“No, Ronald,” Hermione sighed angrily. Ron gave her another pleading look, which she did her best to ignore.

“But – but-“

“Spit it out,” Harry commanded absently, not looking up from his lunch. Ron shot a glare at his dark-haired friend, and then turned his attention back to Hermione.

“Don’t even bother asking again,” she snapped waspishly, dropping her napkin on the table.

“But why not? Adam thinks you’re amazing,” he said, his zeal fading. “He’s been begging me to ask you to go out with him for weeks.”

“Why doesn’t he just ask me himself?” she demanded.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Harry mumbled, his gaze moving from his chips to Ron. “If the bloke is so keen on dating Hermione, why doesn’t he grow a pair and ring her up?”

“He has a pair, thank you,” Ron bristled. Harry’s eyebrows flew up, and Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Wait – I didn’t mean that like it sounded! I just meant that-“

“Riiiiight,” Harry said, highly amused. Ron’s ears were scarlet. Hermione rolled her eyes and rose from the table.

“I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for lunch, Harry.” Harry rose and placed a friendly kiss on her cheek, and they both ignored the spluttering noises that Ron was making.

“I’ll floo you later, pet,” Harry whispered. She smiled and nodded at him before exiting the restaurant. She had been having lunch with her two best friends every day since graduation – and that added up to three years of having to endure Ron’s attempts to fix her up with someone on a daily basis.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, Hermione thought, if he didn’t always try to fix her up with his teammates. Quidditch players were not compatible with her lifestyle. She didn’t particularly fancy the idea of marrying – or even shagging, she thought with a hearty blush – someone who was going to be gone ninety percent of the time.

She made her way back to her office and sat down heavily in the chair behind her desk. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to date, or get married, or even shag; it was just that the right man hadn’t come along yet.

Or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

She smoothed out the front of her shirt and tried to focus on the paperwork that was in front of her. It was to no avail, however, because her mind kept drifting back to the subject of men – or her lack thereof.

Harry had been good to her, and hadn’t tried to set her up with any of his friends. Besides, she didn’t much fancy dating an Auror, either – too much secrecy. Harry had also never attempted to cajole her into dating him as an alternative. Ron had been maintaining for the last week that if she didn’t decide to date one of his friends soon, she’d wind up with the consolation prize – him.

She giggled despite herself at the thought. It wasn’t that Ron wasn’t funny, or sweet, or attractive – it was just that he was Ron. They were friends, nothing more, and Hermione liked it that way.

At one time she’d had a bit of a crush on Harry, though that had passed quickly enough. He’d been very clear (but gentle) the night he’d talked to her about her feelings towards him (after Ron had been a big enough dolt to tell him how she’d felt). He’d even taken her out to Florean Fortescue’s afterwards and treated her to some mint chocolate rainbow chip ice cream, which was her favorite, to soften the blow a bit.

If only there were more men out there like Harry, she thought wistfully.

“Granger!” Hermione jumped as her boss snapped at her. She craned her neck around to look behind her, groaning silently when she saw his head poking out of the flames of her floo-connected hearth.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Where’s that exposé you owe me?”

“It’s-“

“It was supposed to be on my desk this morning at nine o’clock sharp! Where in the hell is it?”

“Parkinson has it, Sir. She was supposed to bring it to you this morning.” Her boss frowned and turned to look behind him. She could vaguely hear a female giggling in the background before he turned back to her, wearing a much more pleasant expression.

“Never mind, Granger. I see that it’s been taken care of.” And just like that, he was gone again. Hermione tried to control the wave of frustration that was washing over her, but it was no use. Pansy Parkinson hadn’t been her ideal co-worker when she’d started at the Prophet, but there was nothing to be done about it.

She didn’t know what made her angrier – the fact that Pansy always used sex to get what she wanted, or the fact that it actually worked.

She grabbed her purse and stormed out of the office, heading for the nearest bookstore. She needed to relax.

“Wendellyn the Weird,” Hermione repeated, the creases in her brow deepening. Honestly, if Flourish and Blotts was going to sell books, shouldn’t they educate their employees on topics of interest? The Saleswitch behind the counter was young and – it was painfully obvious – new.

“Nevermind,” Hermione said, sighing. She waved off the confused girl with a hand. “I’ll go look for it myself.”

She turned on her heel and made her way to the furthermost corner of the bookstore, where the W titles were held. It smelled musty back here, and the dust tickled Hermione’s nose. Apparently the W section hadn’t been visited in quite some time.

She was about to reach for a book that rested on the shelf just above her when she noticed some movement out of the corner of her eye. A middle-aged Wizard with streaks of grey in his hair glanced around him quickly, then stepped through an entire shelf of books! Hermione stared in surprise.

Before she could rationalize it and talk herself out of it, she stepped forward and extended her hand. When her fingers passed through the shelf instead of touching the books, she yanked her hand back, startled.

I’ve been coming to this bookstore since I was eleven years old, and I never knew that there was a false wall! She thought indignantly. Then curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped through the barrier.

After one glance around, she wished she had thought her decision through a bit more. Her eyes fell on one title after another, and with each one, her blush grew deeper and her face felt hotter, until she was sure that the heat emanating from her would catch the room on fire.

She heard a noise from an aisle in front of her and hurried to duck into the nearest alcove. When the footsteps had faded, she glanced at the titles that rested at eye-level. Wily Witches With Wicked Werewolves. She blanched and felt her lunch roiling around in her stomach, threatening to make a second appearance.

She stepped backwards, trying to avoid the titles that leapt out at her. Whipping Wizards and Their Hardy Wenches. Wenches Who Want Discipline. Wag the Broom: A Guide to Ensnaring Quidditch Players. Hermione almost laughed at that last one. Perhaps she should get it and give it to Ron, as a gag gift. His birthday was next week, after all. She hesitated only for a moment before pulling it from the shelf and opening it.

Images of Witches doing unnatural things with broomsticks made her grow warm all over, and she snapped the book shut and replaced it quickly. She was about to try and leave the room undetected when her eyes fell on another title.

Wanton Ways: A Guide to Better Sex.

She reached forward and plucked the book from the shelf. Before she could open it, however, the sound of someone clearing his throat made her jump, and she dropped the book. She turned, her embarrassment made obvious by her red face and mortified expression, to find that her situation had taken a turn for the worse.

Pale grey eyes stared back at her with equal surprise, though it was quickly fading into amusement.

“Well, well,” he drawled softly, leaning his shoulder against the bookshelf, and effectively trapping her at the end of the aisle. Involuntarily her hands balled into fists, and her eyes narrowed. “Look what we have here.”

“What do you want?”

“Aren’t we touchy,” he said coolly, his eyes glittering in a strange way. “Must say I never expected to see a woman back here – especially you. Normally when one comes in here, they’re smart enough to lock the room.”

Hermione blanched. She’d had no idea the room even existed – how had she known it could be locked?

“I forgot,” she supplied weakly. Suddenly his gaze turned from amused to something quite – well, it was rather – predatory. It made her knees weak, and her head felt foggy.

“You forgot, did you?” he asked. His voice was low and dangerous sounding, and it made butterflies erupt in the pit of her stomach. What was going on here? “Luckily enough for you, I didn’t forget.”

That was enough to clear up the fog that had seeped into her mind. “You locked me in here with you?” she squeaked.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mudblood,” he said. His voice was calm, but his eyes had turned hard and cold. “If I had known you were in here, I might have locked the door from the outside and simply left you here.”

“Bastard,” she bit out, feeling the old familiar anger that he always incited. “Let me out now.”

“I didn’t come back here just to have a chat with you – I came to make a purchase. You’ll just have to keep your knickers on until I finish browsing.”

“What in the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked, her hands flying to her hips. His eyes widened slightly at her language, but his expression melted back into aloofness in the next moment.

“It means,” he drawled slowly, “that whomever you’re returning to will have to wait until I’m finished.”

“What?” she demanded, still confused.

He pointed towards the book that lay on the floor behind her, and she turned to look. Heat flooded her face as she glanced at the page the book had fallen open to. Apparently she’d pulled down a picture book – the Witch in the photo was performing fellatio on a Wizard, and both of them seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. Hermione snapped the book shut and turned to bite out a witty retort, but when she turned, Malfoy was gone.

After several minutes, Hermione realized that Malfoy had been serious when he’d said she’d have to wait until he was finished. He was still somewhere in the room, which wasn’t saying much, since she wasn’t sure how large or small it was. She wasn’t brave enough to venture past the first three aisles, and opted instead to sneak a peek at the book Malfoy had already seen her with.

Her cheeks burned as she read a paragraph, and then watched the pictures act out the instructions she’d read. The more she watched, the more the temperature in the room seemed to grow. She pressed her fingertips to the base of her throat as she watched a blonde Witch fondle a dark-haired Wizard, and she vaguely wondered why no one had ever thought to give books sound.

Boy, that Witch sure looked happy. Lucky wench, Hermione thought jealously. The woman in the picture waggled her eyebrows at Hermione and pulled the man behind some bushes (the whole scene was set in the outdoors and encouraged the reader to try unusual settings for their activities). Hermione bent and squinted, trying to see where they’d gone, when male laughter made her jump and drop the book for a second time.

She turned and glared up at Malfoy, who held a slim volume in his hand.

“And just what is so funny?” she demanded, clambering to her feet.

“Funny how they know what they’re in the book for, and yet they hide from you,” he commented, the corners of his eyes crinkled up in laughter. She gaped at him, and the amusement vanished, leaving his eyes so cold that Hermione shivered. “Ready to leave and get back to your mundane life, Mudblood?”

“Now, see here, Malfoy,” she spat, color flooding back into her cheeks.

“Do you want to leave now, or what?” he asked, glaring at her. “Or maybe you like being in here with me. Have you learned much from the books?” he asked, amused by her flustered expression. “Eager to try out some new ideas, then, are we?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me that way,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing.

“Why, thank you for correcting me,” he said, mirth in his voice again. “For a moment there, I was speaking to you as if you were actually a woman and not just a Mudblood.”

“I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, if I had my wand, I’d-“ Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth as his eyes went dark again.

“You haven’t got your wand? I don’t believe it.” His eyes were narrowed as they grazed over her, searching for any indication that she was lying. When he found none and the red on her cheeks deepened, he smiled grimly.

“Well, it looks like you really are stuck in here until I let you out, aren’t you, Mudblood? What will you do if I decide to go and leave you in here?” The color drained from Hermione’s cheeks.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” he said, his voice steely. “Unless you can offer me something to change my mind.”

Her lips curled in disgust before she could stop them, and he glared at her.

“I would never-“ she began.

“I know you’ve thought about it,” he said coldly. She blinked in surprise.

“Wh-what?” she stammered. She couldn’t deny it; she had thought about it – one time, while they were in their seventh year. She hadn’t given a thought to it since, and had written it off as simple curiosity on her burgeoning body’s part. But how would he know she’d thought about it? She’d never told anyone she had!

“Don’t pretend you find me repulsive,” he continued, examining his nails in a bored fashion. “Because you know that I won’t believe it, not for a moment.”

“You would never-“ she began again, taking a step backward. She swallowed with some difficulty, and tried deep breaths to control the quickening of her pulse. “I’m a Mudblood, remember?”

“You’re a prude, is what you are,” he sneered, his eyes raking over her. “You’re probably still a virgin, anyway.”

“I’m not a prude,” she retorted hotly, her anger getting the better of her. “And I’m not a virgin, so you can forget the thought of defiling me, or whatever other degrading thing you had in mind.”

“Actually, I prefer women who have some experience,” he amended, his eyes falling on the book that was cradled in the crook of her arm. “However, it would seem that you’re a bit lacking.”

“What?”

“A woman who has to read a book on the subject has no skills that would entertain me,” he elaborated, even as he took a step forward. She tried to take a step backward, but when she did, she found her back pressed up against the wall.

Panic, along with something else she didn’t want to identify, welled up inside of her as he moved closer and pinned her to the wall with his hands.

“What’s the matter, Granger? Afraid of me?” She didn’t want to admit it, but she was strangely excited. Anticipation mingled with fear as she turned her face away.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, the tremor in her voice hinting otherwise. A malevolent grin curved his lips upward.

“Do you always shake so badly when you’re not afraid?”

“What do you want from me?” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. She was trembling; now that he saw it, there was no point in exerting the effort to disguise it. She was totally defenseless without her wand to aid her, so she was at his mercy – if Malfoys even knew what the word mercy meant.

“I find it hard to believe that you’re not a virgin,” he said, his grey eyes transforming into what looked like molten silver. “After all, who would want to touch you? Potter or Weasley, perhaps?”

“It wasn’t Ron or Harry,” she protested weakly, tears stinging her eyes. She blinked them back and met his gaze unflinchingly. It was bloody well none of his business who had been her first – and only – shag!

“Well, I must say that that is surprising,” he murmured softly, his eyes fixed on hers. Her trembling was becoming more violent, and she wished that he would move away. The spicy scent of his cologne was assaulting her; the smell invaded her nose and seeped into her pores. The scent made her pulse race and her heart pound wildly against her ribcage. “If it’s true, that is.”

“Why should you even care?” she gasped, her knees beginning to feel weak. What was in that cologne?

“I don’t care.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but before any sound could escape Malfoy had covered her mouth with his. She was so surprised that she didn’t think to struggle; his tongue slipped inside of her mouth and her brain simply ceased to function properly.

Suddenly his hands were everywhere – on her breasts, on her slightly rounded stomach, on her bum. His hand slipped between the buttons on the front of her shirt, and suddenly her shirt was gone. She vaguely registered the sound of ripping material and knew that it was cause for worry, but she couldn’t bring herself to remember why.

His hands were hot as they groped at her; when he cupped a breast, his thumb brushed lightly over a taut nipple, eliciting a long moan from deep in her throat. His mouth hadn’t left hers yet, and the kiss was so rough that she could already feel her lips bruising. His attention turned from her breasts, and before she realized what he’d intended, her skirt had been lifted, her knickers pushed aside, and he’d slid into her.

He broke the kiss and pulled away just enough to be able to look at her face and take in her shocked features. Her eyes were wide and her jaw hung loose as she stared at him. Her staring unnerved him. He withdrew and plunged into her again, feeling satisfied when her eyelids fluttered closed.

Her fingernails dug into his shoulder through his shirt (when had she put her hands on his shoulders?) as he set his pace, pounding into her a little rougher than was necessary. His hands tried to find purchase on the wall behind her as he thrust, but when they simply slid on the slick surface, he let them drift down to her bum. He squeezed as hard as he could, enjoying the fact that afterwards, she would have bruises in the shape of his hands on the delicate flesh.

One slender leg rose to wind itself around his waist, and against his will, he groaned. She had pretended to be innocent, but if her responses were any indication, Hermione Granger had some experience.

He thrust harder, noticing her wince, and felt the familiar tingling in the small of his back that meant that he was near orgasm. Without warning, her heated walls tightened around him, and she uttered a low scream. That was all it took to send him over the edge behind her. He continued thrusting until the last of his seed had filled her, and then he pulled away quickly, zipping up his pants as he did.

She watched in mingled shame and satisfaction as he spoke the incantation to open the locked room, and then disappeared out into the bookstore in a flurry of his expensive robe. It was only then that she realized that he’d ripped her shirt, and that she didn’t have her wand with her to repair it. She bit out an oath as she slid it onto her arms and held the front of it as best she could, then exited the bookshop with her shredded dignity barely in tact.

The water just couldn’t get hot enough for her.

She could barely see anything in the loo for the steam from the scalding water. It pelted down on her like bits of liquid fire, and still it wasn’t hot enough.

What had she been thinking, letting Draco Malfoy corner her like that? And better yet, what had she been thinking when she’d let him – well, when he’d – despite the heat in the room, she could feel her cheeks warming in embarrassment.

She scrubbed herself down one last time with her favorite soap, then rinsed and turned the water off. She frowned at the potions equipment she’d left in her bathroom, then turned her face away as she toweled off. As soon as she’d returned home, she’d thrown the shirt and skirt she’d worn into the hearth, hoping to rid herself of the scent of him that had stained her clothing.

After she’d done that, she’d gone into the loo and brewed a contraceptive potion. The bitter flavor of it reminded her why she’d never wanted to have sex outside of marriage in the first place. She’d gagged twice while quaffing it, and had had to stop once halfway through it in order to calm herself.

She pulled on the most chaste thing she could find (an old nightgown that had long sleeves and a high collar), despite the fact that it was an overly warm night. Had she given him some sort of signal that she wanted him?

She frowned as she picked up the half-read novel that lay on her bedside table. No, Draco Malfoy took what he wanted, regardless of the consequences or circumstances.

The thought gave her pause, and she very nearly dropped her book. He took what he wanted. He wanted her. Her lower lip began to quiver. Draco Malfoy, the man who had hated her since he’d laid eyes on her, had wanted her. He’d shagged her.

Oh, God, she realized with a start. I’ve shagged my best friend’s worst enemy.

Harry could never know about it. She stood quickly and practically ran to her bookshelf, looking for her volumes on Memory Modification. She’d never be able to keep something so big from Harry – not when she told him everything. She’d never held anything back from him; he was her closest friend, and there were no secrets between them. She didn’t want that to change now.

Especially not over this.

She pored over the volumes for hours, but could find nothing of any use. Finally, when the candles in the room had burned down to nubs, her eyes closed and sleep overcame her.

The first thing that she was aware of upon waking was the annoying buzzing sound of her alarm clock. She stood and grimaced – she was sore in so many places, she wasn’t sure she could walk properly.

She tried to fight down the wave of shame that threatened to drown her as she remembered why she was sore. She slapped the button on the alarm clock with more venom than usual, then lay down on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

She could not go to work like this.

She’d never called in sick a day in her life, so she was due one day, wasn’t she? Besides, Pansy would keep the big boss man occupied so he’d have no time to be angry with Hermione, right?

She got up and moved to her desk in the living room and hastily scrawled a note of explanation, then attached it to the leg of the small, caramel-colored owl that Harry had given her last year for her birthday.

She went into the loo and started filling the tub with scalding water, intent on taking another bath. She still didn’t feel clean. Would the stain of their act ever wash off of her? She had just removed her clothes and was about to step into the water when she heard a loud knock on her door.

Frowning, she pulled on her favorite terrycloth robe and tied it tightly around her. Harry must have already realized she wasn’t at work, she thought worriedly. What was she going to say to him?

She threw the door open, an apology on her lips. Her breath left her in a rush of air as she took in the expensive Italian leather of his shoes, the impeccably pressed state of his clothes, and the superior smirk that was plastered across his face.

“I see that you were expecting me,” he said, his eyes taking in her state of undress.

“Go away,” she managed quietly.

“Don’t be a damned idiot, Granger,” he snapped angrily, his eyes flashing. “I’ve brought you something to make amends for what happened yesterday.” Her eyes widened as he handed her a parcel wrapped in plain brown paper.

“Th-thank you,” she stammered, not knowing what else to say.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“No,” she said decisively. “I’m not. You gave me what you came here to give me, and I’d appreciate it if you left now.” She thought for a moment, and then, “Why didn’t you just owl it over to me?”

“Because I – I don’t know!” he snapped, clearly frustrated. Because I wanted to see you again. I’ve been thinking about you all night, and nothing I did could stop me from remembering what you looked like in those last few moments when I was inside of you.

“Please go,” she repeated.

“No.”

“I have my wand this time, Malfoy,” she said, her words clear even though they shook slightly.

“See if I bloody well care,” he said, pushing past her and stepping inside her flat.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re here,” she began, shaking her head. She’d caught a whiff of his cologne as he’d passed her, and it was already befuddling her senses. “But… but you’re not wanted here.”

He spun on his heel and eyed her face carefully, as though searching for something. After several moments, the corners of his mouth turned up in a grim smile. “Oh, but I think you’re wrong. I think I am wanted here.”

She shook her head, more to clear it of the fog than to disagree with him.

“Why aren’t you at work today, hm?” he questioned, leaning back against the doorframe that sat between the living room and the bedroom. “Won’t the lackeys down at the Prophet miss you?”

“I decided to take a day off because I didn’t feel well,” she protested, her knees feeling weak as his eyes lingered on the exposed skin of her neck. She lifted her hand and clutched the fabric together, effectively closing it and hiding the skin from his eyes.

“You look fine to me.”

“I don’t-“ she glared at him. “Since when do you take such an interest in me, Malfoy? Since when do you deign yourself low enough to speak to me, let alone to worry about why I’m at work?”

“Mere curiosity, that’s all,” he replied nonchalantly. He stood and arched an eyebrow. “What’s the matter, have you deluded yourself overnight into thinking that I care for you?”

“I would never be so presumptuous,” she spat.

“Good,” he said, stepping closer to her. She hadn’t noticed his movements until it was too late and she was pinned up against the door.

“Please,” she begged softly, closing her eyes. “Please don’t do this again.”

“You know that if you had really wanted to stop me yesterday, you could have done it,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear. She shivered. “And yet you didn’t. Why is that, Granger? Are you finally getting a taste of something that you know your precious friends wouldn’t approve of?”

“This has nothing to do with them,” she breathed, her chest heaving with each breath of air.

“Good – because I don’t want you thinking about them when I’m the one who’s inside of you.” She turned wide eyes upward, trying to see his face, but she couldn’t. His lips touched her throat, and it was such gentle contact that it made her heart leap forward.

When she felt his tongue dart out to explore her sensitive skin, her knees buckled. He caught her before she fell, and with a smirk of epic proportions, he carried her bride-style into her bedroom, throwing her onto the bed. Before she could protest, his mouth was on hers, hot and insistent.

She struggled at first, refusing to return the kiss, and pummeling him weakly with her fists. When she realized that she wasn’t making any headway with her protestations, she stopped and lay limp, hoping that he would see and stop his ministrations.

She realized too late that he’d taken the cessation of her protestations as submissiveness.

His tongue plundered her sore mouth over and over again, chasing all thoughts of protest from her mind. Really, why had she been fighting this, when it felt so good to be kissed into oblivion? She couldn’t remember now.

Slowly, she began to respond. She touched her tongue to his, which caused him to kiss her with bruising force. Apparently any reaction from her was only going to add fuel to the fire – and if he was so hell bent on having her, why should she just lie there and take what he dished out? If she was going to feel badly about it later, shouldn’t she at least enjoy it now?

Her arms snaked around his neck and pulled him closer, and her return kisses became ravenous. One of them (she wasn’t sure who, though she strongly suspected that it was him) moaned inside the kiss. She groaned in protest when his mouth left hers, and then swallowed the noise as his hot mouth closed over the skin of her neck.

As his mouth worked on her skin, she could feel his fingers fumbling with the tie at her waist. She was just about to help him out of frustration when she felt him open the robe, and cool air assaulted the bared skin of her stomach. In the next instant, his hand was splayed across her skin, just above her navel.

A rush of heat between her legs told her that she’d been lying to herself that morning when she’d said she didn’t want him. His mouth moved down from her neck to capture a rosy peak in his mouth, and she arched against him. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps now; his tongue and worked one erect nipple as his fingers pinched and fondled the other.

The wetness between her legs was growing, and she was beginning to ache for completion. She opened her mouth to tell him to hurry it along, but the words eluded her as his teeth closed around her nipple. She let out a tiny cry as he began to lave the bite with his tongue, and she arched against him again.

“Malfoy – going to kill you…” she bit out, feeling his hand trail down her stomach slowly. She could swear she heard him chuckle. That was it – if she ever got out of this thing alive, she would kill the bastard. Hex him to hell and back again.

When his fingers found the springy curls at the apex of her thighs, her eyes rolled back in her head and she moaned. He continued to nip at her breasts, biting just hard enough to leave marks on her, but not hard enough to draw blood. His fingers worked the tiny bundle of nerves between her legs, and she began bucking against his hand, ignoring the amused sounds he was making.

Her fingernails dug into the soft skin at the nape of his neck as the first wave of her orgasm washed over her. When she regained her senses, she realized that he had shed all of his clothing and was positioning himself between her legs.

He slid into her slowly, his eyes nearly crossing from the sheer heat of her. Once he was inside, she wrapped her legs around his waist, preventing him from moving too far away from her. It was a gesture that made him want to smile – she may not have been an experienced Witch as far as the bedroom went, but her desire more than made up for it. He’d been with very few other women who seemed to enjoy sex as much as the woman beneath him did.

Having satisfying sex with someone that enjoyed it as much as he did totally vindicated in his mind the fact that she was a Mudblood. What did he care if she had dirty blood, when she could shag him like this, and he didn’t have to be bothered with a relationship?

His train of thought was interrupted when she dug her heels into the small of his back and forced him to meet her own pace, which was fast and hard. His head began to spin as she bucked against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. He drove into her as hard as he could, ignoring the beads of perspiration that were gracing his skin.

Hermione’s legs tightened around him and he watched as the expression of concentration on her face melted into something like bliss. He continued to drive into her until he was close, and then suddenly he felt his seed spurting forth. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled over him, sapping him of his strength. He collapsed onto her, trying to catch his breath.

Hermione lifted a hand to her forehead and brushed away the errant strands of hair that were clinging to her face. What are we doing? This is insane! I have to make him leave before I’m tempted to do it again.

Before she could say anything, however, Draco pushed himself off of the bed and stretched languidly, lifting his arms above his head. Hermione tried not to look at his nakedness, but found she couldn’t help herself. He was attractive physically, even if his personality repulsed her. Her eyes raked over his broad back and his naked bum, lingering a little longer than was necessary. When he suddenly turned around, her gaze was still focused on him. Her eyes snapped up, and he grinned.

“Ready for another go already?”

She frowned at him and pulled the sheet up, clutching it to her breast as she shook her head. “No. You got what you came for, now go and leave me alone.”

His eyes narrowed as he approached the bed again, and she shrank away from him. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking that you had nothing to do with this,” he hissed angrily. “You wanted me, or else you would have hexed me into oblivion the moment I showed up on your doorstep.”

“That’s a nice thought,” she shot back, her eyes darting around the room as she looked for her wand. “I might just hex you into oblivion now. Thanks for the idea.”

He sniggered, then abruptly pulled away from her. She watched as he gathered his clothes, then went into the loo and shut the door behind him. After what seemed like hours, he emerged looking as fresh and clean as he had been when he’d arrived. He cast an interested glance down at her before bending over and claiming her lips in a possessive, bruising kiss.

He pulled away and swept out of the room quickly. When she heard the snap of the front door closing behind him, she wrapped her robe around herself and rose from the bed. Lying on the table was the parcel he’d brought her. She ripped the paper off and stared at the item in her hand, her eyes widening significantly.

She was holding a copy of Wanton Ways: A Guide to Better Sex in her hands.

With trembling hands, she opened the cover of the book, and a folded piece of parchment fell out onto the floor. She bent and retrieved it, sitting the book down as she unfolded it.

Mudblood,

You forgot your book.

D.M.

P.S. – Study hard – there will be a quiz on the material.

Hermione glanced up at the door, half expecting him to burst through it at any moment. When he didn’t, she hid a small smile and picked up the book. After all, she needed to be ready for him when he did return – and she knew he would.