The Snake And The Lion

Their robes were so dark, so deep and impossibly uniform. The stitching was tiny, and the thread was so black that it could have been spun from shadow itself. Floor length and flowing, they swirled effortlessly around his feet. Or they had, moments before. Now they lay at the foot of the bed, pooled to form a black hole, a seemingly never-ending abyss.

Just like his eyes.

He was on top of her, the pale white expanse of his body stretching out above her, a sight so often lost to the deep shadow of his robes. His blonde hair, dripping with sweat from his exertions, framed his marble face. And those eyes, those two deep, dark beautiful eyes, staring at her, drinking her in, pulling her heart into their stony depths.

She was his.

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That was the first time she dreamed of him naked. The first time she felt his body pressed so sensually against hers. And when she awoke, her skin tingled fiercely, as though he had been there with her, and burnt her skin up with his fire.

Hermione found herself unable to fall back asleep. Her heart continued to pound her in chest for what seemed like forever, and she stared with wide eyes at the canopy of her bed. She had to get out of here. Rising slowly up, she made her way out of the dorms and into the common room, and from there out into the hallways.

Each and every turn was shrouded in darkness, and more than once Hermione imagined that she saw him, Malfoy, standing in a dark corner, watching her. But no, each and every time it turned out to be her mind playing games with her.

“Stop thinking about him.” She urged herself aloud as she wandered the halls, unsure of where she was headed. Before long she found herself standing outside the Slytherin common room. “Why are you here?” she quizzed herself, kicking the wall in exasperation. “It’s not as if he’s here anyway. He’s away, with the other Death Eaters. What would you say to him anyway, you foolish girl?”

She turned to go, but before she could, something closed around her wrist, coaxing a startled cry from her lips. “Come to see me, Granger? I knew you would.”
Hermione did not have to turn to recognize the voice. Why was he here? Malfoy held her wrist fast as she struggled to pull away.

Still averting her eyes she hissed, “Let go of me.” Malfoy chuckled, effortlessly doing the exact opposite, pulling her around so that she was pressed up against him, their faces inches apart. “Granger, its polite to look people in the eye when you talk to them.” The smile on his face was infuriating.

Malfoy began moving forward, sandwiching Hermione in between the wall and himself. She watched as his smirk grew even wider, and she realized that his erection was pressing against her thigh. When she felt his hand tighten on her wrist, she spoke.

“Malfoy, didn’t your mother tell you not to grab?” His deep gray eyes bore into her for a moment, staring her down, yet she refused to look away. After a moment, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against her neck, right below her ear.

His reply was nearly inaudible, “Ah Granger, I am a Malfoy, and the Malfoys get what they want, whether they must grab it or not.” He exhaled slowly, sending shivers down her neck, before drawing himself away.

He still held on to her wrist, and he drew her hand to his lips, laying a gentle kiss upon it, and staring up at her with those deep, swirling eyes.

“Until next time, Granger.”