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Ploo-Wahh-Ploop	By : bk11 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 5664 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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.

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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Rowling does. Though, don�t tell her I�m making them take off their clothes and have sex with each other. Shh!

Title: Ploo-Wahh-Ploop

Email: bkeleven11(at)gmail(dot)com

Summary: Draco and Hermione meet years later at a bar. Sparks fly. And then they have sex. Will true love triumph?

Notes: I didn�t write this to make fun of anyone. I�m writing this for a lovely girl of many talents: Wynn--because she does not like la porn, but she likes fragmented timelines. She has her reasons for the dislike of porn, and I�m trying to reconcile that with my own issues with many things. And if that all falls to hell (or falls flat), at least we�ll both have our fragmented timeline, eh, Wynn? Happy . . . Thanksgiving, girlie!

- - - - -

Ploo-Wahh-Ploop

- - - - -

There are no absolute truths in this world.

The sales girl telling you that latest stick looks hot underneath your tight ass and will make it fly higher and faster is only after a commission check with her name stamped on it. The same girl will be sadistic enough to go about it in some twisted homoerotic subtlety because that�s what girls are--sadistic bitches. Gravity does not go straight down. It curves. You can�t see it curve, so you won�t believe it. The sky isn�t blue because each individual�s perception of blue can vary. Blue can be purple, too. Maybe you want to believe that blue is really purple.

No--the real world is made up of half-truths.

The stick makes you feel better about yourself, and you pretend it doesn�t. The girl feels good about screwing you over, though she says she�s helping you. Gravity is annoyingly stacked against you when you trip on a puddle and fall flat on your broken ass. The sky forever changes--gray, black, cerulean, violet, pink, orange, red. Red if you wait long enough and look hard enough. Maybe the sky�s red, huh?

And maybe when you look hard enough, you�ll see the glitch. See a bit of the horizon and think, �How pretty! It�s magenta!� before you trip on a puddle and let gravity carry your ass right down into the ground (hit the ground hard), and your cock hits the nearest cunt in a square kilometer.

Or the nearest cunt in a poof-bar.

Seriously.

That�s how it started. There�s a truth for you.

It began with these words: Well, well, well. Here to liberate the queers from their societal chains, Mudblood?

Continued with these: Here to oppress them, bigot-boy? Or is the closeted-bitch just meeting up with his boyfriend to get some?

Ended with: Oh. Fu--oh! FUCK! God, Malfoy. C�mon, baby. Harder. HARDER.

- - - - -

�Now, are you positive, Draco? There are no take-backs after you squiggle here.�

�I�m sure.�

�May I ask why you changed your mind?�

�No time to fly anymore.�

�Aw, there�s always time to fly.�

�. . . No. There isn�t.�

�Well, can you sign here please, Draco?�

�Signing. . . .�

�Well, this is too bad, Mr. Malfoy, you are no longer the owner of a brand-new-not-yet-on-the-market M120. Shame, you would�ve looked so hot on it.�

�Yes, well . . . I appreciate all of your help.�

She kept the smile on her face and maintained eye contact as her left hand snuck out to snatch the signed receipt with super-human speed. One second it was lying on the counter, and the next, there was a soft �zip� sound and the spot was bare enough so that he could see smudgy fingerprints on the grass counter.

�Sorry about making you lose your commission.�

She froze momentarily, and then swung up her shiny face to look at him. �Oh, I�m not worried about that. I just like . . . helping customers.�

�Yes.� He paused. �I�m sure.�

�You have a great day,� she said.

He nodded and grabbed his copy of the receipt. Hold on tight. Pivot. Get the hell out of there.

The sun was too fucking bright with its . . . stinkin� brightness. Goddammit. If he had a big enough cold nuke, he�d destroy that shit ball of fire. And then he�d build the best bomb shelter with artificial light without skin damaging UV rays while the rest of the damned planet played huddle-around-the-iceberg.

No matter how the rest of them lie, Apparation doesn�t really get better with age. Well, it does take a turn for the better in those first few months, while you�re getting your jelly legs to stop shaking. But after that, you get older and wrinklier and less attractive and then you wake up to find that Apparation knocks some of the breath out of you. That feeling you get when you drink too much, and it�s so fucking hard to breathe because your gut is filled with water--or some other water-like shit. And then it heads down south and you need to piss like nothing else.

Speaking of--he needed to hit the head.

He slowly slid across the iced cement to the cracked stairs. The sun still pierced his eyeballs and made him see purple. The first step creaked and bent with its moldy blood under his weight. In fact, all of the steps buckled underneath of him, and because of that, she always heard him coming.

He was a bit winded when he reached the top, weighed down by his winter coat, the same coat acting like a continuous piece of insulation sweating him out like a roast pig in the middle of the fog and the dampness of the morning. He touched the loose doorknob, and found that it turned easily. She had walked to the door to unlock it for him, but didn�t bother going all the way and opening it for him, let him see her framed in the doorway as he walked up the stairs to conquer his lady love.

Though it made a lot of sense that she always made him open the door by himself. Maybe she didn�t even realize that she was consciously doing that--leaving it closed so that it was always a choice. In or out, buddy. You get to make that decision.

And in. So far, he had always chosen in.

She was standing in the kitchen when he entered the flat.

- - - - -

�And sign here please, Draco.�

�Signing. . . .�

�You�ve got lovely penmanship!�

Sounds like a cat bleeding its guts out on the highway. �Oh, thank you. My mum really stressed the importance of legible handwriting.� . . . By beating it into me with a willow stick. Thank you, Mummy. You were right, someone did notice. And it does make a difference.

�Well, congratulations Mr. Draco Malfoy, owner of a brand-new-not-yet-on-the-market M80! You�ll love it. And you�ll look so hot on it.�

�Yes, well . . . I appreciate all of your help.�

She keeps the smile on her face and maintains eye contact as her left hand sneaks out to snatch the signed receipt with super-human speed. One second it was lying on the counter, and the next, there was a soft �zip� sound and the spot was bare enough so that I could see smudgy fingerprints on the grass counter. Damning evidence, those prints. Greedy bitch.

�You have fun, now, Mr. Malfoy!�

�Oh, I try.� Grab the package. Grab my copy of the receipt. Grab the bag. Hold on tight. Pivot. Get the hell out of there.

The sun is too fucking bright with its fucking brightness. Summer fucking sucks. Summer means sunburns and sweating. Fuck.

I need to hit the head. Should�ve asked the girl where the loo was.

Ah, an establishment with cooled air. Good. I can respect that.

Why are there so many fucking wizards in this dump in the middle of the fucking day?

Oh.

Oh.

What-the-fuck-ever. Nature calls.

Ohhhh yeeeeeah. That�s great. Really . . . nice. Nothing like a long piss to make you think clearer.

And . . . I�m so fucking out of here.

Where�s the goddamn door?

God, fucker touched me. Fucking ass. Fucking homo-germs and shit. Dammit.

What the hell? A girl?

- - - - -

She stood right behind him in the darkness of their bedroom. The journey there was rather easy. He walked in the door, said �hello,� they decided what they wanted for dinner. They ate it. They spend some time in front of the telly. And she yawned and led him into the bedroom. Secretly, he found it thrilling. He sort of liked the idea of not putting a lot of work into getting laid. In fact, the less shit he had to do, the better it was. He never admitted it, though, because he was twisted enough to believe that if he ever gave up the pretense of being annoyed at the way she took control, she�d stop doing it. And then he�d have to do more work, and that wouldn�t do at all.

Even in the bedroom, Draco Malfoy was a self-opportunist. Hermione knew enough of him to call it, �jackassiness.� And she was the kind of girl that was done with trying to redeem the jackass.

And there must have been something there, because she leaned heavily against him, and he didn�t throw her off. Instead, he let her bury a bit of her nose into the back of his head.

�You�re a little stinky,� she said. An observation she made right before she slowly walked around and slid her warm hands in between the warmer flaps of his undone shirt. �And you�re a little sweaty.�

�And what�s your point?� He sighed and gently pushed her back to shrug out of his shirt.

And then her mouth was on his, and his hands are already stuck in her hair, tugging, pulling, twisting. Nothing else touching but his palms running over her warm ears a bit.

The first kiss was pretty good, because they had both wanted it so badly that first time. She ached with the need of him, and there was something spinning in her head about needing that need to be fulfilled with his cock sliding in, out, friction, deep. He ached in a different kind of way. His had no words, and it was . . . stupid. And after that first time, each subsequent kiss didn�t exactly measure up. Though they were better, in a wholly different way.

The first time they slept together, it had happened to fast and they had barely known each other. Because of that, there was something humiliating in the way he scrutinized her nakedness. It took the both of them a while to learn that phenomenal sex took time. It took respect. And trust. Stupid horny teenagers could easily get naked and rub their naughty bits together--it didn�t take much to take part in the act, and they both had their own respective pasts to know that teenage sex was all about premature ejaculations and nervous under the shirt fumbling in a broom closet. But to put effort into really knowing the person you�re with. Feeling completely comfortable with the person you�re with--that had the best pay-off.

�How was your day?� she whispered, raking her nails across his belly, smiling a bit as she slowly ventured a little lower into the waistband of his trousers.

�I don�t remember.�

�Let�s get on the bed,� she whispered.

�Yes,� he replied.

He couldn�t be that kind of person for her. He couldn�t sweep her off her feet and carry her to the bed. And to be honest, maybe she didn�t want him to. Scratch that--the way she was shimmying out of her pants, fabric pooled at the middle of her shins--the way she unconsciously flashed him her goods when she crawled towards the head of the bed on all fours--no she definitely didn�t want him to be the kind of guy with the roses and flowers.

And that was fine with him. He quickly undressed--no style or finesse, just slips of fabric falling onto the floor messily--and jumped onto the bed with a little war cry.

�Watch it, fatty,� she mumbled, before he covered her lip with his.

She kissed like a girl. The way he expected a young girl to do it. She was soft, and it was like she made herself not think about any of it because against his lips, she was erratic. When she went gentle, hers barely grazed his, and he could feel the tremors in them still. And then she pushed back, hard, smashed the space between the two of them, and he can still feel the tremors.

Not nervousness. Not that kind of inexperienced fear barely disguised when she stood in front of the first kind of boy and shyly asked him what kissing felt like. This time, it was more of a mutual reciprocity, because he felt himself shake a little, too. All of a sudden, he felt cold, like he soaked up all of the warmth like a sponge and took it all inside.

It reminded him how it felt to be swallowed whole by her. To have nothing but the fascination of her all bare and pressed up so that it all fit perfect and--Ohhh . . .

She pushed her body up against his. Her breasts give and mold to his shape. And he remembered to think that it was so fucking hot. And he gasped. And he suddenly can�t find a way to breathe--the air is too stuffy, tight and moist. The lack of space ate everything up, it felt like, and he met her tongue in the middle of it, sucking, sucking, taking away a little bit before she could miss it.

She pushed him away rather than pull herself back.

Her eyes were wild and bright. He could see the whites all around them. Her hand flew to her throat and, he played around with the tip of the nearest breast as she breathed in and out.

She had tears, held in check in her eyes. She wasn�t sad or depressed, he knew that. It just sometimes happened when they were alone together.

Seeing that was rather sobering. And he tried so fucking hard to keep it all out of his head, try to keep it out of his mind, but sometimes, he got flashes of the past. He would see her, sometimes in his head, sitting alone. Or he�d see Potter, studying in the library. Or Weasley, sleeping during class. Sometimes, he didn�t know. Sometimes he remembered, and just a little bit, he wondered if maybe it could�ve been different. But you never really get to live that shit twice, so fuck. It didn�t matter.

�It doesn�t matter,� he said aloud.

She shook her head. �No,� she said quietly, almost too quietly. �It doesn�t.�

She pulled him down by the neck, and he tasted the saltiness of her lips and smelled a vague sweet scent that hovered nearby her. Pressing closer, closer, chest to chest, knee knocking against knee, feet with the toes touching. He could feel her heartbeat, and there was some satisfaction in finding that it was running as fast as his felt like--like it was going to explode and shit all over the walks. It means--it means--that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.

She kissed him like she loved him, or something, he thought. And maybe if there was a real truth out there, it was the fact that he knew it was a lie. She moved her mouth over his, slowly once, twice, wet, and on the third run, she pushed her tongue back into heat, past his teeth and hell, maybe halfway down his throat. And didn�t help his headache.

She clutched too tightly, like she wanted to squeeze juice out, or maybe she was trying to choke him. The sweet smell heightened all around, and she was too close, maybe. He tried to push back just as hard.

�I�ve been thinking about you all day,� he confessed.

She cracked a smile, a skeptical smile, though maybe she saw a bit of sincerity in his eyes. �Oh yeah?�

�Yeah, was at the butcher�s,� he said, grinning. His warm palm curved to accommodate the shape of her thigh, and he swept up hand underneath it and hitched it over his hip.

She gave him a wry smile. �Yeah?� she said, a little breathlessly when he shifted a bit and his cock brushed against the plains of her bare stomach. It made him harder when she flushed all over.

�He was slicing a slab of beef. Red and veiny, and it made me think . . .�

She laughed a little. �What did you think, Draco?�

�Meat. That�s what reminded me of you. Just a slab of meat.� He reached down between their bodies and tentatively thumbed her clit. She gasped and smushed half of her face into the pillow that her face was resting on. He fingers aimlessly wandered around, getting a feel for enemy territory, so to speak. She watched him with glazed eyes, and feigned disinterest. He smiled. It was a little icky down there. He could tell that she hadn�t showered yet.

�I really hate your stupid jokes, you know. They�re tasteless. And chauvinistic.�

He licked his lips and took his hand away to smear her liquids so that it shined into the scarce light of the room, a diagonal slash on her thigh, before he hitched her leg higher, so that the blunt tip of him met the entrance of her moist heat, slick, and it felt so fucking fantastic.

�Tell me,� he forced out. �Tell me you need me.�

She whimpered softly.

He forcefully pulled himself away and plunged two fingers into her entrance, taking no time to let her adjust to the feel before he started frantically rubbing her tight, slippery walls. Coupled with the suffocating feel of her, and how hoarse her voice sounded when she cried out, his erection grew harder. Got a little painful.

�Tell me you want me,� he demanded quietly.

�Draco--" She shook her head.

He flipped her over so that she lay on her back and he was poised, rubbing the head slowly, up and down against her clit so that she turned completely red . . . he sucked in a breath and did it again. He was asking.

And she shook her head, eyes closed and shut to his own. �I�m not ready yet,� she whispered.

�But--" he started.

But what?

His arms shook under his weight, and he just decided to screw it. He let go and softly collapsed on top of her, burrowing his head into the crook of her shoulder, sliding down so that he was no longer in sweet contact with . . . anything. And he ached. And he felt the loss acutely.

�Sorry.� He sighed, before kissing the bit where her shoulder met her neck. �And you�re not meat.�

�Thank you.� She lifted her head tiredly to give him a peck on the corner of his mouth.

�It�s kind of annoying how I�m always ready far sooner than you are,� he commented lightly, sitting up to observed her from up high.

With her eyes close, she gave him a small smile and shrugged. �You�re a boy,� she said. As if that explained everything.

He gently poked her in the thigh, as if giving her a heads up before he shifted around and found himself sitting in between her legs, her knees casually resting against his hips. She didn�t react much. Just accommodated him with a soft noise.

�Can I take a look?� he asked, even as he slowly pushed her legs outwards, to expose her to his eyes, and to let the cooler air hit her fevered skin. He watched as she clenched her muscles.

�Nothing there you haven�t seen before, you freak,� she said, a bit breathlessly.

He smiled as he gently pushed apart her outer folds with one hand and carefully pushed the forefinger of his other hand easily into her passage. He slowly added another finger.

�Draco!�

Three things that he knew about Hermione Granger that all of the other fuckers on the street had no idea of.

The first was that sex was incredibly uncomfortable for her, maybe because she was so sensitive down there, or she was too narrow, or . . . something. Whatever that something was, all he knew was that he had to work extra hard with this girl so that sex didn�t feel as if it was ripping her up her gut and splitting her body in bloody half. Sometimes he liked the challenge. Other times, he loved it when she got started without him and got good and ready before he got home so that all he had to do when he got home was let his dick have its two second warm-up before he banged her hard with her legs thrown over his shoulders and her cries making his ears ring.

But yeah . . . sometimes, like now, the extra effort was nice, too.

The second thing about Granger was that she wasn�t one of those multiple orgasm things. One, maybe, and that was it. He used to worry about it a lot, but she had grinned and rolled her eyes, like he was having a dumb boy moment, and explained to him that it still felt really good just having him there the second time around. And that she liked being able to do it for him.

He didn�t know what to make out of that.

The last thing about Hermione Granger was that her philanthropic nature actually extended into the bedroom. Sometimes, when he needed to get to sleep, and couldn�t, she�d give him a pity lay. Or when he was really sad and depressed over his lack of job, and lack of the fat-cash he used to have, she�d give him a pity lay. He never used this knowledge for evil, because, well, she was freakishly good at spotting a faker.

And sometimes, because he needed to get off so badly, she�d just lie there and let him do his thing. Those were the moments when he had to do all the work. He didn�t like those moments. Though he was starting to suspect that it wasn�t completely because he was a lazy ass, but because fucking something akin to an unconscious body just felt . . . too sick for words. Maybe he just selfishly wanted the girl to pay attention to him when he came.

And right at that moment, looking down at his fingers spreading apart the girl�s bits with unabashed scientific curiosity while she looked up at his face with half-lidded eyes, glazed and shining. He liked to pretend that she was aroused like crazy. But maybe she was a little sleepy, too.

�That feels so nice,� she whispered when he traced a finger around her opening. Then she reached down and adjusted his hand so that it hit just the right spot.

And he snickered, laughed, smiled, maybe even giggled. �You trying to move things along so you can get a nap, Granger?�

She considered this for a moment, and then she stuck her tongue out at him and said, �Pish posh. Do me already, Draco, you sex-machine.�

He saw her drowsy eyes, and after a quiet moment of contemplation, a moment where he stopped fucking her with his hand that she started wondering where the hell he had gone to.

�Drac--"

�Let�s take a nap, baby,� he finally said. �Just a nap.�

And she just looked at him, this time eyes rather wide. She reached up and ran her hand down his cheek. �Love you,� she said gently.

He scoffed and shyly ducked his head downwards. �God. Would you shut up?�

She flipped him off. And then she told him to �lie back.�

Her warm hand grazed over the tip of his hard cock before she replaced it slowly with her lips. She looked up at him and grinned rakishly. �I�ll take care of this, and then we�ll nap. Blue balls suck.�

He snorted. �How the hell would you know?�

Still grinning. �You belly-ache about it often enough.� She went down on him again.

His head slammed into the wall behind him. Slammed, banged, and rattled his brain enough so that it felt like it might melt out. He hit the wall because it felt so . . . so . . . with the fabric of the sheets wrapped around his legs, her mouth rubbing and dragging against his good-for-nothing aching cock, rubbing it rawer and . . .

�Fuuuck . . . God-damn. Keep doing that.� He forced himself to open eyes so that he could look down and watch her, seeing the planes of her nose, shadowed in the dim light like a little tiny lantern, moving up and down. And in that moment, he found enough coherency to tell himself, well, it was sort of true wasn�t it? She was . . . sort of his beacon. His blunt fingernails lightly ran against her scalp, through her tangled hair, stopping at the based of her neck, digging into the mess of nerves there, gently guiding her so that she was angled just so.

The room smelled like sex already. Deep, musky, sharp. It got him excited. Or maybe it was the girl straddling his legs with her bare ass in the air, and her knuckles white from holding up her weight, and he didn�t need his eyes to see her hot-warm mouth squeezing, pulling. Her tongue ran over the sensitive length of him, too sensitive, and he was so close. So close. The pressure coiled tightly in his gut and he was so fucking close.

His head fell back into the pillow, and he yelled when her teeth accidentally caught the edge of the head. It was that kind of accidental pain that made his how frame convulse and shiver. And it heightened all of his nerve-endings so that every little slick pull took eons, and she was already stepping up the pace. Against the loud rushing noise in his ear, he registered a soft �sorry� that barely registered.

�I fucking love you, Granger,� he ground out. A reflex. Something stupid to shout out in the heat of the moment so that she wouldn�t stop whatever she was doing.

It made her laugh. A low deep-throated thing while his cock was still in her mouth. It almost made him come right then and there.

But then the sting of cold air. The loss of her skin.

His eyes flew open. He couldn�t remember when he had stopped watching her head bob up and down.

She was sitting on her calves, naked. She was regarding him with a reverent expression on her face, also naked. He suddenly realized how naked he was, lying there with her towering over him like that. It wasn�t so bad.

�What happened?� he said blearily as she leaned over, her breasts distracting him a little as she sweetly planted a kiss on his dry lips.

�I�m taking pity on your stupid ass,� she said easily before she grabbed his shaft with her small hand and moved up his body.

And the direct intimate contact felt a million better than the first time. Honestly. It took months and months of working at it, before they got really used to each other and trusted each other not to spill shit about the drooling that happened and other icky biological things.

She winced in a little bit of pain as she slid down the barest inch. He noticed, and opened his mouth to say something about it.

Hermione knew enough of him to interrupt with, �You�re all slick, Slick,� before she groaned, as she sunk down lower, coating him with her wetness.

It made him smile. And it made him realize that this--This was the reason that he stuck around, despite his former self constantly telling his current self that it �wasn�t cool to be banging the same girl for years, buddy.� Something nice about being with the same girl for so long is that there were no stupid pretensions. She no longer was wary about what he thought when she asked him her cerebral sex questions (if the female body was a map, where would you plot the g-spot?), because even in the bedroom, Hermione Granger had an insane need to categorize and factualize.

Though, she didn�t have to laugh in his face every time he tried to tell her what a huge bitch testosterone was--practically anything in tight cotton set him off, and he wasn�t even fifteen anymore. She was always so fucking self-righteous when she trumped that with the estrogen-menstrual cycle-PMS card. He got to tell her that he didn�t actually particular like the taste of oral sex, but was a fan anyways. She got to tell him that she had a kink for being on top. He had laughed and had made a crass dominatrix joke. She got pissed. He didn�t see the big deal. They fought. They made up. Do it all over. Life goes on.

She sunk all the way down, whimpered his name softly, before she grounded her pelvic bone against his, and it was sweet torture. And she knew him too well. She pulled up quickly, and it felt as if all the blood in his body was solely concentrated into that one area. And it was too fast. Much too fast.

She pushed down hard, breathing harshly. There was sweat down the side of her head and her chest flushed red all the way to the tips of her nipples. He latched his face onto her left breast, pulled her down, and started kissing her, openmouthed, wet with suction. It made her whimper. And that made him feel really good. Did good things for his ego.

She tried to raise herself again, but the large male hands on her hips hindered all movement.

�Dracoooo,� she whined. �C�mon, baby.�

�Too fast,� he muttered against her skin. �I�m trying to help you catch up.� It felt like the individual strands of her vaginal muscles were simultaneously pushing him together and pulling him apart, and he didn�t know how he could even stand it. And he got a flash of an old embarrassing, frustrating fear. The one where he held himself back too well, too efficiently, to make it good for her, that he actually ended up blowing right past gratification, right into numbness.

She must�ve known because she roughly jerked her hips downwards so that he came halfway out of her. She kissed him with just her lips and pulled back to look at his face. Stare him right back. �We�re not doing this for me right now,� she said gently before she slammed her hips back to his, again and again. Frantically. Erratically. And it was that lack of control that really turned him on.

He rubbed heatedly at her swollen clit with his thumb, letting her know that it was almost over. Soon. Force, friction, pulling, tight, tighter, and it was so good. He was so close. And he was so close.

�Come on, Draco. That�s good. Come on. Come on, baby,� she whispered over and over with her eyes clenched shut and her teeth clenched. He thought she could�ve been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in that moment. �I love you.�

Two more thrusts, and he easily came inside of her.

She collapsed on top of him, sweating and panting. She hadn�t climaxed. That was okay, because he hadn�t really expected her to that time. Though with his blunt nails digging into her bare bottom, encouraging her and pushing her faster--the bit of excitement as she dazedly watched the way it looked when she slid him in and out of her from in between her thick folds--and then the subsequent heat that flooded her belly over and over when he came and the pained-heat that radiated from the middle of her chest when he reflexively bit down on the side of her soft breast . . . she got pretty close. And it was enough.

He rolled the both of them over and spooned against her back. He grabbed an elastic hair band from the nightstand beside their bed and messily tied her hair up so that it lay on top of her head in a crooked bun. He loved her hair. He just didn�t like getting a mouthful of it when he woke up.

- - - - -

"Well, well, well. Here to liberate the queers from their societal chains, Mudblood?�

She turns around, and it�s the face. The same face, sort of round and fuzzy and--I just don�t want to even think about specifics--shit. �Who--Malfoy?�

I smile. �Surprise?�

�Not really,� she says coldly.

The face, something abstract in it curves downward and I hear some halted breathing. Stupid bitch probably got some lung problem from a few years back. Or she�s one of those fat girls that don�t exactly look obese, but are fat on the inside. �Fat and ugly.�

�Pardon? Mind repeating that? Didn�t quite catch it.�

I clear my throat. �How�s life, Granger? And what�s a little girl like you doing in a place like this?�

She pulls her eyes down to the table to the crumpled (and soiled) paper napkin in her hands. �I�m fine. And what�s a little boy like you doing in a place like this?�

�With the queers, you mean.�

Her mouth disappears into a tight line. And after a quiet little moment, she slowly says, �Here to oppress them, bigot-boy? Or is the closeted-bitch just meeting up with his boyfriend to get some?�

�Touch�.�

�I don�t care. Leave me alone, Malfoy. Still an asshole, and will forever be an asshole.�

I grin. �And little Mudblood Granger doesn�t need someone like me fucking up her pristine little life.�

�No, she doesn�t.�

One thing that can be said about Granger, push the right buttons and she�s stupidly quick to anger. That�s what happens when you stop rationally thinking and let something besides your head run the show. But that�s not smart. And for all that she used to like to proclaim, Granger is still stupid. Book smarts do not get you anywhere in the fucking world. Book smarts tells you to learn ethics and philosophy and morality shit. The value of literature, history, and people is all about what they can teach you. So that you can be all great, like them. Or not fuck up and kill a shitload of people, like them.

And after all the shit that�s happened, you�d think that Granger�d learn that book smarts amounts to less than what I can get for Potter�s fecal matter. Surprisingly, that isn�t much. Dead-Potter is a forgotten Potter. Easily.

�See you around, then.�

�I hope not.�

�Ditto, bitch.�

I turn to leave, and I even catch a hint of the sun through the shady glass window of the establishment. Going back out into the heat actually looks mighty fine. A lot better than staying in here with a bunch of poofs and a headcase Mudblood, that�s for sure.

Oh--FUCK!

�Whoa, guy. Are you okay?�

FUCKING SHIT.

�Hey, mate. Easy does it. I gotcha.�

�Don�t fucking touch me! I can get up by myself.�

There�s soft laughter from somewhere up above. Feminine. There�s only one anatomical female in this fucking rat-hole. Damn it. �You should leave him alone. He doesn�t want to catch anything.�

�Shut up, Granger. I just don�t like anyone touching me, okay?�

�You took quite a nasty spill there, guy.�

�Who the fuck forgot to mop up this shit? You could�ve put up a fucking sign, or something!�

�Hey, sorry.�

�Yeah, well. My ass hurts.�

�Walk it off, Malfoy.�

The pain of hitting the floor dead on is nothing sharp and brief. Maybe it began that way, but it quickly vibrated through every fucking joint, it feels like, and God, I can�t breathe. My head really hurts. Granger�s head is actually fuzzy, I�m not shitting around, anymore. God. I�m going to die.

- - - - -

�Draco,� she whispered into his ear.

He snored lightly.

�Draco,� she said loudly. �I want to have sex with you, now.� She rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone.

�No,� he mumbled into the pillow. �I�m not a piece of meat for your needs, Hermione.�

She grew a little warm inside from the use of her name. She pushed tighter against him and let the moment linger for the longest time until he grew sick of it and made a loud fuss about moving her to her side of the bed while he still had his eyes closed.

Three things about Draco Malfoy that not a lot of people knew--they already knew about his penchant for baiting and manipulating, and the fact that he had the palest ass on the face of the planet, but they didn�t know that firstly, he was really good at sleeping.

Point to a corner of a room, and he�ll walk over, cuddle into a ball, and he�ll go to sleep like a freaking cat. That wouldn�t normally bother her all that much, except for the fact that there seemed to be a fixed value of sleep on their household. He got some, and she never did. It was unfair. And he was never that sympathetic about it.

The second thing was that he didn�t like to cuddle. He really really liked his space. That used to bother her a lot. It wasn�t that she thought that he was only in it for the physical perks, but more like she heard her mother�s voice in her head about something stupid, like an inability to commit. And with time, she got used to the idea that maybe this one wasn�t going to leave her. And throughout it all, he had moments where he got really pissed at her for not having faith in him.

And that must�ve been some oxymoron. Faith. Malfoy.

But she became the kind of girl that fell for the dumb words when they came out of the mouth of a pretty boy, who superficially listened to everything he said because she wanted so badly for the words to be true.

Third thing about Draco that not a lot of people knew was that there was a difference in him. She first re-met him in a bar a year after they had graduated. She had an uncertain future without any tangible ties to the past, and he was still a bitch-ass loser. Except . . . maybe children can learn to grow up. And maybe she was wrong to expect that Draco at fifteen would be the same static character as Draco at twenty-five. She was just a kid. What did she know? She thought she knew everything. It took the onslaught of adulthood that came whip-lash fast--the loss of everyone, the realization of her mortality--that really proved to her that people died. And she didn�t know jackshit about the real world. He didn�t either. But they figured it out, eventually.

�Draco!�

�Wha? Shut up! I�m sleeping.�

�I�m bored.�

�Seriously, Hermione. Fuck off. Go watch T.V. Leave me alone. I�m exhausted.�

This was reality. It wasn�t a marriage. It wasn�t true love, everlasting love, perfect love, soul-mate love. This was mutual respect. She wasn�t afraid or embarrassed to ask the hard questions (Do you love me? Yes or no, Draco. Just say it.) When she screamed during sex, she no longer quietly wondering if he thought she was a whore for it. And when she accidentally burped when he kissed her hello, she didn�t turn red any more. And . . . he finally learned to respect her because she was a worthwhile person, not because of the tits. She didn�t like him because he took control and looked so hot standing over her and demanding things from her. She never liked it when he took charge and didn�t listen to what she thought. She used to hate it when he told her what she thought. She still hated presumptions, and she hated narrow-mindedness. The funny thing was the fact that he had hated all of those things, too. Maybe that helped a lot to get them from where they were at fifteen to now.

And she sort of thought he was at his best-looking when he didn�t think twice before handing her the peanut butter jar for her to open with her freakish wrist strength.

She didn�t need for him to do anything for her, because she could do it herself. She needed him to learn this. He did.

- - - - -

�Wake up!�

I barely had my eyes open before my head flies across the fucking room before my stupid brain catches up enough to chase after it like a bitch in heat.

�Wake up!� her voice shouts again. And then, a little softer, I hear, �fuck.�

�Did you--did you just slap me?�

�You�re awake!�

I open one eyelid. Granger�s face. I close the eyelid.

�Hey, can you hear me?�

�No, I really can�t.�

The weight of her hand is fast, and it�s gone before the aftershocks hit my back teeth. She slaps like the sales girl steals receipts. I don�t know why that�s even a huge a big revelation. All girls are like this--fucking bitches.

�Ow! Fucking hell, Granger. What the fuck is your problem?� I open both of my eyes and her face wavers in and out of my blurry vision. My head feels so heavy.

�I want you conscious, and I want you the hell out of my flat.�

�Your flat?� What the fuck? I try to lift my head again, to get a look at the habitat of a Mudblood, because I�ve never been. But a stab of pain immediately burns a trail from the base of my skull and hits all the way down my back. It�s so fucking hot. I try to move my arms, and they�re weighed down. They�re weighed down. �Granger! Let me up!�

A breeze of cold air hits my forehead and then I�m propelled into sitting position. And I almost barf all over her.

�Get your filthy hands off of me.�

And then it all snaps into place. I slipped on a fucking puddle because some dickwad forgot to clean up his shit, and then they must�ve unloaded my unconscious self onto Granger, because she seemed to be the only one that actually knew me. And then she Apparated me to her flat because--well, consider the alternative. And she has a flowery bedspread.

Ha-ha. How trite. Dumb bitch.

�Can you stand?�

�No.�

She sighs impatiently. �You didn�t even try. Try, and get the hell out of my space, okay? Do us both a favor?�

My head still hurts. I reach up to rub at the hurt, and . . . there�s a soft bump on the left side, right above my ear. Oh my God.

�You hit the counter pretty hard. Your head actually bounced. It was fantastic. I got ferret-flashbacks.�

�This isn�t funny.�

She stares back at me from her spot on a wooden chair that looks like it belongs in the trash dump, or something. She shrugs. �I think it�s funny.� She stares back, all passive with her arms crossed. And all angry, veiled behind the eyes. I can tell because she�s one of those that goes cool-quiet when furious in between the moments she goes loud-bitching when she�s self-righteous.

Wow. I completely remember why I hate Granger, now.

No point in hashing out history again. No, no point in it at all. Get out. Have to get out.

Now.

�Well, this has been fun. Your bed smells like mud. And I best be going now.�

And I�m at the door, shaking to the core with vertigo, and she says to me . . . she quietly says, �It�s sad. I had hoped that you had changed. If I were to ever see you again, I wanted to see someone else. Not you. Just not you.�

And so easily, anger comes in, slow and meandering, like a cold stream. I feel it in my head, pounding away, hurting, hurting. �People don�t change, Mudblood. It�d do you some good to remember that.�

I don�t like it. I don�t like it at all. I don�t like how she hasn�t changed. Ask me, and I�ll tell you straight that I don�t fucking like it when someone lesser than me dares to stand in front of me and demands the answers. And I really remember hating all the moments when this piece of shit made me feel like what she was--because that was what she was. Standing, standing like she was something important in the fucked up world, telling me that I wasn�t right. And it never made sense.

�You haven�t changed, either!� I yell. I didn�t expect to yell. �People can�t change.�

She walks up to me. So small and insignificant. I could squash her like I bug if I wanted to. And no one would care because she wasn�t so great about making the friends. And it would serve her right, too.

�Shut up, Malfoy!� she screams back. �I�ve changed! I couldn�t help but change my whole damned life. Because I had to. And what was wrong with me in hoping that you were doing well? That you were happy and not bitter and angry like you always were? Maybe I just wanted to know that some of it was worth something. But I guess I don�t get any of it. Harry died for none of it. Ron, and Dean, and Lavender, and . . . the rest of them. None of it really mattered because despite it all, you can stand there and still be so cruel to everyone who�s not you. I get a drink down at the bar because I live right above it. And I like Tony and Sam and Roger. I can make new friends, you know. I�ve learned how to make new friends. And I had that much. You didn�t have to insult them over and over and over again. And you just . . . came and stepped all over it, you fucker. Stepped all over like you are God and the sun sets and rises just for you. And don�t you dare stand there and lecture down to me, you bastard. You�re not God. You�re pathetic.�

And she�s crying. Been crying since she started on the second sentence. I don�t know why the fuck she�s crying.

�Yeah, well. I don�t know.�

- - - - -

There are no absolute truths in this world.

The sales girl told me that latest stick looks hot underneath my tight ass. And it will make me fly higher and faster. She was only after a commission check with her name stamped on it. The same girl will be sadistic enough to go about in some twisted homoerotic subtlety because that�s what girls are--sadistic bitches. I truly believe that. It might not be an absolute, but it means a lot to me. Gravity does not go straight down. It curves. I can�t see it curve, so I won�t believe it. The sky isn�t blue because each individual�s perception of blue can vary. Blue can be purple, too. Maybe I want to believe that blue is really purple.

No--the real world is made up of half-truths.

The stick made me feel better about myself, and don�t tell anyone. The girl felt pleased about screwing me over, though she tell everyone and herself that she was happy to help you (she�ll kick you to the ground, run you into the ground if you ever gave her the chance). Gravity is annoyingly stacked against me. When I tripped on a hypothetic puddle and fall flat on my real broken ass. The sky forever changes--gray, black, cerulean, violet, pink, orange, red. Red if I wait long enough and look hard enough. Maybe the sky�s red, huh?

And maybe when I looked hard enough, I saw the glitch. Saw a bit of the horizon and thought, �How pretty! It�s magenta!� before I hypothetically tripped on a puddle and let gravity carry my ass right down into the ground (hit the ground hard), and my cock slammed the nearest cunt in a square kilometer.

Or the nearest cunt in a poof-bar.

Seriously.

That�s how it started. There�s a truth for you.

It began with these words: Well, well, well. Here to liberate the queers from their societal chains, Mudblood?

Continued with these: Here to oppress them, bigot-boy? Or is the closeted-bitch just meeting up with his boyfriend to get some?

Ended with: Yeah, well. I don�t know. With a shrug.

- - - - -

(11-24-04)

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