Equals

Diclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Flashing lights punctuate the darkness in the room, freezing in time, momentarily, the erotically dancing bodies surrounding the lone figure. Music blasts from enormous speakers, the heavy bass reverberating through her body, shaking her organs, rushing through her nerves.

She is closely surrounded by bodies upon bodies, some in groups, some with partners, some, like herself, all alone. They are of all shapes and sizes, but are commonly united by one factor; they are all lost in the music, swept away outside of their bodies into another realm where modesty does not exist.

Her brown eyes, filled with sorrow and shining with tears take in her surroundings. She doesn’t know what she is doing here. All she knows is that she needs to hide from everything; to hide from herself.

It begins with a rather stiff sway; the awkward, timid motions originating her subconscious. Then it spreads downwards to her legs, tingling in her polished toes. The feet begin to shuffle slightly, almost of their own accord, moving along with the music.

She’s still a bit self-conscious. Looking around, she feels inexperienced; a colt, taking its first wobbly steps.

Dance like no one is watching.

The over-used cliché suddenly floats to the surface of her thoughts.

No one is watching, anyways. They’re all too caught up in their dancing, Hermione adds to herself.

Besides, she couldn’t have stopped at this point even if she wanted to. Something is taking over her mind, wiping out all conscious thoughts, urging her to let go.

She takes a deep breath, and does.

Her hips begin swaying rhythmically, her arms begin to rise. She dips, she bends low. The music takes her to a whole new dimension. There is nothing in that dimension; nothing but the music and her hot, sweaty, dance.

Her eyes close, her dance becomes seductive.

She feels free; light, even beautiful. The sorrow is swept away, and in its place is a blissful nothingness.

At some point, a hot body presses up behind her, and turns her solo into a duet. The experience is only heightened; the partner knows what it is doing.

Two bodies in a sea of dance rub against one another in the most intimate ways possible, drunk on the elation that comes with letting everything go. They dip down low together, they rub, they caress.

Never before has she felt this way. She does not turn around to see who her partner is. She prefers not to know. Sensual, slow, then rapid and fast, and at the same time, needy and ever so passionate, their dancing flickers like the flames of a conflagration.

And they are a fire, burning in unison, devouring each other through touch.

The body behind her is now sporting a fine erection. She pays no heed to this; she is not disturbed in the least. This is a place of primitive human emotions, a place where classes, races, blood-origins, and even genders dissolve and universal humanity takes its place.

They continue their passionate motions, until all too soon the fast paced music winds down and ends.

The magic, the moment—gone, snatched away.

Her eyes open. She hadn’t realized that they were closed. A spell is broken.

She turns around, hoping to thank her partner for their experience. Hoping, maybe, for some company. Hoping, maybe, for escape.

The moment her eyes register in the dimness the physiognomy of her partner, her mouth drops and her eyes snap open into large, brown ‘O’s.

She does not register the slow, romantic music in the background. Her brown hues are fixed upon the stormy grey ones which are equally latching onto her own.

A moment passes, where everything else fades away.

There are just two dance partners breathing heavily, sweaty, hot, and still filled with a passionate fire.

Two eyes, one set pureblooded, the other, of muggle heritage, reach a unanimous decision.

He grabs her wrist, and they quickly weave through the sea of bodies that are now swaying slowly against one another, feeling and groping intimately.

They are outside, and although the august night is chilly, their fires rage.

They enter a dark ally. A passerby would instantly think of rape. The dancer and her partner can only think of their own passion, their own need.

Mouths latch onto each other, ravishing, burning, searing. Lips part instantaneously, tongues invading and exploring each other’s caverns, tasting, sucking, reveling in the other’s warmth. She grinds herself against his thigh, maddening both herself as well as her partner.

Oxygen has become a secondary concern, as has just about everything else.

Hands fumble clumsily with buttons, and then in frustration, rip off garments. Somehow they are both naked, his hands caressing her breasts as hers are woven into his fair, shaggy blonde hair.

She moans in disappointment as his mouth suddenly pulls away from her own, only to be replaced by a completely different type of moan, as his warm mouth encloses a hard nipple, lavishing it with his tongue. His hand pinches and rolls her other nipple, kneading and pulling and twisting. Another palm rubs her clitoris, while fingers explore her womanhood, and she gasps and mews in delight, not caring who should hear.

A feminine hand disentangles from his hair as she reaches down to envelope his raging erection in her warm hand. She strokes a few times, reveling in his needy, throaty moans. She strokes and touches and tickles, then cups his balls and continues her torture.

Feeling Hermione begin to stiffen as her climax nears; Draco draws his mouth away from her breast, and looks her hungrily in the eye.

“I need you in me now,” she manages to gasp, although she doesn’t know how, as she’s panting so heavily.

Draco doesn’t need to be told twice. Hermione wraps her long legs around his waist, and he positions himself at her entrance, his cock coated with pre-cum.

And without further ado, he shoves himself in to the hilt, both of them nearly screaming their lungs out at the feeling of warmth and completeness, passion burning them completely.

Draco struggles to hold himself in, he refuses to come before she does, but she’s making it very difficult as her fingers dig into his bag and she writhes against him like a serpent, her hard nipples pressed firmly against his bare chest.

After a moment, he pulls out and begins to rhythmically pump.

“Faster…deeper….harder!” Hermione moans between ragged gasps for air.

Draco obliges with pleasure. He fucks her hard and fast, her breasts jiggling with the force with which he shoves himself into her. Her moans are becoming screams and he’s growling deep within his throat.

Flesh slaps against flesh as he hits her g-spot again and again. Tears flow down her pale cheeks, tears of joy, of sorrow, of release, of fear, of unbearable pleasure.

She screams his name, she finally comes, her back arching off of the cold, brick wall, her fingernails drawing blood from his back as she presses herself as closely as possible to his hot, sweaty flesh.

Her walls contract erratically against his penis, pulling him over the edge as he, too, cries out her name and empties his seed inside her.

For what feels like an eternity, they are outside of the world, beyond the realm of humans, beyond that of dancing, into one of pure bliss. In the world of bliss, there are no divisions. There is no racism, no hatred, no war, no death, no pain.

Slowly, they float back down to earth.

Two pairs of hazy, pleasure-glazed eyes open lazily and observe one another.

He is still limply inside her, she is still holding on to him, pressed against the wall.

“You are not so different than me,” she says to her dancing partner, to her sex partner.

“Nor am I so different from you,” he replies.

A human pair of grey eyes looks into an equally human pair of brown.

“We are equals,” Hermione ventures seriously, her eyes electrically boring into his.

“Yes, we are,” Draco agrees.


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OPTIONAL ADDITONAL ENDING
(For those who are fond of happy endings)

He slowly slides out of her, and she stands upon her own two feet.

Their eyes bid farewell to one another, as they gather up their clothes and leave.

The next day, Hermione would attend the funeral of her late fiancé, Ronald Weasley. The very same day, Harry Potter would seek vengeance and succeed in destroying Lord Voldemort.

Draco Malfoy would be key to the destruction of the dark wizard, revealing his hiding place to Dumbledore.

Hermione and Draco would dance, make love, and live together until they died in each others arms.

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