamed it would ever be possible.

Life can be strange.
But...

“Granger…” he whispered, “We’ve got to stop.”

And then almost bit back his words, as she wrapped one leg around him, her skirt bunched up about her waist. It seemed as though Granger too had let go of certain inhibitions. Drawing him, throbbing, closer to her center covered by only the thinnest of fabric. Her skirt. His pants. Impediments easily removed. They could be removed. He could, he knew, if he wished, strip off her skirt and her underwear, and touch her. What would that feel like? She would not stop him. Who would have dreamed this was the same know it all Granger?

She grabbed his hair, twisting her tongue in his mouth. He almost blacked out from the pain and pleasure of feeling himself push, push, pushing his hardness against her soft, wet, soft…

But...

“No, no, no, no. Or we won’t stop and this is a broom cupboard, for Merlin’s sake!”

He pushed away from her and turned around, breathing deeply.
"I want to," he gasped, slamming his hands against the opposite wall. "But...."

He heard her move towards him, placing her hands on his back, leaning against him, cheek below his shoulder blades. Her breathing slowed. shesighed.

He couldn't stop imagining how she would feel. Bare. Soft.

Broom cupboard, be damned, he thought just turning around, when he heard the door open and caught a glimpse of her slipping out the door and into the hallway.

He stood in the cupboard, easing himself the only way a gentleman can in these situations. The fact that he saw himself as a gentleman was strange. More so was that, all the while, he was imagining, wishing it was her soft hand that did the deed.

Odd.
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Daydreams