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A Decent Woman

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“Stop staring, Granger,” Draco said, the smirk evident in his voice. He didn't bother turning to look at the Head Girl who was currently glaring daggers into the back of his skull. Late-night patrols were so tedious but goading Gryffindor's Golden Girl certainly made things more interesting.

“I-I wasn’t staring!” Hermione was almost at her wits' end. The ever-obnoxious Head Boy had been baiting her for months now and she had just about had enough. She should be sainted really for maintaining civility for as long as she had.

“If you’re going to try to lie to a Slytherin, at least make a decent go of it,” He turned to level her with his steely gaze, “That was terrible. Really, I’m embarrassed for you.”

Hermione snapped. Something about the smug look he gave had her cheeks flushing with rage as she stomped up to him, fully prepared to show him just how much her right hook had improved since Third Year. Draco saw it coming and grabbed her wrist before she could complete her swing. Hardly deterred, she swung with her left, but again he anticipated the attempt. He grabbed her other wrist and pulled her into the nearest alcove, brought her arms above her head and pinned them to the wall with a wicked grin.

“Your move, Granger.” Draco’s eyes flashed with heat, but it wasn’t anger or even annoyance that made them gleam like quicksilver.


Hermione shot him a glare while she considered her options. She could go for the Malfoy family jewels, they were well within range. She wasn’t particularly fond of chess but even she knew it was far too obvious a move to be effective. She took a moment to study his face; he kept his features neutral enough but his eyes kept drifting to her mouth, lingering as though he sought to caress her lips with the sheer intensity of his gaze. He certainly wouldn’t expect that. No one would.

She was Hermione Jean Granger, the Muggleborn third of the Golden Trio. She was a decent woman, expected to do and be all that the loaded phrase entailed. Graduate at the top of her class, date and marry her childhood sweetheart, have two-point-five kids, be an obedient wife and doting mother who never wanted anything for herself - a woman who would gasp and clutch her pearls if a reformed Death Eater had her pressed up against a wall.

Fuck. That.

She was Hermione Jean Granger and she would be damned if she had risked her life and sanity to help take down the deadliest dark wizard the wizarding world had ever seen only to consign herself to a life chained to the expectations of others.

Before she could give it another moment’s thought she leaned forward and captured Draco’s lips with her own. Either he had been expecting her to go for his bollocks or his Seeker reflexes were exceptionally on point since he reacted immediately, working his thigh between her legs and returning the kiss with a fierceness that rivalled her own.

Each battled for the upper hand, neither wanting to cede an advantage to the other. Draco freed up one hand to trail down her jawline, gripping it firmly while she rolled her hips - seeking friction against his thigh. He cupped her breast and gave it a rough squeeze, pulling a gasp from her so he could plunder her mouth. Not one to be outdone so easily, Hermione battled his tongue for dominance until they were both gasping and moaning into each other's mouths.

What began as a contest of wills became a mutual pursuit of pleasure when he banished her knickers, every roll of her hips now grinding her exposed cunt against his trousers - drenching them in her arousal. The abrasiveness of the woollen fabric directly against her swollen clit brought her close to the edge, but as delicious as the friction was, it wasn’t enough to send her over.

Hermione struggled to break the kiss to convey that fact but Draco seemed intent on devouring her until they both ran out of oxygen. While she wouldn’t normally object to a good snog, the tension between her legs was rather desperate for relief - something he was determined to draw out as long as possible. She bit down on his tongue, enough to get his attention but not nearly hard enough to draw blood... Probably. He drew back enough to fix her with a glare. If she thought his gaze was heated before, it was like standing in the path of Fiendfyre now.

“You’ll pay for that, cheeky witch.” His voice was low and menacing, the promise of retribution sent shivers down her spine.

“Fuck me.” She met his fire with her own, staring unflinchingly into the heated pools of silver. The demand was as close to begging as her pride would allow.

"Why, Granger, I'm appalled. Don't you know the Head Girl is supposed to be a role model?"

Draco released her arms just long enough to spin her around and quickly pressed her up against the wall again, the rough stone cutting into her palms with a cold bite. He hiked up her skirt and ground his clothed erection into her bare arse.

"She's certainly not supposed to be a wanton little hussy who begs to be fucked into the wall while she's on patrol."


"Yes, love?" Draco responded as he undid his belt and finally freed his aching cock from the strict confines of his trousers. He thrust lightly through her slick folds, coating himself with her desire before lining up with her entrance - teasing her with a few false starts.

"Shut up and fuck me or I swear to Godric, I'll reducio your cock."

"Merlin, you're fucking sexy when you threaten me."

Hermione couldn't bite back the moan that escaped her lips as he thrust into her, revelling in the aching stretch as his thick cock filled her hungry cunt over and over. He pressed hot, wet kisses against her throat as he began to fuck her with a steady rhythm; trailing his lips down to where her neck met her shoulder. She shrieked in surprise when he bit down. Hard.

"I warned you, Granger," he murmured into her skin, "you'd pay for that."