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Nothing Like The Sun	By : flamingmoth Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 4460 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or settings in Harry Potter. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Nothing Like The Sun
- 1
She wasn’t certain when the odd little ritual started.

Every afternoon, Hermione left the Ancient Runes classroom and headed directly to History of Magic. Ron and Harry as well as Luna were in that particular class, as the Ravenclaws were then paired with the Gryffindors. Hermione was usually the last one out of Professor Babbling’s class and had to walk quickly in order not to be late, since the Ancient Runes classroom was all the way on the other side of the castle from her destination. Not that the ghostly Professor Binns ever gave any acknowledgement of student tardiness, other than a raised eyebrow or a pointed look, but Hermione thought it best not to press her luck.

Evidently, Draco Malfoy was also taking Ancient Runes, as he seemed to be in the class immediately after hers. Every afternoon, as Hermione rounded the corner and headed towards a staircase to the fifth floor, she and Malfoy passed each other, going in opposite directions. She thought he must be coming from somewhere close by, as he was not the sort who would be early to a class (other than Snape’s) if he could help it.

Although they never failed to encounter each other in the same place every weekday afternoon, they didn’t so much as acknowledge each other’s presence. That wasn’t such a bad thing. She detested Malfoy. He probably felt the same way about her. So they looked past one another and continued on their separate ways each day.

All the other times they met, he would make some cutting remark or react in a typical Malfoyish manner to her presence. Hermione would retort with an equally sharp insult or coldly ignore him, depending on the circumstances and whether or not she felt like engaging in verbal warfare with the insufferable git. In those few brief seconds when the two of them passed in the hallway every afternoon, however, nothing was said. He gave no sign that he’d even seen her. She did the same, until one afternoon when Hermione happened to lift her gaze at the same time Malfoy did.

Their eyes met for just a second. He continued walking without a word; she didn’t speak or turn to look after him. But that brief moment of contact made Hermione feel unaccountably strange. She thought about it through most of History of Magic, ignoring Ron and Harry’s attempts to engage her in whispered conversation. She couldn’t figure out why the incident seemed so momentous – it was only Malfoy, after all – until she realized that for once, in all the years they’d been at each other’s throats, there was no rancor or disgust in his clear grey eyes. It was just a look, only a mildly curious one at that.

She wasn’t used to this sort of thing from Malfoy. The next day, half-certain she would meet with a sneer, Hermione deliberately glanced up at him and saw that he was looking at her again. His expression was devoid of hostility or indeed, any other discernible emotion. Once more, they went their separate ways without speaking.

This went on for days. Neither of them ever stopped or accosted the other. She’d be walking along, hurrying to class, and he would be there rounding the corner in the opposite direction just as she approached. Their eyes would meet. They would keep walking. Nothing was ever said, then or at any other time. It was as if it never happened – except that it did, every afternoon.

Hermione was very busy. She’d been made Head Girl and was taking her usual back-to-back classes, and between her homework, prefect meetings, arranging that year’s Yule Ball and various other duties, as well as spending what time she could with her friends, she didn’t have much opportunity to wonder about Malfoy and the glances they shared every day. But one day, as she headed off to Binns’ classroom, books in her arms and a quill tucked carelessly behind one ear, she looked up at Malfoy and saw him wink at her.

Hermione almost dropped her books. She thought she heard a low chuckle coming from behind her, but she wasn’t sure. She went straight to her next class and sat down with a thump, so flustered that Luna asked if she was feeling all right. Hermione only nodded and tried to concentrate on Binns’ lecture, but to no avail. She inwardly berated herself for making more of Malfoy’s little gesture than it probably meant. He was either baiting her or having some private fun at her expense. She wouldn’t let him get a rise out of her, she decided.

The next day, she merely eyed him calmly and sauntered by. This time, there was a pause in the retreating footsteps behind her. He had obviously turned to look after her. She wondered if he was disappointed that he’d failed to cause a reaction, but told herself she didn’t care either way. That didn’t stop her from meeting his eyes the following day, however, or the day after that.

He didn’t stop either, although more and more often she fancied she saw something like…determination, perhaps, in his expression as he moved past her in the deserted hallway.

* * * * *

Things got stranger, but Hermione found that she didn’t really mind.

Now, a few weeks after that first accidental look, when she and Malfoy passed in the hall, they locked eyes for as long as possible before moving on. Now she even looked forward to it, which made her secretly both pleased and embarrassed with herself. Whatever his personality was like, he certainly wasn't hard on the eyes. On the occasional day when she did not encounter Malfoy, whether because one of them was late or absent, she actually felt disappointed. He even seemed relieved to see her the day after one or the other of them wasn’t there for their silent meeting.

One day, Hermione realized that Malfoy hadn’t called her a Mudblood or indeed, any other rude name in quite some time, even when it would have been easy for him to get away with it. Now he merely curled his lip at her friends and stalked away, trailed by his toadies Crabbe and Goyle. Harry and Ron were relieved that Malfoy seemed to be preoccupied with his own affairs and did not question their good fortune at being at last rid of the obnoxious prat’s attempted bullying.

Hermione wondered if this latest turn of affairs had anything to do with the little nonverbal exchange she shared with Malfoy in the hall every day. Maybe it did and maybe it didn’t. Likely, he had just as little time to waste as she did. Malfoy was a prefect and taking nearly as many classes as she was, including, to Hermione’s secret amusement, Muggle Studies.

It had been Dumbledore’s idea to require every Hogwarts student to be able to demonstrate a basic familiarity with the Muggle world. Needless to say, this was an unpopular decision among some, particularly the Slytherins. This year Hermione, who had actually elected to take Muggle Studies again, was in the same class as Malfoy. Theirs was smaller than other seventh-year classes, owing to the fact that most Hogwarts students did usually end up taking the subject at least once, as it was known to be an easy way to get a high mark. Despite the general insularity of Wizarding Britain, younger witches and wizards tended to be more familiar with the Muggle world than their elders were. People like Malfoy or Ron, who had once screamed at Harry on the Dursleys' telephone, were more of an exception. The class was currently engaged in a study of Muggle literature, about which Hermione was particularly glad, as she was a lover of books of any description.

One November morning at the start of class, Professor Burbage handed out some rolls of parchment which contained lines from various plays by Shakespeare. “As there’s no better way to learn than by doing, I think it would be both useful and entertaining if we read these selections aloud. I would like to start with The Tragedy of King Richard the Third – we’ll read the first scene of Act I. Please begin, Mr. Nott."

As Theodore Nott read Richard’s opening monologue in a way that all but screamed contempt for the material he was reading, Hermione let her gaze wander over to Malfoy. He was following along with the scene on his parchment, an intent look on his face. He actually appeared to be interested in what he was reading -- no doubt because Richard’s character was at once firmly established as a plotter and usurper, Hermione thought wryly.

“…But then, I run before my horse to market:

Clarence still breathes, Edward still lives and reigns;

When they are gone, then I must count my gains.”

Nott finished reading the last lines of the scene and, with a displeased glance at the bored-looking Slytherin, Professor Burbage assigned the next round of reading. Parvati Patil and Neville Longbottom attempted to read the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet amidst the muffled giggling of the class, with Neville blushing furiously. When that was done (much to the amusement of everyone but Professor Burbage), they turned to the next reading selection – another romance, but this time a comedic one.

“Mr. Malfoy, please take Petruchio’s part and Miss Granger, I’d like you to read as Katharine,” said Burbage pleasantly. Hermione swallowed. She dared not look at Malfoy, though she was certain he had no idea what they were about to read.

After a moment she heard his cool, drawling voice saying “Good morrow, Kate, for that’s your name, I hear,”

Hermione mustered her courage and said pertly,

“Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing:

They call me Katharine that do talk of me.”

The professor made a noise of approval. Without moving her head, Hermione glanced up, not at Burbage but at Malfoy, who sat across the aisle and to her left. She kept her eyes on him as he read the next lines:

“You lie, in faith; for you are call’d plain Kate,

And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst…”

Malfoy’s grey eyes held a hint of amusement as they flicked towards her face then returned to his parchment. That amusement spread to his voice, his words sharpening as he slowly infused his lines with a faint but very real hint of…something. The class began to snicker as he continued, both because of Burbage’s having paired Malfoy and Granger, of all people, as bickering antagonists and because the dialogue was genuinely entertaining:

“…Hearing thy mildness prais’d in every town,

Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,—

Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,—

Myself am mov’d to woo thee for my wife.”

Again he gave Hermoine that amused and strangely challenging look. Malfoy was silently daring her to respond, Hermione realized. Without thinking about it, she opened her mouth for Katharine’s tart reply:

“Mov’d! in good time: let him that mov’d you hither

Remove you hence. I knew you at the first,

You were a moveable.”

She had to repress the urge to toss her head, as she’d seen a famous actress do while portraying this role on the telly at home.

“Why, what’s a moveable?”

“A joint-stool.”

“Thou hast hit it; come, sit on me.” His lips curved in the tiniest of smirks as he spoke. Parvati and Lavender both giggled.

“Asses are made to bear, and so are you.”

“Women are made to bear, and so are you.” Malfoy did not look up at her then, which was a good thing as Hermione felt her face growing a bit hot.

Katharine and Petruchio continued to trade insults; the class tittered appreciatively, and Hermione was enjoying herself more than she might have thought possible, given that it was Malfoy who was engaged in this verbal back-and-forth with her.

He cast another swift glance at her as he said in a conciliatory tone, “Come, come you wasp; i’ faith you are too angry.”

“If I be waspish, best beware my sting,” Hermione answered smugly.

“My remedy is, then, to pluck it out.”

“Oooooo!” said Crabbe in a stage whisper. Malfoy elbowed him as Hermione answered, “Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.”

“Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail.”

“In his tongue.”

“Whose tongue?”

“Yours, if you talk of tails; and so farewell.” Hermione gave a little sniff, which drew some more giggling.

“What! with my tongue in your tail?” Malfoy exclaimed, and the class erupted with a roar of laughter. Even Professor Burbage had her hand over her mouth. Malfoy paused, grinning a little, until Burbage gestured at him to continue:

“…nay, come again.

Good Kate, I am a gentleman.”

“That I’ll try.” The stage directions after that said “Striking him.” Hermione looked up defiantly at Malfoy, who returned her gaze with an unreadable expression for a second or two before he opened his mouth and spoke the next lines, subtly emphasizing each word he said:

“I swear I’ll cuff you if you strike me again.”

She kept her eyes on his as much as possible as she answered,

“So may you lose your arms:

If you strike me, you are no gentleman;

And if no gentleman, why then no arms.”

“A herald, Kate? O! put me in thy books.”

Hermione did her best to sound disdainful. “What is your crest? a coxcomb?”

“A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.” Malfoy managed to sound so suggestive that the little silence that had fallen after Katharine’s “slap” melted as the class laughed again. The back-and-forth went on as they neared the end of the scene.

“Where did you study all this goodly speech?”

Malfoy sounded as smug as if he really was talking about himself. “It is extempore, from my mother-wit.”

Hermione infused her words with pretend despair. “A witty mother! witless else her son.”

“Am I not wise?”

“Yes; keep you warm.”

“Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy bed…” Some wolf whistles in the back of the room accompanied this, as well as some giggling from the female students.

She couldn’t look at him now. His meaning was clear; his words, though said aloud for the benefit of Professor Burbage and the class at large, were meant for her. She knew this, as surely as she knew that Malfoy himself was as confused and excited by this new, unexpected development as she was.

He finished Petruchio’s speech, and after the final line -- “I must and will have Katharine to my wife.” -- the class, including Professor Burbage, erupted in spontaneous applause. Malfoy sat back in his seat as if he’d quite forgotten where he was.

“Bravo, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger!” Professor Burbage beamed at them and motioned for quiet until the rest of the students settled down. “Now as we’ve seen, Shakespeare was capable of both dramatic and humorous works. What Wizarding literature would you say these plays compare most closely with? Miss Patil, I see you have your hand up…”

For once it wasn’t Hermione. She was still trying to wrap her considerable brain around what had just taken place.

After everyone’s attention had returned to the front of the room, Malfoy turned and raised an eyebrow at Hermione. She did her best to ignore him as if they hadn’t just been flirting madly under the guise of a class reading, but the effort was doomed from the start. She finally gave in and looked across at him. When she did, his face relaxed into a smirk, but it wasn’t his usual annoying expression of superiority. In fact, something about it made Hermione blush. She looked away quickly and picked up her quill to take notes, hoping he didn't see her warm face.

She heard that same soft chuckle from the other day. When she finally peered up at him again, Malfoy had returned his attention to his own note-taking, seemingly ignoring her. But that afternoon when they passed in the hall, he gave her a small, knowing smile and this time, Hermione smiled back.

* * * * *

Hermione was typically the last student to leave the library. This was nothing new, but as Head Girl she was now allowed the luxury of staying later than everyone else, on the understanding that she was responsible for anything that happened after Madam Pince closed the library to other students. So far, nobody had ever importuned Hermione after hours, and she looked forward to her solitary time there, just herself and the many books. If only she could have Crookshanks and perhaps a cup of tea or chocolate as well, it would be perfect.

That night, either Madam Pince had been unusually inattentive or Hermione had forgotten to check the shelves, because after the doors clicked shut behind the severe old librarian (they would lock themselves once Hermione left), the Head Girl heard movement in the stacks. Startled, she looked up from her essay. There it was again – the sound of someone moving books about.

Sighing, Hermione got up to see who was there and chivvy them out of the library and to their dormitory, assuming it wasn’t a teacher. She hunted through the long rows of shelves until she came to the source of the noises. There, sitting on the floor with his long legs stretched before him and a stack of worn volumes at his side, was none other than Draco Malfoy, lost in whatever he was reading.

Hermione started down the aisle toward him and at the sound of her footsteps, Malfoy looked up sharply. “Oh it’s you, Granger. Was there something you wanted?” he drawled.

She rolled her eyes. “No, but it’s after hours and no one’s supposed to be here but me,” she said in a way that clearly indicated that he should leave now.

Malfoy did not take the hint. “Not even a prefect?” He looked up at her inquiringly. “I want to continue reading this, and since Pince has left, I can’t check it out. I won’t disturb anything.”

Except me. “Malfoy – “

“Come on, Granger. I’m trying to further my education about Muggle life. Perhaps you can even help me.” He smirked, and that was when Hermione realized what he was holding and what kind of books were piled around him.

“You’re reading Shakespeare?”

“Does that shock you?” Malfoy had returned his gaze to his book. He flipped a page, scanning the lines that appeared at the top of it.

“To be honest, yes it does.” Hermione crossed her arms at her waist, studying the Slytherin on the floor in front of her. In the half-dimmed lights coming from overhead, his sharp features looked far less angular than when he was sneering at her or telling her to sod off. He looked rather handsome. She hurriedly pushed the thought away. “I take it this newfound interest of yours is because of Burbage’s class?”

“Partly.” He looked up at her again, that unreadable expression on his face. “I find that I rather like this stuff, old as it is. It has a great deal of truth to it. I can see why his works have remained popular for hundreds of years. Some stories never change, even if the people and places do. Don’t you agree?”

Hermione blinked. She felt a bit gobsmacked; Draco Malfoy never made comments like that, at least not to her. He called her names and acted as if he was better than her. He certainly didn’t offer thoughtful commentary on William Shakespeare, or ask her opinion about it.

“I imagine you’re rather fond of villains like Richard the Third.” Malfoy did not deny it. He only shrugged as if to say, of course. “He came out badly in the end,” she pointed out, “both in the play and in reality.”

“I guessed that. But that’s not what I’m reading right now.” He tilted the book he held so that its cover was visible to her: The Compleat Sonnets of Wm. Shakespear. It appeared to be a very old volume, one that some wizard or witch had probably donated to Hogwarts in ignorance of its considerable monetary value in the Muggle world. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Which was, do I agree with you about Shakespeare?”

He nodded. “Yes. I also wanted to know what you thought about the scene we read in class today.”

Hermione suddenly didn’t know what to say. Malfoy watched her cast about silently for a reply, then tucked the book under his arm and got to his feet. He was suddenly very near her. She’d never been this close to him before, not even when she’d slapped him back in third year. He smelled good, like posh cologne and warm skin. She could feel the heat of his body radiating towards her through the somewhat chilly air of the library. His eyes looked uncommonly dark and it took a moment for her to realize that they were dilated, the grey irises almost swallowed by the black pupils.

The blond Slytherin reached up and placed a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up to his and looking at her speculatively. He seemed to be weighing something. Hermione didn’t move or speak. Then he murmured, “Listen to this,” opened the book to the page he was holding with his thumb, and read from it in a low voice totally unlike his usual bored drawl, his words dropping softly through the silence of the library:

“My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun

Coral is far more red than her lips’ red:

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound:

I grant I never saw a goddess go,—

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare.”

He paused and closed the book, regarding her intently. “Well?” he said after a moment.

“It’s one of Shakespeare’s most famous sonnets, actually,” Hermione said in a rush, ignoring the pounding of her heart. “Obviously, he’s saying that even though she’s not the sort of woman who gets immortalized by rapt poetic descriptions, he thinks she’s special. There’s some speculation as to who Shakespeare was really talking about; he was known to have had – “

Malfoy suddenly silenced her by placing his finger on her lips, and his touch was so electrifying that Hermione stopped speaking at once. “No, Granger,” he said, and there was a hint of his usual superiority in his tone. “I don’t what to know what you’ve read about the poem. I don’t want to hear a lecture on its literary importance or historical provenance or its place in Muggle culture. I want to know what you think of it.”

He dropped his hand and waited for her to answer. Surprised, Hermione shut her mouth, and they stared at each other for a long moment before she blurted out, not knowing why, “I’ve always secretly wanted someone to write a poem like that about me.”

Clearly that wasn’t the answer Malfoy had expected. He blinked at her for a second. Hermione felt her heart sink as a slow, lazy smirk crossed his face. “Have you, now?” He sounded pleased, as if he’d caught her doing something embarrassing. Too late, she remembered that They. Were. Enemies. Yet Malfoy didn’t appear to be plotting against her, and what he said next caught her off guard as well.

“Perhaps someone should.” His smirk grew into a brilliant smile that made her forget to breathe as he quoted:

“For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,

Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well —“

“You memorized the whole scene?” Hermione asked in disbelief, trying to ignore the implications of the quotation.

Malfoy shook his head. “Only bits and pieces. I came here this afternoon and read the rest of the play and Much Ado About Nothing before moving on to the sonnets. It’s quite good, especially considering how Katharine learns her lesson at the end and becomes obedient to his every wish.” He smirked at her devilishly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Muggles are different now than when that play was written. Women are no longer expected to be so pliant,” she informed him.

“Good.” He was suddenly so close that he was all she could see or hear or smell. His voice dropped into a sensuous purr. “I would hate to think that all non-magical women are as boring as that. It’s bad enough that so many witches are. Of course, you aren’t obedient or pliant at all…for a Muggle or for a witch.” Malfoy’s lips hovered over hers. “Are you, Granger?”

“Malfoy -- ” she breathed, but then his mouth covered hers and he swallowed her protests. The priceless book he held slipped from his grasp and thumped to the floor, unnoticed even by Hermione, who ordinarily would have shrieked in dismay and dived to rescue it. Right now, though, she was swaying against Malfoy’s lean, strong body as he kissed her as she'd never been kissed before. Her head spun, her heart was beating frantically, and her knickers had started growing damp. He caressed her back as she slid her hands up and across his shoulders and into his silky hair.

Malfoy turned slightly and pushed her against the nearest shelves, pinning her body between them and his own. Instinctively, she pressed her breasts against him and heard him growl. His leg slid between hers, up against the apex of her thighs. She could feel how excited he was by the hard bulge in his slacks, and the way it pressed against her made her weak at the knees.

“Granger,” he ground out after several minutes of heated snogging, “are you as turned on as I am?”

“Malfoy…oh!” He had just kissed her right under her ear and continued along the line of her neck. His hands now wandered up beneath the hem of her jumper. She pushed her hips tighter against his and he moaned against her skin. “Yes,” she whispered, shuddering as his kisses strayed lower and lower.

Hermione felt him shiver in turn at her response. “Will you...ahhh!” Malfoy never finished asking whatever he was going to ask because Hermione had reached down and boldly pressed her hand against the front of his trousers, eliciting his cry. Then she curled her fingers and took hold of him, hard. He yelped with surprise and drew back looking astonished and wary, though she noticed he didn’t soften in her grasp.

“Are you going to brag about me to your friends in Slytherin?” She looked very much like a waspish Kate just then, although she didn’t know it.

Malfoy drew a deep breath and, grasping her wrist, forced her hand away from his crotch. He narrowed his eyes at her. “No,” he said softly and with a hint of menace. “I wasn’t planning on it, Granger. Are you going to tell all your Gryffindor cronies about this?”

“I wouldn’t.” Hermione sniffed. “I don’t kiss and tell, even when I’m being seduced with Shakespeare in the library after hours -- which, I imagine, is what you thought would be my wildest fantasy.”

Malfoy smiled wickedly. “I haven’t the faintest idea what your wildest fantasy is, my little spitfire. But I intend to find out.”

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. Hermione gasped as his lips trailed across it and down her delicate wrist, almost to the crook of her elbow before he seized her again. Soon she was moaning practically nonstop into his mouth as his tongue thrust between her lips and his hands found their way up under her jumper, fondling her breasts through her shirt and bra. He was harder than ever against her hip.

They slid to the floor, scattering books around them as Malfoy fell back and pulled Hermione on top of him.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this, you and I,” she murmured as he locked eyes with her and began peeling her jumper over her head.

“I’ve wanted you for years now,” Malfoy admitted, tossing her jumper away and pulling her shirttail free of her waistband. He paused to tug off his own jumper and let her start undressing him as well.

“Really?” She leaned down, straddling his hips, and kissed him as he unbuttoned her shirt and unclasped her bra. Both of them groaned when his hands came up to cup her naked breasts.

“Really…ungh!" Malfoy arched, his head falling back as Hermione’s lips moved across his throat, her fingers finding his taut nipple and pinching him through his shirt. “Really,” he gasped again. “Ever since you slapped me that time. I know -- it’s deranged,” he panted, thumbing her hardened nipples and wringing a whimper from Hermione. “I don’t know why it's so, and for a long time I tried to pretend otherwise. But today, I almost threw you over your desk and shagged your brains out after we read that scene together.”

“I had no idea,” Hermione whispered, biting her lip as he pinched one nipple, then the other.

“It’s true, Granger. I wanted you so badly…I still do.” His voice was heavy with lust.

“I want you too, Draco,” Hermione whispered, and at the sound of his given name, Malfoy paused, staring at her. Then he took hold of her, rolled them over so he was on top, and began kissing Hermione as if he wanted to inhale her. Her legs came up around him and he ground against her, groaning as he felt her press back in response. They started tearing off the rest of their clothes, desperate to feel each other’s skin.

Some prissy, appalled part of Hermione’s brain was asking her just what exactly she thought she was doing with Malfoy, of all people, in the library after hours, but she was too far gone to pay it any heed. The little voice soon shut up and went away. All she could think about was the way Malfoy’s hands roamed over her, greedy yet not too rough, and how desperate she was to touch every part of his body as well. She had wanted him for some time too, after all. Now that they were about to shag right on the floor of the library, she could at last admit that to herself.

Too late to deny it now! another merry part of Hermione’s mind shrieked with glee, but that was drowned out as Malfoy began kissing his way down her neck to her breasts, circling her nipples with his tongue, then sucking them into his mouth one after the other before moving down across her flat belly to the soft curls between her thighs. She arched in anticipation; Hermione had never received oral sex before, though she wasn’t a virgin. When Malfoy’s tongue touched her, she thought she might pass out from sheer pleasure.

“Mmm, Granger, you're so wet.” He quickly had her mewling and gasping as he licked and sucked, occasionally glancing up to watch her responses, with her legs around his shoulders and his hands clutching her arse. Finally, when she was practically begging him to finish, he slid up alongside her, his erection both rock-hard and silky against her belly. his breathing fast and harsh. Hermione was desperate to come and, she suspected, so was he.

Even so, even though she wrapped herself around him and pulled him closer, Malfoy entered her slowly, filling her inch by inch until he was deep inside. Both of them exhaled shakily. He opened his eyes to look down at her, biting his lower lip. His face was flushed and his expression was full of a strange longing and a silent question.

“I don’t hate you,” Hermione answered softly. She arched against him as he drew back and plunged into her, wringing a sharp cry from both of them.

Malfoy thrust again and again and she raised her hips to meet him, grinding her clit into the base of his cock each time he slid into her. She watched his beautiful, patrician face as it became suffused with lust and pleasure. She wasn’t thinking of the years they’d spent fighting. She wasn’t wondering what, if anything, she was going to tell Harry and Ron. She wasn’t worried that Malfoy might actually have been lying and would tell the whole school about having bagged the Head Girl. No, she was already hoping that tonight wouldn’t be the only time they did this. He was fucking her through the floor, and Hermione discovered that she loved it.

Malfoy was clearly even more aroused by her responsiveness and the fact that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He leaned down, sliding his arms under her but never breaking the exquisite rhythm of his hips, and whispered hotly into her ear, “You’re so tight, it feels so good…Merlin, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Draco,” she moaned, undulating against him. “Fuck me harder…ohh, like that. Harder.”

At her words, he closed his eyes and his head fell back with a gasp. She made an effort and just as he thrust into her once more, Hermione squeezed her inner muscles as hard as she could. Malfoy emitted a strangled cry and began to pound into her savagely, until she couldn’t take it anymore and came so hard that she saw stars behind her tightly closed eyelids. A second or two later, he came as well.

She heard her own voice mingling with his, their cries bouncing off the shelves around them while they writhed in each other’s embrace. “Yes,” he hissed in her ear as her body throbbed around his cock and milked him dry. “Oh yessss, Hermione.”

They collapsed in a tangle of limbs onto the carpeted floor. They were both panting, their hearts racing wildly. His face remained half-hidden by her wild hair, his lips near her ear, warm breath tickling the side of her neck. She closed her eyes at the sensation against her flushed skin.

For a few moments, Malfoy did not speak, and she wondered if now he regretted giving in to their mutual attraction, buried for so long between animosity and dislike. That thought was more distressing than Hermione was prepared to face. Trying to seem unaffected, however, she cast about for something to say that wouldn’t give her feelings away. Finally she remembered a line from their Shakespeare scene. “I chafe you if I tarry; let me go.”

Malfoy's reply was immediate and accurate. “No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle.” When he raised his head, he was smirking. “And that’s not me being sarcastic, either. As a matter of fact, I expect to drag you into an abandoned classroom and snog you senseless next time we meet in the hall outside Babbling’s classroom.”

“You’ll make me late,” Hermione responded.

“I’ll make you not care about being late,” Malfoy said before he kissed her so slowly and sweetly that Hermione did, in fact, forget all about it being well past time to be out of the library, Head Girl or not.

* * * * *

He kept his word, both about not telling and about dragging her off for a snog each afternoon. Consequently, she was late for Binns’ class more than once, but as the ghostly professor never gave detentions, it ceased to matter to Hermione.

Over the remainder of that school year, Malfoy read the entire corpus of William Shakespeare’s works. When he’d gotten through those, he read Spencer’s The Faerie Queen, then Christopher Marlowe’s Faust before beginning a long fascination with Milton. But Shakespeare remained his especial favorite.

Rather like the Montagues and Capulets, their respective friends were upset when it eventually came out that the Head Girl and Prince of Slytherin were romantically involved. Fights did not regularly break out when members of the two groups met in the halls, but once or twice things came so close to an all-out brawl that Dumbledore was sorely tempted to utter a plague on both Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses. To Hermione’s relief, neither Harry nor Ron ended up like Tybalt – not that Draco wouldn’t have secretly preferred it that way.

“And if they think we’re going to engage in some stupid suicide pact involving dodgy Muggle potions, they’ve clearly been eating too many Fizzing Whizbees,” he snarled one day after Ron threatened to eviscerate him for daring to put an arm around Hermione’s waist while they walked to Potions class together.

Eventually the furor at school died down, only to be replaced by a new one. At the end of the year, Hermione made plans to enter an advanced Magical Law study program conveniently located in a part of London where Draco’s parents owned a small townhouse. He managed to convince them to allow Hermione to stay there – with himself as host, naturally. It took a great deal of wheedling and arguing, but at last Lucius and Narcissa grudgingly agreed to the plan after Draco made it clear that he was serious about Hermione.

Soon, he made it clear to Hermione as well. On the last night of term, before they left Hogwarts for good, Draco cornered her outside of the Great Hall and, after a great deal of passionate kissing, presented her with a small box. Inside lay his grandmother’s diamond engagement ring, and a folded piece of parchment with another sonnet copied in his slanted handwriting:

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill

Some in their wealth, some in their body’s force;

Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill;

Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;

And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,

Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:

But these particulars are not my measure;

All these I better in one general best.

Thy love is better than high birth to me,

Richer than wealth, prouder than garments’ cost,

Of more delight than hawks and horses be;

And having thee, of all men’s pride I boast:

Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take

All this away, and me most wretched make.

To his gratification, Hermione did not make Draco wretched that night. A few years later, her wedding gift to him was a folio of The Taming of the Shrew, obtained at great cost and with no small effort from a Muggle antiquarian bookseller. Lucius nearly had a fit when it was placed in the library at Malfoy Manor alongside all the priceless magical heirlooms, but after perusing it in secret one afternoon, he thought he understood why it was there, and also why the accompanying card read “To P. from K. Love always, you coxcomb.”

A/N: All dialog in italics was written by William Shakespeare and is in the public domain.
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