Sleeping Beauty

Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the setting are my original creations, and as such I will not attempt to make money off of them.

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Author\'s Note: I just noticed that AFF--at least, I think it must have been AFF, since the errors I found in the text on this site definitly weren\'t there in my hard copy--screwed up the formatting in a couple places. Being the perfectionist I am, I had to go back through and fix that. I\'m afraid the actual story is unchanged.

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Before she even opened her eyes, Hermione Granger knew this was going to be a bad day. There were several factors contributing to this realization. First of all, it was sometime in midmorning--at least judging by what little light managed to make its way under the covers over her entire body, under the pillow she was burrowing her head into, and through her closed eyelids--and Hermione absolutely detested mornings. As a concept they disgusted her, and this particular morning was made a thousand times more loathsome by the raging headache currently possessing her skull. This was no ordinary headache, Hermione knew even in her groggy state; it was a very special kind of headache. A hangover headache, to be precise, and one that was entirely her own fault. That is to say, she had set out purposefully to become drunk the night before, and drunk she had become. How drunk she wasn\'t quite sure, since she was intentionally blocking out most of last night\'s happenings, but it seemed she had been very drunk indeed.

The third factor making this a truly bad day was that she knew this wasn\'t her own room. The sheets felt different; they were silkier, and of a lighter shade. All the bedclothes in Hermione\'s room were intentionally dark blue or black in order to optimally block out the morning sun; these were light green and therefore completely useless to her at the moment. The bed, too, was strange: it was sprongier, not quite as soft as the one in her room. Hermione made a muffled, grumpy noise and buried herself farther in the pillow. She really didn\'t want to know where she had woken up. Maybe if she closed her eyes and hid under the covers it would all go away.

Ha. Scratch that.

\"Why hello there, Sleeping Beauty,\" said an amused voice somewhere off to her left. A familiar, amused voice.

Hermione squealed into the fabric beneath her noise and instinctually tried to get herself even farther under the sheets and blankets before realizing this particular problem was one that probably wouldn\'t go away if ignored. She reluctantly pulled the covers off her head and turned around to face the intensely obnoxious face of Draco Malfoy.

\"Mrmph,\" she said unpleasantly, not at her most eloquent this soon after being woken up.

He was sitting on the side of the bed a few feet away from her, looking cool, collected, and incredibly smug. She would have punched him if that didn\'t involve motion; as it was, all her head permitted her to do was grimace at him while adjusting her eyes to the light streaming in though the windows across the room.

When she finally could see, she turned to focus on the bastard at the end of her--well, technically his--bed. He was eyeing her in an incredibly insulting manner, managing to convey both nascent amusement and the same detached curiosity a scientist gives a bizarre insect. Hermione knew the look well; in fact, she herself was quite proficient at it when properly awake. What she wasn\'t used to was being at the receiving end of it.

\"You must have had a very....interesting...evening, Granger. So interesting, in fact, that the excitement managed to drive a very simple fact from your brain; your dorm is on the left side of our common room, not the right. Although how you could have forgotten that when there\'s a placard on my door almost as big as your hair that very clearly says \'Draco Malfoy,\' on it, I do not know.\"

It took a moment for this to register. She remembered staggering back from the pub under the invisibility cloak with Harry and Ron. They were all drunk, but she must have been the drunkest, since the other two were practically dragging her along. They had seen her to the door of the suite of rooms she shared, as Head Girl, with Malfoy, before meandering back down the corridor toward the Gryffindor common room, singing the Hogwarts anthem to the tune of \"yo ho ho and a bottle of rum\". She must have stumbled into the wrong room by accident.

\"Granger?\" Malfoy inquired, noticing she was spacing out.

She snapped back to the present with jerk that made her head shatter into a million pieces of pain and throbbing.

\"Malfoy, and in Merlin\'s name I hope I never have to ask you for anything politely ever again, but if you have any vestigial shred of human decency left in you, you will kindly get me a hang over potion before trying to pursue any kind of conversation.\"

He smirked, but surprisingly got up from the bed and disappeared through the open door into the bathroom. He reappeared a moment later carrying a small vial of clear liquid.

\"Milady.\" He offered the potion to her with a small bow and a great deal of mockery. It was lost on Hermione, who grabbed the bottle as if contained the nectar of the gods and downed it in one great gulp. She immediately began to feel more like herself.

\"Thank you,\" she told him with sincere gratitude before narrowing her eyes suspiciously. \"So what happened after I staggered in here last night, Malfoy, and how come after spending an entire night in your room, I\'m still in possession of all my limbs and apparently hex-free?\"

\"Would I do that to you, Granger?\" he asked wryly.

Yes, as a matter of fact, she thought he would-- if there was something in it more long term than momentary amusement. As Head Boy and Head Girl they had been forced to work together in a way that did not permit open hostilities, but their truce was armed at best and both were constantly on their guards against each other. Up until now she had been careful to show him no weakness. The Slytherin Head Boy was one of the most calculating people she had ever met, and also (though she hated to admit it), one of the most intelligent. She knew he would be able to turn even the briefest moments of weakness on her part to his advantage. She had seemed to be holding up fairly well against him....but this, this episode was no momentary weakness. It was a full fledged catastrophe.

\"What do you want from me?\" she asked.

He feigned innocence, but there was chord of mockery running through everything he said. \"I? Want something from you? Wherever did you get that idea, Granger?\"

\"Since I seem to be still in one piece, it\'s clear that you value me more alive than dead. What do you want?\"

\"Alas, you have seen through all my schemes!\" he exclaimed in fake horror, but quickly sobered.

\"Honestly, there is something you can do for me, Granger, but first it would be nice if you\'d get cleaned up. I prefer to talk with people, not bushy-haired rodents with bad breath.\"

\"Why?\"

\"Why what? Why get cleaned up? I would have thought even you understood the value of proper hygiene.\"

She chose to ignore this remark. \"Why do anything for you, you sodding prick? I admit I made an ass of myself last night, but that doesn\'t mean I\'m obliged to return you a favor or anything.\"

\"Because, my dear, I have photos. Very....interesting....photos. You make a lousy drunk, Granger--a fact I\'m sure the Headmaster, and Professors Snape and McGonagall would be glad to know. If you don\'t value your position as Head Girl, you can go right ahead and ignore me, though.\"

At this point she waxed rather colorful about his looks, his personality, his relatives, his eating habits, and his sexual predilections.

\"Very nice vocabulary, Granger. Now go get clean. You can use my bathroom.\"

\"Thank you kindly,\" she said as sarcastically as she could manage given how angry and flustered she was, \"but I prefer to use my own.\"

\"I\'m afraid that\'s not an option. The door to the common room is locked; I want to make sure this conversation takes place....uninterrupted, and that you stay for its entire duration.\" He was inserting all sorts of sinister pauses into his sentences; they would have sounded vaguely melodramatic coming from most people, but Malfoy was Malfoy, and somehow they suited his malicious personality.

For the first time, Hermione realized that she was wandless and thus fairly defenseless against an armed Malfoy. Unless she made some suicidal charge at him and managed to wrest his wand away, she was probably going to have to agree to whatever it was he wanted, at least temporarily. Once she got out of his suite, the whole playing field would shift again. In the meantime, it was best to be cooperative. Defiantly cooperative, of course. She didn’t think she could manage ‘obliging’ or ‘meek’.

She gnashed her teeth, climbed out from beneath the coven thn the bed, and walked into his bathroom, making sure to lock the door behind her. It briefly crossed her mind to barricade herself in and refuse to come out until help came--it was a Saturday, but Harry and Ron would surely miss her at some point--but she realized that with his wand he could easily blast the door open.

Once in the bathroom she took a quick shower, noting that either Malfoy used really girly shampoo, or there were others females in and out of his rooms. She had a little giggle over the idea of him smelling of \"fresh strawberry breeze\", as the bottle she found in the tub described itself. Still, it was a nice shampoo, and she was grateful to wash out the grime that had accumulated in her hair in the two days it had been since she last washed it.

She quickly dried herself and redressed in the clothes she had worn the previous day. They were a bit worse for wear, but she wasn\'t about to face Malfoy in only a towel. A quickrch rch of the cabinets under the sink yielded a hairbrush with fine blond hairs in it--clearly Malfoy\'s. His hair was as long as most girls\'.

She was carefully to wash it thoroughly before using it to tame her own mane.

It occurred to her to deliberately take a long time in the bathroom to annoy him, but she dismissed the idea. What she really wanted was to go back to her own room and cry; the sooner she dealt with Malfoy, the sooner she could leave. It was following this line of reasoning that a very determined Hermione Granger marched out of the bathroom after no more than half an hour. Malfoy was sitting in an armchair near the bed reading, but when he heard her enter he looked up. She plopped herself down on the edge of the bed across from him and faced him fiercely.

\"Now, what is it you want from me?\"

He laughed dryly and stretched in his chair. Everything he did was both self-conscious and confident; this particular move was designed to draw attention to his well-muscled chest. Hermione refused to even glance.

\"Get on with it, Malfoy. I haven\'t got all day,\" she snapped.

He laughed again. \" Oh? I was under the impression that you did, in fact. Besides, I think perhaps I should savor this moment--Hermione Granger, the brain extraordinaire, at my mercy. I really could do anything I want, couldn\'t I? How would you like me to remove that annoying hair, Granger? Or your voice? Surely you know everyone would like you better if you weren’t able to talk.”

She stiffened. \"If you want to spend the rest of your life at Azkaban, that\'s your call.\"

\"No, I suppose that’s not the best idea, is it?\"

He rose to stand over her. Like an albino buzzard, she thought spitefully. He was certainly looking at her the way a vulture would look at carrion; hungry and triumphant. It was rather unsettling and quite unpleasant. “Besides, without your voice you wouldn’t be able to scream—and I’d like very much to hear you scream.”

“What?” He wanted to torture her?

“I want to fuck you, Granger,” he stated casually. “I want you screaming my name as you come.”

*******

She stared at him blankly. He wanted....to fuck her? This was not happening. He had not just said what she thought she heard. “You want to fuck me?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yes, Granger, I want to fuck you. Stand up.”

She was so shocked that she obeyed him without thinking about who it was giving her the order. “Wha....wha....what?” she stammered.

He smirked and grabbed her arm, pulling her to the middle of the large room, where she stood dumbly, trying to figure out what was going on. “I know that was the last thing you expected to hear, but honestly Granger, is it so unexpected? Though I hate to admit it, you clean up quite well. I’m a teenage boy; just because I like you doesn’t mean I wouldn’t fuck you given half the chance. But what I really want is to have Potter’s prudish sidekick under me, screaming for me. I want to shag the stick out of your perfect little arse. I want you to never again be able to see me again without remembering that I know what you look like naked and wanting me.”

It was a testament to how startled she was by his demands that her first thought when Malfoy finished his monologue was, He thinks my arse is perfect? She quickly stifled this, ashamed of being such a teenage girl.

“No. I don’t believe you,” she replied, at loss for words.

He was circling her slowly now, running his eyes up and down her body. She was glad that it was November and her casual, sneak-out-to-the-pub-with-Harry-and-Ron clothes were thick and not at all revealing. She would otherwise have felt very naked under Malfoy’s assessing gaze.

“Will you rape me, Ferret? I don’t think that would go over too well with Dumbledore,” she challenged, sounding more confident than she felt.

“No, even I’m not that much of a bastard,” he replied. “I want you willing—that’s the whole point. And I’ll make sure you enjoy it so you can never claim I raped you. If you won’t, that’s your choice—but I warn you that this opportunity’s too good; I won’t let you out of here without getting something I want. And trust me, your other options will be a lot less pleasant.”

She could tell he’d rehearsed this little speech ahead of time. It sounded far too polished and gratingly smug.

“So, how about it? Give yourself to me for, say, the rest of the afternoon and you can return safe and sound to your Gryffindor lair by nightfall. I’ll get what I want; you’ll get the best—and undoubtedly only—sex you’ve ever had, and we’ll both happy. You can even watch me destroy the evidence of your little drunken escapade.”

“Or?”

“Or we can work something out involving you, my homework, and every night for the rest of the year.”

She winced.

“Or you can say ‘screw you, Malfoy,’ and I can give the pictures to Professor Snape. If you don’t value your position as Head Girl very highly, and are happy to risk being expelled along with Potter and Weasely, that’s also a choice.”

She winced again. He waited.

“Well?”

“Fine. I’ll do it,” she snapped. “As long as no one ever finds out about this.”

“Trust me, I’m not about to tell anyone I slept with the likes of you. But I’ll remember. And you’ll know I remember. And you’ll remember that I remember every time you look at me for the rest of the year. That’s what I really want.”

“You utter bastard.”

He gave her a genuine grin. “I know.”

She rolled her eyes at him. He also wasn’t lacking in conceit, or smugness. “First, you’re going to have to show me those pictures you keep talking about, though. I see no reason to trust you farther than I can kick you. Or even that far, truth be told,” she informed him.

“Smart move,” he said seriously, before pointing his wand at himself and speaking the words for a truthfulness spell that was familiar to Hermione from her long hours of extra-curricular reading.

“I took five pictures of you and your sidekicks last night,” he told her, his gray eyes boring into hers. “Two of the three of you singing the Hogwarts song—in a horrible, out of tune, way, I might add—one of you stumbling into my room, one of you demanding to know why I was in your room, and one of you,” and here he paused to paste a smarmy smirk on his face, “telling me how you’d always thought I was kind of good-looking. Of course, nobody will know what exactly it was you were saying at that moment, since the pictures are silent—but I think the look on your face says it all. And, in answer to your unspoken question, there is no way any sane person will be able to look at those photos and not realize you were completely pissed.”

There went her last hope of escape. “And you promise that if I go along with this you’ll destroy all the pictures?”

“I swear on my honor as a Malfoy,” he responded, before dropping the charm. She restrained herself with great effort from snorting. As long as he was under the truth spell, it really didn’t matter what he swore by, but Hermione for one didn’t think the Malfoys had enough honor to piss on.

“Then let’s get this over with, Ferret. Am I allowed to put a bag over my head first?” she asked.

“I suppose if you really wanted to, you could—but then, I’d have thought you’d want to see all of my ‘good-looking’ physique,” he responded with a sly grin.

That was a low blow. She snorted to show it hadn’t affected her in the least, though in truth it had, a bit. “I suppose I might as well get something for all the pain,” she said with a derogatory laugh.

“Oh trust me, Granger—there won’t be any pain unless you’re one frigid bitch. I’m going to make sure you enjoy this.”

“All two minutes of it?” she snickered, wondering how long she could keep this banter up before he got impatient.

Not very long at all, apparently. “You’re stalling now, Granger,” he told her, stepping up so close that the tips of his shoes touched hers.

Oh, how right he was. She didn’t want this—didn’t want to sleep with someone she didn’t like, didn’t trust, and didn’t want to be as attracted to him as she was. What he’d said earlier was the truth: she *had* always thought he was a good-looking, ever since she was old enough to notice boys. That had always before been overshadowed by his jerkish personality, but when he was close enough to her to smell his minty fresh breath, close enough that the tips of her breasts almost touched his chest, his personality began to seem less and less important in the scheme of things.

“You finally have nothing to say back?” he asked her in a soft whisper, the air from his exhalations making the wispy little hairs above her forehead dance. She was acutely aware of everything: the proximity of his body to hers; the smell of his aftershave; the gloating, triumphant way he was regarding her; how she hadn’t brushed her teeth since before she went out drinking with Harry and Ron...maybe, hopefully, this deal wouldn’t include kissing.

“I’m hoping if I don’t think about this situation, it will go away,” she retorted just as quietly. That was a lie. She was over thinking this just like she over thought everything, especially when she didn’t feel in control of her surroundings. What she was really hoping was that he would hurry up and get it over with so she could fly back to her room and have a panic attack in peace.

The corners of his mouth turned up a bit in a genuine, if meager, smile. “You never stop fighting, do you?” he mused rhetorically. “That’s probably why I want you so much. You’re always so strong. I want to see you weaken, if only for a moment. I want to watch you stop thinking and just scream and scream as you come.”

That was hot, the way he said it; contemplative, but low and sultry at the same time. Hermione could feel herself losing the battle to remain unmoved.

He began to lower his lips to hers. Slowly; he was moving so slowly, and her thoughts were chaos of, “Oh, kiss me!” and apprehension of how bad her mouth must taste by now, and over the top of them all the shock that it was Draco fucking Malfoy who was about to kiss her.

Then he *was* kissing her, and his lips were hard and soft at the same time and he was pushing his tongue into her mouth and she was letting him and she liked, oh yes she liked it. There was nothing slow about it: the moment his mouth made contact with hers his tongue was out and licking at the seam of her lips and pressing inside. He was trying to dominate her, to seduce and subdue and possess.

There was only room for one thought in her mind now: that she must hold onto her pride and not let him beat her at this of all things. It was on the strength of this that she opened her mouth for him, on the strength of this that she brought her own tongue out to stroke his as he explored her mouth. The moment their lips touched he had brought his hands sweeping down her back in a long caress to possessively cup her ass and bring her flush against his body. It was too familiar too fast and she would have bristled if she didn’t want to beat him at his own game. As it was her hands went up to thread through his long hair and press his head closer to hers as she worked her tongue into his mouth and began to explore him the way he was exploring her.

He tasted good. Like mint and winter; it was at direct odds with the heat of his mouth as he pressed it into hers so forcefully. She wanted to keep kissing him, wanted it so much that when he pulled away she followed his lips with hers for a minute before remembering who he was and subsiding against his chest, breathing heavily. His hands were still pressing into her ass, pulling her so tightly against him that she could feel his erection against her stomach, as well as the warmth of his body through both their clothes. He was panting too as he drew back from her mouth, his eyes staring directly into hers. His hands squeezed a moment, hard, before pulling away as well and falling to his sides. Hers dropped from his hair.

“So,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers as he gasped for breath.

“So,” she panted, giving him back stare for stare.

Then he was touching her again, his hands rising to bottom of her shirt. He lifted it over her arms and stomach and head and let it drop to the floor at their feet. He didn’t look at the flesh he had just exposed; his eyes were still on hers as his fingers went to clasp of her jeans and opened it before pushing them to the floor to join her shirt. Then he stepped back and slowly lowered his gaze to rake over her from head to toes.

Hermione was proud of her body. She didn’t do that much to maintain it, and during a normal day did a fairly good job at concealing in order to avoid unwanted attention, but she knew that she had a nice figure. She was short, but not overly so, with a flat stomach, large breasts, and hips that were perhaps a little *too* nonexistent—but that was better than the other extreme.

With Draco Malfoy’s eyes on her, however, she felt suddenly self conscious, and it took an effort not to bring her hands up to cover her stomach or her breasts in their skimpy black lace bra. She restrained herself with difficulty and simply stood there, still breathing heavily, as he took in every inch of her body. She felt both hot and cold at the same time: shivering in the large, bare expanse of the room, but so terribly overheated under his burning gaze.

When he finished his perusal he looked up at her for a minute with honest, unguarded admiration shining in his eyes. ”Shit, Granger,” he said, and it was almost reverential. She reveled in her ability to reduce him to near incoherence.

Then he was upon her and she was bending backwards under the ferocity of his assault. He brought her up right against him and let his hands run feverishly up and down her body, pressing hard enough to bruise in some places. His mouth was trailing down her neck, planting a series of small, ferocious kisses and nips on her delicate skin. He was so hungry for her, so burning in his need to touch everywhere at once that all she could do was loop her arms around his neck and let him. Her head was thrown back, his hot lips on her collarbone right below her pulse, her legs between his, his hands tracing the curve of her spine. Then he was pushing her backwards until the backs of her thighs hit the bed and she fell onto it with him on top of her.

She grunted a bit at the impact and because his body was heavy on hers, but it turned into a sigh when his tongue ran down the side of her neck. He lifted enough off her to pull her upper body up and reach around behind her to unhook her bra, yanking it off with an impatient movement. He breasts bounced free and he stared for a moment, then cupped them roughly and tested their weight with his hands. His thumbs ran over her hard nipples and she gasped and shivered. Then his mouth was back on her neck, attacking the sides and her pulse, biting where her neck met her shoulders before moving down. He was slowly working his way down to her breasts.

Even though she knew what he was going to do, she was not prepared when his lips closed around her nipple. There was warmth, suffusing her whole body and racing though her to all focus on the one little point he was now running his tongue over. She arched her body against him and dropped her head into the pillows. A steady stream of little whimpering noises were coming from her open, panting lips as he sucked her nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue over it.

“Oh,” she cried, almost a scream, and the silvery blond head paused and looked up at her triumphantly. She wanted to slap the smirk off his face, but decided that could wait till later as he lowered it again and began to lick down her stomach. He seemed to be more in control of himself now, less hungry necessity and more experienced passion. She, on the other hand, was a bundle of flaring nerves.

She had never thought of the area of her abdomen right around her belly button as a particularly sexual place, but as he stopped there a moment to kiss and suck and kneed, she found herself starting to writhe underneath him. There was so much tension in her body that she couldn’t stay still anymore; it didn’t feel like she had enough skin to contain the hunger that was swelling up inside her. She moaned as his fingers grazed her hipbone and began to spiral up her inner thigh in light, almost tickling strokes.

She sounded entirely abandoned, and the thought doused her passion just a bit. This was *Malfoy* whose lips and tongue were on her stomach, *Malfoy* whose white blond hair feathered over her breasts. Since he had forced her into this, she was determined to enjoy it—but that didn’t mean she was going to let him take control and reduce her to just a passive, whimpering body.

She knew where his mouth was going next. Already, his hand had reached the band of her panties and was easing them down, and his lips were running over the top of her hip bone. If she let him put his tongue *there*, she knew she was lost.

So she said “No,” a bit more sharply than she had intended, but it was hard to get the heretical word out. He gave a quick, vicious yank to her panties and smiled smugly as they tore before looking up at her.

“You aren’t backing out now, Granger,” he informed her—definitely a command, not a question.

“No,” she said again with a trace of his own smugness thrown back at him, before wrapping her hand in the material of his shirt collar and pulling him a bit up and off her body. “Take your clothes off,” she demanded. He stared at her expressionlessly for a moment before getting off the bed and stripping slowly. He was smiling as he pulled his shirt off, keeping his eyes on his face for her reaction. He was clearly pleased with what the garment revealed.

Hermione watched with undisguisable pleasure, noting that he was even cocky this far gone in passion. It also helped that he had a very nice body. He was not particularly big or incredibly buff, but his slender, pale body was clearly toned and in good shape. His shoulders were broad for his wiry frame, his chest flat, hard, and free of hair except for a trail beginning around his navel that led down to his already impressive erection.

Malfoy kept his eyes on her while he finished undressing, running them up and down her naked body before returning to her face and noting the admiration and heat in her own gaze. When Hermione made up her mind to do something, she did it was a great deal of determination and her full energy. That was a big part of what had attracted him to her in the first place; he was pleased to learn sex was no exception.

He climbed back on his bed after he had stripped and would have moved back on top of her, but she stop him and pushed him down onto his back. “Your turn,” she said with an anticipatory gleam in her eyes.

Before he could say anything, *she* was on top of *him*, and her curly hair was tickling his neck and shoulders as she moved her hands over his smooth chest. She ran one finger over a nipple and he gasped; she moved her hands down lower to brush oh so lightly over his penis and he jerked like he’d been stung. She smiled and stroked it more firmly. She could feel every muscle in his body tense as she continued running her hand over him idly. When she stopped, he moaned in disappointment, only to almost scream when he felt her shift lower and put her hot mouth over him.

There was something so nice about having Draco Malfoy underneath her, so completely helpless. If she wanted, she could probably just bite down on what she was now gently sucking; he’d scream and writhe for several minutes at least, giving her time to find his camera and wand and get out. She wouldn’t do that, though; she was so worked up by now that she needed him almost—but not quite, some part of her dryly commented—as much as he needed her.

Instead, she sucked and licked and scraped ever-so-gently until she felt him begin to tense again underneath her, and then she pulled off and lay on the bed beside him, waiting for him to recover control of himself.

It didn’t take long. Before she knew it, he was rolling over and on top of her again. His mouth came down on hers, and this kiss was even harder and more ferocious than the last one: both of them taking and taking from each other until it seemed they must have nothing left to give. Then some endless number of minutes later it ended and they surfaced, panting and gasping. They stared at each other a moment; he braced himself above her, caught her eyes with his own and held them; she spread her legs beneath him, and he came into her hard and smooth without ever breaking her gaze.

His eyes were staring straight into her own as he thrust into her again and again, never letting up, never breaking rhythm. He was hot and his body was heavy on hers and inside her he was merciless and oh she wanted it, wanted to forget everything and just let him fuck her and fuck her until she passed out or exploded, whichever came first, but he wouldn’t let her look away from him. So she arched against him and brought her hips up to meet his and she said his name because she couldn’t deny that it was ‘Malfoy,’ inside her, piercing her, fucking her so incredibly, wonderfully hard.

Then she was moaning, and he was moaning, and they were both moaning together and the heat was building between their naked, sweaty, sweaty bodies even more and they were writhing together even faster as they both chased the same elusive, perfect place that was coming ever closer.

Ohgodsohgodsohgods she was going to....going to....but not before he....She clamped herself about him tightly with the last of her fully conscious strength as she began to fall into a place that was so intangible and so close to ecstasy that she couldn’t help but scream. Distantly she heard his voice groaning her name, her first name, “Hermione” and she realized she had won, in some twisted way, before it ceased to matter and everything was all light and like shattering glass.