He was going to send her round the twist if he didn’t stop what he was doing.
Ron was driving her positively batty with his incessant babbling. He’d invited Hermione and Harry out to dinner to meet his new girlfriend Anna, and though the girl seemed sweet, Hermione couldn’t be sure – Ron wouldn’t close his mouth long enough to let the poor girl get a word in edgewise.
Not that Harry was making things any easier for her tonight, either. He kept sneaking glances at her and nudging her beneath the table, and it was starting to aggravate her. It had been three days since her last meeting with Malfoy, and she was starting to feel edgy.
Needy, even.
She eyed Harry when he turned to order his food, and wondered what he looked like underneath all those robes. Immediately the thought made her blush, and she turned her eyes away just as he turned around to look at her.
“Everything all right there, Hermione?” he whispered, taking advantage of the fact that Ron was now speaking to the waitress. She nodded without meeting his eyes.
“I’m fine,” she lied. He frowned, but said nothing. Anna opened her mouth to order, but before she could utter a syllable, Ron sucked in a sharp breath.
“Well, my night is ruined,” he breathed, shooting a glare behind Hermione’s back. She frowned at him before turning to look in the same direction. When her eyes fell on the expensive, neatly pressed clothes and the perfectly groomed white-blonde hair, she froze.
He turned and glanced in her direction, never pausing in his movements as he did. His eyes fell on Harry, and his lip curled. She watched in surprise as he wrapped his arm around the shoulders of a tall woman with waist-length black hair and a porcelain complexion.
She was nothing short of flawless.
The sight of them made Hermione want to wretch.
She turned back to her friends and grimaced at the sour taste that had filled her mouth. “I’m sorry, guys – I’d love to stay, but I’m not feeling well.” She rose from her seat and shot a weak smile at Anna. “It was lovely to have met you.”
“I’ll walk you home,” Harry volunteered, rising from his seat. Ron frowned and started to protest at the same time Hermione did, but it was to no avail; Harry had made up his mind.
They’d already left the restaurant and were halfway back to her flat when he finally spoke up. “You were dating someone, weren’t you? Without telling us, I mean?” Hermione stopped and turned to look at him.
“N-not exactly,” she whispered, her lower lip trembling. Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“You – you weren’t dating anyone?”
“No.” She swallowed hard. “I was just – we were only – “
“Oh,” he said, his breath leaving him all at once. He felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. Hermione was telling him, in not so many words, exactly what he’d never wanted to hear. She’d been shagging someone.
Someone that wasn’t him.
“We only met three times,” she added hastily, seeing the pained look on his face and confusing it for disappointment in her. “And it’s all over now.”
“It is? Is that why you’ve been so edgy the last few days?” She gaped at him, marveling at his sensitivity to the moods that she thought she’d kept so well concealed.
“Y-yes,” she stammered. They resumed their walk, headed in the direction of her flat once more. “I’m really sorry, Harry. I wanted to tell you, but I wasn’t sure what you’d think of me.”
“It’s all right,” he said, his voice perfectly even. “I’m glad you waited until it was over to tell me.” They walked the rest of the way in silence, stopping when they reached her building.
“Would you like to come up and have some tea or coffee?” she offered. It was her way of apologizing, and Harry knew it. He smiled at her.
“Absolutely – but only if you have some of those lemon biscuits for me to eat. I didn’t get to finish my dinner, you know.”
She smiled and nodded. Harry knew that she always kept those lemon biscuits in her flat, just for him. They walked up the stairs and into her flat, and she locked the door behind them. Harry gave her a curious look, and she shrugged. “Habit.”
“New habit,” he murmured under his breath, watching her bustle around nervously. “I’m just going to head to the loo for a tic.” She nodded and waved him away, too preoccupied in the kitchen to do anything else.
He wandered into her bedroom, intent on using the toilet, when his eyes fell on the book that lay open on her bed. Curious, he leaned over to have a closer look. As soon as he saw the people moving, he jumped back, his heart leaping into his throat. He cast a glance towards the open bedroom door, hearing Hermione humming softly to herself.
He went into the bathroom and closed the door, then leaned back against it and closed his eyes. Surely Hermione hadn’t been reading that book… had she? He frowned. Hermione was very studious about every topic under the sun – why wouldn’t she want to study about sex as well?
He finished using the loo and washed his hands, then passed back through the bedroom, casting a cursory glance at the book. The activities going on as he passed it made him blush hard. When he reentered the living room, Hermione was sitting on the far end of the sofa, nibbling on a lemon biscuit.
He sat down on the other end of the sofa and took a biscuit from the plate with shaking hands. At first he nibbled. Then he gnawed. Soon the biscuit was begging for mercy.
“Is everything all right, Harry?” she asked softly. He fairly jumped when she spoke, so lost was he in his own thoughts.
“Everything is fine,” he said. Then, “No, everything is not fine.”
“Oh,” she said, putting her half-eaten biscuit on the table. She cast her eyes down to stare at her lap. “What’s wrong now?”
“I saw the book.”
Hermione paled so much that Harry feared she might pass out. Her lower lip began to tremble again.
“Oh,” she repeated.
“Did your – your – “ he couldn’t bring himself to say the word. “Did he buy that for you?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been reading it?”
“Yes.”
It was worse than Harry had thought.
“Have you-“ he swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Have you done anything that’s in that book?”
“Oh, no!” she said, shaking her head. She finally met his eyes, and he knew she was sincere. “I didn’t even start reading it until after the last time he and I…” her voice died and she looked embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s a personal question, and I shouldn’t have asked you.”
“No, it’s all right, Harry. You know everything else about me – even about Terry.” Her cheeks turned scarlet as she spoke, and Harry felt a wave of shame wash over him. He hadn’t meant to make her mention Terry Boot and relive the horrible experience all over again.
Hermione’s first real boyfriend had been Terry Boot the year after they’d graduated Hogwarts, and consequently, he’d been the first person she’d ever slept with. Despite his efforts, he’d been clumsy and careless in bed, and Hermione had turned to Harry with the whole story, looking for comfort.
Unfortunately enough for him, that was right about the time he’d realized that his feelings for Hermione went farther than friendship. It had been tortuous to listen to her recount the miserable events of that evening, and it was no better now – especially not when he knew that she’d taken a second lover, and had that book in her room.
He reached over and patted her back gently as the tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I never meant to-“
“I know,” she said, sniffling. “I know. I’m just so emotional anymore, I don’t know what to do with myself.”
They were silent for a few minutes. When her tears had finally subsided, she realized with a start that Harry’s hand was still on her back, making slow circles as he rubbed gently. Her heart leapt crazily inside of her chest.
“Harry?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for walking me home. I think I’m all right now.”
“Oh,” he said, clearing his throat. His hand disappeared, and Hermione was cold at the loss of his touch. He rose from the sofa, and she stood behind him. He walked to the door and turned around, surprised when she flung her arms around his neck.
“Thank you for everything!” Just as quickly as she’d hugged him, she withdrew. He smiled and left without another word, not trusting himself to speak.
Several hours later, Hermione was sitting in her bed, frowning at the page she was reading.
“No one can do that,” she muttered to herself. “It’s physically impossible.”
“Care to try for yourself?” He startled her into dropping the book, and he frowned. “I thought you knew how to take better care of your books. This is the third time you’ve dropped it in my presence.”
“What in the bloody hell are you doing here?” she shrieked, her anger filling her with adrenaline.
“Were you trying to make me jealous tonight?” he asked coldly.
“What?”
“With Potter.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I saw you with him at the restaurant,” he said, examining his nails. “And I saw you leave with him.”
“So? Why should that bother you?”
“I also know that he escorted you home, and that the two of you were in here alone for a good while.”
“How could you possibly-“
“I will not have you shagging me and Potter at the same time.”
“It’s none of your business what I do with Harry,” she said defensively. “And if I wanted to shag every man who happened across my path, I bloody well would, and I wouldn’t need your permission to do it!”
His eyes narrowed and his pale face turned pink. “I will not have you shagging me and Saint Potter at the same time.”
“As I recall, I didn’t,” she said snarkily. “You weren’t here when he was, remember?”
“How dare you-“
“Besides, as I recall, you seemed to have someone else to go home with as well.”
“Natalia is my girlfriend,” he said icily.
“And?” She folded her arms across her chest, and his ire heightened. That was the know-it-all pose that had made him angry since he was eleven years old.
“And what? I don’t have to explain anything to you.”
“Why do you keep coming to me if you have a girlfriend, Malfoy?”
“It’s none of your business,” he snapped.
“Then what I do with Harry is none of your business, either.” He glared at her as he removed his cloak. She pulled her reading glasses off and tossed them onto her night table as she stood up. “No! This has happened three times already, and it won’t happen again!”
“Why? Because of Natalia? She’s pureblooded, you know. Not a filthy Mudblood like you.”
“And yet she doesn’t seem to satisfy you the way I do,” Hermione said waspishly. “If she’s so superior with her pure blood, why can’t she keep you in her damned bedroom and away from me?”
Draco closed the distance between them with startling speed and began to pull Hermione’s nightdress off despite the fact that she was swinging at him. Once the garment was lying in shreds on the floor and his hands were on her, he made a noise that sounded very much like a growl. His hands moved down to squeeze her bum, but when he touched soft silk instead of skin, he paused.
He pulled away just long enough to glance down before crushing her against his chest. “You wore the lingerie I sent you when you bedded Potter?” he exclaimed angrily.
Without another word, he ripped the knickers off of her, ignoring her cry of protest when she saw the damage that had been done to her new favorite garment. He spun her around so that her back was pressed to his chest, and then plunged into her from behind.
She had stopped fighting him in earnest and moaned as he began his punishment, alternating between fast, painful thrusts and slow, tender ones. He refused to give her any satisfaction other than the penetration, ignoring her whispered pleas.
When she finally stopped begging, he drove into her hard and fast, sure that he was causing her pain. His orgasm was violent and wrenching, and as he poured himself out inside of her, it felt as though his strength was being sapped from him as well. He gripped her hips as he tried to gather his wits about him, but he was so weak that when she pulled away, he couldn’t stop her.
She turned and fixed a hateful glare on him – one so bad that it made him shiver, even though the room was warm and he was nearly fully clothed. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but promptly snapped it shut again, choosing instead to turn and storm into the bathroom. When she’d slammed the door shut, he ran his fingers through his hair and zipped his pants up.
She had a point, and he hated it when she was right. Why was he coming to her, when he had the richest, most beautiful pureblooded witch waiting in his bed for him, anytime he wanted her?
He picked up his cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. He knew very well why he did it. He had so many reasons that it was hard to choose just one – she needed to be taken down a few pegs. She thought she was the Superior one – but hadn’t he graduated second beneath her, and just barely? Potter had never slept with her, so it was something he could take from him.
The last thought gave him pause. What good was it to bed Potter’s harpie if he could never tell Potter about it?
His eyes fell on the ruined silk knickers as he continued thinking. Natalia may be his girlfriend, but she wasn’t half as exciting in bed as the Mudblood was. Natalia liked to simply lie on the bed beneath him as he “did his duty” (or so she called it). Granger’s loathing and lust matched his every step of the way, and that was a definite turn-on.
He snatched the fuchsia silk off of the floor and shoved it deep into his pocket before turning and heading out into the tepid night air. He could apparate home if he wanted to, or even stop and use a public floo, but the walk would do him good. He needed to clear his head.
It was impossible for him to deny the attraction he felt towards the Mudblood, though where it came from, he didn’t know. Her hair was overly bushy and in need of a good brushing out, her figure was entirely too rounded for his tastes, and as a general rule, he made it a point never to associate himself with anyone even half as smart as himself. His father had always told him to surround himself with people stupider than he – therefore making him look even smarter by comparison.
Perhaps that was the problem. Yes, that was definitely the problem, he decided. Granger was smart, and he was drawn to her because of that. That had to be it.
His frown deepened. If he was attracted to her brains, then why was he not initiating conversation rather than sex?
The answer was simple enough. The truth was that he didn’t want to face the real reasoning behind his lust for her.
And lust it was; since the first moment he’d touched her, he’d been contaminated. The poison that was her had seeped into the core of him, causing him to want her every waking moment. In the scant weeks since that first encounter, all he’d been able to think about was being inside of her.
Even when he’d been inside of Natalia, he’d been imagining it was the Mudblood. That fantasy had driven him to such frenzied heights that Natalia had pushed him away and locked herself in the bathroom for three hours.
He felt fevered. He couldn’t let Granger know how much sway she held over him right now – she would be able to exploit him, and sex was a powerful weapon to wield. He flung open the front door of the Manor, ignoring the squeaking house elves that were trying to wait on him, and stormed to his room.
Once he was inside and positive he was alone, he removed the silk from his pocket to examine it. She’d been wearing it, so surely she’d liked it. She ought to have, he thought disdainfully. Those knickers had cost more than her entire wardrobe.