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The wolf is carnivore incarnate and he’s cunning as he is ferocious; once he’s had a taste of flesh then nothing else will do.
Angela Carter - The Company of Wolves - The Bloody Chamber
It’s a well known fact that Hermione Granger is an avid reader. Bookworm. Swot extraordinaire.
What Hermione is not, is a prude, despite all popular belief.
There became a point around the age of twelve that her parents seemed to have complete trust in her, they somewhat had to since they sent her off to Hogwarts where she had to fend for herself for the entire school year, but that’s beside the point. While spending her summers at home, when her parents worked during the day, Hermione spent her days as she did at Hogwarts, in the library. Except the public library at home had much less supervision without Madam Pince’s watchful eye.
Unsupervised access at the library meant reading whatever she could get her hands on. Horror, politics, sex, she had eagerly consumed it. Looking back, it probably did more damage to her psyche than anything, but oh well.
From ages twelve to fifteen, a summer weekday would typically include spending a few hours at the library where she would go pick a table away from prying eyes, and read whatever she pleased before heading home for the day.
It’s the day that the gentle trailing of her finger along the spines lands on Angela Carter that her reading interests are moved in a slightly different direction.
The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories.
How peculiar, she had thought, tucking it under her arm and shuffling back to her personal little table.
Hermione could tell you nearly every detail from the day her eyes first read the novel. She was fourteen, it had been a very warm Wednesday afternoon, and she was only staying until noon that day because she had plans to swim with her neighbor, Melanie, after lunch. She had been wearing jean shorts and a yellow t-shirt, the rough fabric of her chair chafing the back of her thighs. She doesn’t know why a particular story affected her the way it did, but she had never read anything like it at her young age.
The Company of Wolves
A twist on the classic tale of Red Riding Hood, a game of cat and mouse between a young woman and a wolf. Very different from wizarding werewolves but no matter. Except, this tale seems to light a simmering, slow burning fire underneath Hermione's skin. Embers and dark smoke deep in her belly that spreads and makes her feel lightheaded and distracted, sparking an ache between her legs that she’s only felt once or twice before.
The girl in this story wants to be caught, a handsome hunter seems like an equally handsome prize and a kiss seems so tempting. However, a wolf in sheeps clothing proves to be dangerous and with grandmother gone (all that remains of her burning in the fire) , there are only two choices for her.
To join him or die.
The ache between her legs becomes a dull throbbing as the young woman sheds her clothing, red shall burning amongst the flames while the bones of her grandmother rattle, joining the beast in bed and despite her entrapment, she is nobody's meat .
This story should not elicit such a response from her body, it’s dark, not sweet nor outwardly vulgar. It’s a threat, to join the wolf or join her grandmother in his belly. Her body reacts as if she’s just read eroctica. There must be something wrong with her.
Hermione pulls herself off her chair, thighs itchy from the fabric, and quickly packs up her things and puts the book back where she found it on the shelf. She leaves early, the flames of her fire burn brighter, warmer, and the ache between her legs only worsens from her bike ride home.
She throws herself onto her bed, clutching a pillow onto her chest as she stares at her ceiling, desperate for the air conditioning to assist in cooling her down, to put out the fire within her.
It does not.
Hermione cannot help but imagine what it would be like to be the girl in the story, to be chased by the wolf, and end up in his bed. And in the quiet of her empty home, in the safety of her bedroom, she lets her hands wander. Fingers trailing over the cotton of her shirt, her skin burns hot through the fabric, and with quick impulse she decides to shimmy her shorts off.
She’s attempted masturbation before, it hadn’t exactly gone well, not quite understanding what to do with her fingers or what she should be feeling for. But this time she runs away with her fantasy, instead of directly going where medical textbooks had indicated penetration was supposed to happen, she lets the pads of her fingers press into what feels good.
Hermione pictures dark hair and gleaming eyes, sharp teeth and a quirked mouth. He would be taller than her, towering over and pinning her to the bed. He would know how to touch her, he would know what he needed.
Her first orgasm is magical. It seizes everything within her, stealing her breath and leaving her boneless against the coolness of her sheets. Swimming with Melanie later is odd, because now Hermione wonders if every girl her age is aware of the magic of a fantasy.
Of course, the magic of youth and becoming a woman is quickly squashed as the war progresses, and Hermione finds she does not have time for fantasies. When the war is over she’s left feeling old, body worn and empty, no fire left scalding under her. She attends Eighth Year on her own, Harry and Ron deciding to opt out and go straight into Auror training.
“I’m tired, Hermione.” Harry did indeed look so tired, and Hermione wonders now if her own face mirrored his. The difference was that Hermione needed distraction, something that could smother and consume her thoughts.
While Hermione is offered a position at the Ministry following her graduation from Hogwarts, she decides to pursue her education further, getting a mastery of healing while double majoring in biology and chemistry in London. That’s where she runs into him .
Tall, brooding, and handsome as always, his eyes widening as he takes her in. He sits alone at one of the tables, and Hermione tilts her head, a question asked without words. Draco Malfoy nods at her, sliding his bag over as she gently slides onto the stool next to him.
It’s quiet for a moment.
“Fancy seeing you here.” She says, voice quiet as she takes out her notebook and pens.
“I could say the same.” He responds, readjusting the papers he already has laid out.
They leave it at that, silence settling between them, at least until the professor makes them introduce themselves, because who they’ve sat next to are now their lab partners for the rest of the semester. Of course.
“I can–” He looks extremely uncomfortable. “I can drop and change to a different course.”
Hermione blinks, not sure if she should be offended or not. He wouldn’t be at a muggle university if he still thought them worthless right?
“So you don’t have any distractions.” He mutters the last part like he doesn’t think she’ll hear it, his silvery gaze dropping to where her scar is covered by her long sleeve.
Ah guilt. Good. Fucking wanker.
“No, I’m perfectly fine.” She smiles, glad to see the prat had some sort of conscience. “I can’t be too opposed to having you for a lab partner, you got top marks in potions.”
He snorts, tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
“I never could beat the brightest witch of her age.”
It seems to be a truce, a peace offering. She isn’t exactly sure why he’s here, he had always been excellent in potions, perhaps he had similar thoughts to her own of a muggle degree helping to enhance further knowledge. Perhaps he liked to learn. Not like she really knew anything about him anyway, just that he was a shallow bully in school.
Blood purity…well they had that even in the muggle world. And she knew being properly educated helped to combat ignorance. And well, here he is at a muggle university. Maybe there was hope left in the world.
They go on like this, seeing each other three times a week, they really only speak about what’s required for the lab, but sometimes conversation pulls in different directions. He allows her quiet routine that soothes her tension filled heart like a balm. They work without issue, and she can always rely on him to get his part of the process done.
Hermione does learn that her theory was right, that like her, he’s also pursuing a mastery but in potions, and wanted to have a deeper understanding through muggle education.
She learns that with his father in Azkaban, it’s just his mother at the manor, and he’s gotten himself a flat in London. She learns that he also covers his mark with long sleeves no matter what the temperature, just as she does. Malfoy in turn politely inquires about her life post-Hogwarts, where she informs him of her plans to pursue healing, both muggle and magical, contemplating getting her doctorate. She has a suspicion that like her, he’s just as desperate to smother the lingering thoughts of war with distraction.
Malfoy picks up on chemistry without issue, which really comes in handy when Hermione realizes she might be in just a smidge over her head with the whole double majoring while completing her mastery thing.
“You look like hell.” He comments while flipping through their lab report as she whirls over to their designated spot.
She’s had a migraine since the moment the sun peaked its face over the horizon, she hadn't slept a wink, going on a bit of bender. She hadn’t had a good night's rest since the start of the war, and unfortunately the end of it didn’t bring her any reprise. It was half the reason she went to University in the first place, if she wasn’t sleeping at night then she might as well do something with her time.
“Fuck off.” She responds without hesitation, grabbing her mop of hair and twisting it into a bun. She lets him take lead, body so desperate for sleep she isn’t sure how she’s supposed to pull her usual library study session after this. A pepper-up potion could only do so much, especially since it was practically all she lived on. Her body goes through the motions of lab, Malfoy glancing at her occasionally, she doesn’t have much left in her, so she ignores it.
Hermione doesn’t know what happens as she exits the chemistry building, one moment she’s walking down the stairs, little black spots dancing across her vision, the next minute she’s on the ground, sprawled on the concrete, a body casting a shadow over her as she tries to blink her vision clear again.
“Can you hear me–” A voice calls, “What’s her name? Does anyone know her name?”
“Hermione.” Malfoy’s voice rings to her clear, and she desperately tries to find him, the voices muffle around her again and she plunges back into darkness. She isn’t sure how long she was unconscious the second time, but when she blinks back into the brightness of the world, there’s an arm around her and she’s resting against the warmth of a body. She smells rich mahogany, fresh linens, little traces of cedar.
“You got her, mate? Should we call the paramedics?” The concerned voice asks, and Hermione finally blinks enough that her vision clears to reveal that it’s Malfoy holding her up, gaze so intense she wonders if she’s hallucinating, words call to her from deep in her memory.
The eyes of wolves shine like candle flames.
“This has happened before.” This had happened before technically, she fainted in eighth year after not sleeping for three days. “I’ll take her home.” He says, and Hermione tries to scramble.
“I can’t–can’t–” Her voice cracks, “I haven’t gone to the library yet.”
“Absolutely not.” Malfoy’s voice is hard, but his hands are so gentle on her body as he guides her up. One hand firm on her lower back, the other wrapped around her arm, warmth seeping through the fabric of her shirt.
“You can’t tell me what to do!” She tries to admonish, but her legs wobble like traitors underneath her.
“ Excuse me! ” A female voice interrupts, “You cannot take her to her home if she doesn’t want you to! Honey, are you alright? Do you know this guy?”
A young, black haired woman pushes her way through the small circle of people surrounding her, past the concerned man, and puts an arm on her shoulder, fully ready to pull her away from Malfoy.
“She knows me,” Malfoy growls, “Mind your own damn business.”
The concerned young man and woman are not impressed, sharing a look before turning back to Hermione.
“They are lab partners.” The man reluctantly confirms and the woman practically shrieks, making Hermione wince.
“That doesn’t mean he gets to take her god knows where!”
Hermione’s heart swells at the fact that this random woman was clearly willing to fight Malfoy in order to protect another woman she didn’t even know. She supposes that on the other side, it did look rather suspicious, and it makes her feel a little lighter to know there were good people in the world.
“I do know him,” her voice is hoarse still, and she lets Malfoy steady her. “Thank you so much for checking on me.”
Hermione turns toward the young man.
“And thank you for making sure I was alright, I truly appreciate it.”
The woman looks hesitant, and she can practically feel Malfoy’s eye roll.
“Are you sure? I can call the cops.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Hermione smiles, “I’m very sure, but I can give you my mobile number if it makes you feel any better.”
That seems to soothe her, and after a moment of exchanging numbers, Malfoy very gently leads her away. Her head aches fiercely, worse than it did before, and she’s fairly certain she hit her head when she fell.
“Where am I taking you?” His voice snags her attention, and she realizes this is probably the closest she’s ever been to him.
“Just to the closest apparition point, I can take it from there.” Hermione says, missing one step and nearly going toppling forward.
Malfoy’s grip tightens around her waist, glaring at her.
“If you can’t stand, you can’t apparate.” She scoffs at his words. “I’ll apparate you back.”
Well, that seemed acceptable she supposes. She just needs another pepper-up, then she can go back to campus, she would be an hour behind so she’d have to stay another hour to make up for the loss.
Going through the apparition point only made Hermione woozier, breaking away from Malfoy to lean against the brick wall, trying desperately to stay conscious. She’s a little frustrated when he doesn’t immediately go back to campus.
She forces herself to stand, proving that she’s perfectly fine, but Malfoy is not convinced.
“Do you make it a habit to neglect your personal well-being?” He practically sneers, arms crossed.
“Yes,” She snaps, really not giving a fuck anymore. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to continue doing just that.”
Hermione whirls around, trying to stomp, but mostly trying to focus on keeping herself upright. Malfoy’s gaze practically burns a hole into the back of her head, but at least he lets her leave.
She manages to make it back to her flat, sending a message to that sweet girl before she forgets, but then decides against going back to campus, choosing to study at home when she realizes she really doesn’t want to risk fainting again. If they had called the paramedics then she would have been stuck in the hospital for the rest of her evening.
Hermione manages about one hour of studying before giving up and going to bed, not terribly eager to make this a repeat stunt. She sleeps from four in the afternoon until six in the morning. Not her plan, but at least she’s awake on time.
Her mobile has about ten missed calls and twenty text messages when she grabs it from her nightstand. Fucking Merlin’s tits.
They’re from a combination of Harry, Ginny, Ron, and then one text back from the dark haired girl.
So glad ur alright luv! Just wanted to make sure no man was tryin to steal u!
Hermione sends her a thank you in response and calls Ginny, knowing very well that she would just be finishing up Quidditch practice. She picks up immediately.
“Hermione!” Her friend practically screeches, “You’re alive!”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She pauses for a moment, “How did you all know I fainted?”
“Harry ran into Draco Malfoy of all people in Diagon Alley and he asked if you made it back to your flat, so of course Harry freaked out, because you didn’t bother telling anyone! You also didn’t bother telling me that you’re attending University with Malfoy, fucking Malfoy!”
“You and Ron still hate using mobiles, and I know Harry was at work.” It’s a lame excuse, but Hermione is thoroughly embarrassed, especially since Malfoy ratted her out. She’d never be able to get her friends off her ass now.
“Oh fuck off, I’m using the mobile right now!”
“Yeah, only because you were hoping I would call one of you back!” They’re silent for a moment before Hermione caves. “I’m sorry–!”
Which is interrupted by Ginny’s: “I miss you, come over for dinner!”
She needs to study, she missed all of her study time yesterday, and she had to work for most of the afternoon. But she truly hadn’t seen her friends in so long. Hermione agrees, and decides she’ll have to find the time for studying after dinner.
Dinner mostly involves discussing Malfoy, which Hermione anticipated, but wasn’t looking forward to.
“I just can’t believe he’s attending muggle university!” Ron practically shouts and Ginny nods emphatically, but Harry is oddly quiet, looking at his food. Hermione knew him enough to know what that meant, he had something brewing in that head of his.
“Yes, I thought the same.” She says, not taking her eyes off Harry. “He hasn’t really explained, but I also didn’t really ask. We’re lab partners, but we don’t do much talking.”
Harry’s caught on to her staring, poker face on, joining the conversation. Hermione wants to bang her head against the table.
“But he caught you when you fainted and took you home?” Ginny instigates, looking very suspicious.
“He didn’t take me home, he apparated me back to Diagon Alley.” Hermione corrects, trying to make eye contact with Harry again. What had Malfoy said to him? “Probably considers it some kind of apology for how he treated me through school.”
“He owes you more than that.” Ron mutters through a mouth full of food.
She’s desperate to get off the conversation, but curious to see if she can make Harry break his poker face all at the same time. Harry ends up changing the topic, not giving Hermione any room to figure out what he’s thinking, and instead chastising her for her sleeping habits.
She leaves for the night with a full stomach and full of questions. She’d have to pop by Harry’s office for lunch sometime next week and corner him. Her night is truly horrible, because she cannot stop thinking of Malfoy and his hands on her body, the warmth of being pressed up against him, his scent that has not left her memory. She needed to get laid apparently.
Malfoy doesn’t look at her when she arrives for lab on Friday, which she’s a little grateful for, the memory of his sharp eyes cut into her, and the wound just won’t seem to heal. Hermione knows she needs to thank him, but really, really, doesn't want to.
The silence holds through the first few minutes as the professor explains today's project, but once they start working Hermione can’t take it any longer.
“Thank you for getting me back where I needed to be on Wednesday.” She says, trying to look him in the eye, but he still won’t turn to her.
Ugh, why did he make everything so difficult?
“Whatever.” He quips, putting his goggles on. “Just don’t let it happen again.”
Alright fine, she lowers her own goggles and they get to work.
It’s as they’re leaving class that Hermione spots the young man from before that had been trying to help her. She’s fairly sure he sits a few tables up from her.
“Hey!” She parts from Malfoy to catch up with the young man, he turns, dark eyes confused. “I just wanted to say thank you for helping me out on Wednesday.”
He smiles, adjusting his backpack strap.
“Oh, of course. I hope you’re alright.” His eyes lock on something behind her that she can only assume is Malfoy walking away, but Hermione refuses to look, she had already tried to thank the git and he’s the one who refused to look at her, he had his chance.
“Yes, I’m alright, I just wasn’t feeling the greatest that day. I’m Hermione.” She sticks out her hand and he returns the gesture and shakes.
“Michael.” He smiles, bright and friendly. Quite the opposite of Malfoy, and Hermione decides to be impulsive.
“Let me buy you a coffee Michael, as a thank you.” His eyebrows rise in surprise.
“Now, I could not possibly allow you to buy me a coffee because I did what literally anyone should have done. However, I will gladly join you for coffee.” Michael is rather handsome, with his dark skin and sculpted jawline. She needs Malfoy out of her head.
“We’ll see about that,” she challenges, letting him lead the way to the café on the corner. When he turns her head she swears she can still see a blip of white hair.
On Saturday she decides to make up for some of the hours she missed out on during her little fainting spell, and goes to the library on campus, then stops for coffee afterwards. As she’s walking towards the apparition point to meet Harry and Ron for a late lunch, she spies a little bookstore tucked away from the open street.
She’s a moth to flame, unable to resist. Hermione does not believe in fate, but right at the front of the store is a display of Angela Carter’s works, and the words that crawled from the depths of her memory suddenly have a home.
Oh, her fantasy has some catching up to do.
She of course buys the book, and when she returns home for the evening after her lunch with friends, she pours herself a large glass of wine and digs right in. The story is of course not as erotic as it had been to her at fourteen, but her heart picks up speed nonetheless at the memory. The phantom of heat is still there, right when the girl stares ahead at her fate, grandmother burning up in the fire and the wolf staring her down with a sharp grin.
The story is ahead of its time, she does admit, although she’s not exactly sure how she feels about the whole virginity plotline.
Hermione decides to ignore that little blip in her fantasy as she snuggles deep into the silk of her sheets, grabbing her vibrator from the drawer of her bedside table, and lets her mind begin to wander.
She sets the toy on low, teasing along her thighs and up over her mound as she sets herself in the forest, rich evergreen and dark skies. Waiting so patiently for the deceptively handsome wolf in hunters clothing to arrive.
Who to cast as the wolf? Hermione briefly considers Michael, as their little impromptu coffee date had gone rather well, but only one particular man comes to mind and she tries to push the idea out immediately but her cunt disagrees, aching eagerly at the image of a face she had pushed away.
“What do I get if I win?” His voice repeats the line in her head, and it’s painfully easy to imagine him dressed up in hunter's clothes, her heartrate spikes, pulse pounding in her throat.
“A kiss.” She responds, staring at the pale pink of his lips.
She would wander, meander, take her time to ensure that she’s guaranteed to get her kiss. Only for the wolf to reveal himself, handsome and mysterious, just as he was in real life.
Hermione is hesitant to move further in the fantasy, fingers slowly untying the string of her cloak before letting it drop to the floor, but his eyes are cool grey, sharp teeth peeking out from his lips, and shudder wracks through her.
“Into the fire, little lion.” His voice rumbles low, just as it sounds when they’re together, fingernails like claws as they trace over her skin, a threat and a promise.
He circles her, blonde hair gleaming white in the low light, eyes roaming her nude form, claw tip digging into the curve of her ass and she whimpers. Hermione turns the speed up on her vibrator, finally sliding the toy inside, biting her bottom lip as she imagines he would.
The wolf pulls her to the bed, and in this dream, instead of being pinned down, Hermione sinks down on top of him. His teeth would nip at her neck and shoulders, his claws scraping across her nipple, thick cock diving so wonderfully deep into her, she’s embarrassingly slick. The build of her orgasm fills her body like smoke, skin burning, pleasure bubbling from simmer to boiling point, hot from the very center of her.
“Who would have thought this of you, sweet girl? Wouldn’t you rather dive into the lion's den?” He asks her, nipping at her breast before soothing it with his tongue. His eyes are so wicked, so clear in her head, cutting right through her, right through whatever bullshit excuses she would come up in her head to pretend like she wasn’t fantasizing about him.
“I love the company of wolves.” Hermione gasps, making the words her own, flames licking up the base of her spine, white waves of pleasure washing over her, cunt clenching around the silicone toy inside her. The vibrations on her clit work her through the aftershocks before she taps the off button and gently removes it.
She’s in so much trouble.
Lab is quiet with him on Monday, but inside Hermione’s head, everything is loud and alive. A wolf that circles her, a threat of deconstruction and fangs that shouldn’t make wet between her thighs, but it did.
They’re not even that nice to each other, he shouldn’t have any sort of affect, but she can’t help that he’s fit. Had he always been this fit and she’d never noticed? Certainly it was the current dry-spell she was going through that made her feel this way. So, Hermione keeps her thoughts to herself.
This odd little fantasy she’s brewing only worsens on Friday when they need to find time outside of class to work together to finish their first midterm report.
“Tonight then.” Malfoy proposes, wiping off his goggles with a rag, it’s a little funny seeing him with the light indentations around his eyes and over his cheekbones.
“That works,” It avoids her work schedule at least, “At the library?”
He nods, grabbing his bag and they exit the building together like usual, quiet footsteps on the concrete, steps synchronous until she turns to the library and him continuing forward. Their routine is quite precarious.
It usually goes something like this: Malfoy gets to their table before her and has their lab ready to go by the time she arrives, goggles and gloves waiting in her seat. They work quietly together, making quiet conversation about their respective masteries or whatever little questions he has about the muggle world, but mostly discussing how they should divide up the work or how to go about the procedure. Then Hermione finishes the report and then washes up any pipettes or beakers while Malfoy wipes down their goggles and sets them back up at the front of the room.
Depending on what she’s carrying with her that day, sometimes he’ll grab her bag from the floor when he goes to get his own and hand it to her. They leave the classroom together, sometimes shoulder to shoulder depending on how crowded the hall is before they exit the building, walking on their merry way, Hermione usually making polite conversation that Malfoy sometimes indulges her in or just nods.
The routine had started the week after she fainted, and hopes desperately that Malfoy doesn’t feel obligated to be her keeper. Or even worse, that after he ran into Harry that he didn’t threaten Malfoy to keep an eye on her. But, she does have a hard time believing that Malfoy could be bullied into anything, although he did seem to feel rather guilty when they first met, so maybe he feels like he owes Harry something.
These thoughts plague her through the rest of her day, and she decides not to go to the library right away, but turn to the Biology Building to clock in and grade first year packets for her professor until it’s time to meet with him.
She wanders the first floor of the library, keeping an eye out for his distinct hair, until she finds him tucked into a corner table. Looking rather dashing in a dark blue jumper and slacks that he hadn’t been wearing in Chem Lab.
It’s as Hermione drops her bag and slides into the chair across from him that she sees two coffees on the table. Malfoy barely looks at her, his hand briefly stopping whatever he’s writing in his notes to push one cup towards her with his pen. It takes her a little too long to realize it’s for her, the man across from her quirks an eyebrow in challenge.
God, he’s so weird.
He barely speaks to her most of the time, just lets her yammer on about whatever (today happens to be about all the important differences between muggle and magical universities) , yet walks with her from class and now he’s gone and gotten her a coffee, and he’s acting like she’s the idiot. Whatever.
They work through their report, Malfoy extremely competent as always, which relaxes Hermione a little. It was a little strange to actually split work with someone and not have to micromanage them, she finds herself actually looking forward to class with him. Plus, he was actually much better at chemistry than her (she’d never tell him that though) .
It’s fairly late when they finish, and Hermione considers staying at the library for a few more hours.
“I’ll walk you to the apparition point.” Malfoy’s voice brings her from her thoughts.
“Hmm? Oh, you don’t have to do that.” He’s already standing, grabbing her bag from the floor as well as his own, and instead of handing it to her like usual, he carries it for her. Nevermind then, she supposes that she’s going home.
It’s a leisurely walk from campus to the apparition point, and she lets the cool autumn air wash over her. She feels odd without her back pack, a little naked honestly, but Malfoy doesn’t acknowledge it, carrying on without issue.
“Oh!” She starts, almost forgetting something important. “Thank you for the coffee!”
See? She can have manners. He eyes her as they walk, never fully turning towards her, but she spies a glint that returns the knot in her gut. Malfoy isn’t really the wolf, this isn’t a chase, he doesn’t want her just as she doesn’t (more like shouldn’t) really want him. Just a fantasy concocted in her apparently sex idled brain, she clearly just needed to fuck out whatever was going on inside her.
They reach the apparition point, and Malfoy extends his elbow to her, she only hesitates a moment before looping her arm around his to sidealong in his apparition. She hadn’t expected him to be warm, little waves of heat coming from his body that she had never noticed the few times they had been shoulder to shoulder in the halls, or when he had practically carried her back to Diagon Alley. She wonders how it would feel to press against him, to feel his flesh against hers, his fingers trailing up her skin.
Malfoy hands her bag back to her, and he looks at her this time. Actually looks at her. Had his gaze always been this silver? Alight like Greek fire, smoldering embers that brings back the smoke that curls deep within her.
“Goodnight.” He says.
“See you on Monday.” She responds in kind.
It shouldn’t be a surprise that she dreams of him that night.
Teeth at her throat, scraping down from pulse point to breast, sharp fingernails digging into the plump flesh of her ass. Words whisper into her ear, hot and raspy, a thrill going down her spine.
“What big teeth you have.” Her voice is barely her own, quiet, whining and desperate.
“All the better to eat you with.” His lips dip lower, tongue dragging across her navel and grip holding her down into place. His eyes are molten as he looks up at her from between her thighs, pupils fattened and irises mineral, luminous. She is nobody’s meat.
She’s dripping, embarrassing really, and shadows grow larger around him. There’s friction, a force, that fills her and makes her keen. Red poppies and flames, a shall long forgotten being consumed, the sounds of howling coming from outside, outside somewhere. Hermione is being swallowed, seeking and drowning in pleasure that is threatening to burst across her in waves. She sinks further into the bed, pleasure cresting and—
Hermione wakes with a start, sun streaming in brightly, entirely unwelcome as her alarm continues to ring incessantly beside her.
She doesn’t even need her vibrator to finish whatever the dream started, orgasm peaking easily with only a few strokes of her fingers. She thinks of Greek fire and the moonlight reflected against silver, of pale flesh and sharp fingers.
Hermione spends the day shopping with Ginny, preparing for their Halloween party the next weekend. They end the day at the costume shop, glancing through shelves and filtering through fabric.
“I can’t decide if I want to do something funny or sexy.” Ginny says, finding a particularly pretty roll of black lace.
“Why not both?” Hermione challenges, admiring how much the dark fabric compliments her friend's freckled complexion.
“Like what?”
“Sexy McGonagall?” That makes Ginny burst into laughter, the shopkeeper's head snapping up to eye them warily.
“Who would Harry be then?”
“Hm,” Hermione thinks a moment, “Just make him your Gryffindor whipping boy.”
“See, this is why you’re the brightest witch of your age.” Ginny encourages, tucking the roll of fabric under her arm.
Hermione spies rich, red velvet, and ideas of her own form.
When they return to Grimmauld Place, arms full of bags, Ginny goes into the kitchen to put away that last minute groceries she bought and Hermione decides to corner Harry then.
He smiles at first, before his eyes snap back up from the latest issue of the prophet, suddenly aware that he needs to be on high alert.
“Hello Hermione, how was shopping?”
“Oh shut up, you know me better than that, I suggest you spill whatever little conversation you and Malfoy had a few weeks ago.” She tries to give him that authoritative stare, the one she used to give him back at school when he’d have a particularly stupid idea.
“He just kindly pointed out to me that you–” Harry hesitates a moment, contemplating his wording, “That we’re your friends, and you don’t like asking for help, so we should be there for you.”
Green eyes so soft, sadness wavering and threatening to spill, Hermione’s posture softens.
“I have a hunch that you’re paraphrasing.” She mutters and Harry smiles.
“Maybe just a smidge.” He says, patting the seat next to him and she relents, letting him wrap her in a quick hug. “I know you value your independence, but just promise to let us be there.”
Independence. Solitude. Withdrawal. Isolation.
These are things she knew, things that kept her safe from dependence, things that lived within her.
Malfoy waits for her at the lab table as he does every Monday, everything set up and aligned properly. He’s handsome (per usual, bastard) , dressed nicely in slim fitting trousers and a dark jumper layered over a button up.
His head tilts up to acknowledge her as she sits next to him, their elbows brushing as she pulls on her gloves, it should not send a spark through her, but it absolutely does. Merlin, she really needs to get her shit together.
Hermione manages to act perfectly normal and not fuck everything up with her rampant sexual desires. Chatting and going about things as if a simple look from him doesn’t start a fire deep within her. He nodded politely, continuously glancing at her throughout the class, and Hermione can’t help the panic that bubbles within her.
Why would he be looking at her? She didn’t think she looked particularly ridiculous today, but perhaps his standards are different? Hermione let her hands wander up, her hair was a little frizzy, and he’d never liked her hair to begin with, had always made sure to tell her that in school. She wraps it up quickly into a bun, not completely contained, but better than before.
They clean up from the day's experiment, going about their usual routine, and Malfoy picks up her bag at the end of class, gently handing it to her. They walk out of the building, shoulder to shoulder, Michael breaks up their usual walk a bit by chatting with Hermione. Malfoy doesn’t bother engaging with him, but he also doesn’t walk away when they exit the building, staying at her side.
She waves goodbye to Michael, turning back to face Malfoy, who’s face is indescribable, brows furrows and lips pressed into a thin line, eyes staring after Michael. Once he seems to realize that she’s looking at him again, he reels his face back to neutral.
“Have you eaten?” He asks quickly, and Hermione blinks like an idiot.
It’s three in the afternoon and…Hermione had not eaten, but she did have two cups of coffee. The first one at six and the second at noon. Quite a bad habit, or as Malfoy had kindly put it when she fainted, neglecting her personal well being.
“No, I haven’t yet.” She adds yet , because she’s fairly certain she would have had something to eat at some point later.
“Join me for lunch.” He says, and she’s not sure if it’s a question or a demand, but he turns like he’s waiting for her to join him.
“Um, sure.” She doesn’t like being bossed around, but she’s also so bewildered by the whole thing she’s not really sure her brain has fully processed it all yet. He walks too quick, legs much longer than hers, already paces ahead of her.
Hermione follows him to a little café close by, the familiar smell of coffee helps to relax the tension in her shoulders. She follows him over to a table in the corner, swallowed by the light of the darkening sky, she sets down her bag and shimmies off her jacket.
October, crisp, misty, golden October when light is sweet and heavy.
“I’ll go order, what would you like?” Hermione turns her head, peering over at the menu. She’d only been here once before, the day she bought a thank-you coffee for Michael.
“Oh um,” She tries to keep looking as she bends over to grab her wallet from her backpack. “An iced vanilla latte and the soup of the day, please.”
Hermione swears she only looks away for a second, and he’s already gone up to the counter. Fine, she’d just give him the cash when he got back to the table. She turns her head back to the window, sighing as the sun dips behind another set of clouds. She runs through her mental checklist, getting out her textbook and highlighters, and it strikes her then that she’s out to lunch with Draco Malfoy.
Perhaps it shouldn’t be so strange, she sees him multiple times a week, for almost two months now. Yet, as he comes back to the table with their food in hand, it really does seem odd. But then she smells the soup, and she gets a little distracted.
“Thank you,” She hums happily, blowing the steam from the bowl, reaching across the table to hand him the muggle money. He simply stares at her.
“Oh come on, I know you know what muggle money is, you had to have ordered the food somehow.” She teases, but he shoos her hand away.
“Yes, I know what it is, however that was not the purpose of this.” Draco raises his cup to his mouth, taking a sip of coffee that must be scalding hot.
“I cannot let you buy me lunch, Malfoy. You already got me a coffee on Friday.” She says firmly. Malfoy only raises an eyebrow.
“And now I’m getting you lunch.”
Except Malfoy didn’t get lunch, his little plate holds a scone and his coffee. Her temper flares, because certainly this is Harry’s doing, asking Malfoy to keep an eye on her. It infuriates her, whether or not she was making good decisions, they were hers to make. She wasn’t a fucking child.
Hermione sits back, setting her spoon down so she can cross her arms.
“Alright, fess up, I know Harry put you up to this.” It takes all her willpower to keep her tone neutral.
Malfoy rolls his eyes.
“Potter doesn’t have any say over what I do.” He sets his cup back down on his saucer, eyes pinning her to her chair.
C’mon Hermione, you can’t back down now.
“Then what could this possibly be?”
“You clearly hadn’t eaten, I wanted to get a coffee.” He says it so nonchalantly, it’s driving Hermione batty.
“That’s it?” She says in disbelief. “You just bought my lunch because you figured you’d ask me to tag along?”
“What time do you usually eat on lab days?” He asks, catching her off guard. She blinks.
“W-what?” He simply lifts an eyebrow.
“What time do you usually eat on lab days?” Malfoy repeats. “You TA from eight until ten, then have back to back classes until lab is over. I know you go right down to the library and study until Merlin knows when, not even counting the days you go back to grade papers.”
“The decisions I make are mine. No matter how stupid they are.” It’s a weak defense, but after–well after everything she clings to every decision she gets to make.
“Yes, I know. Do as you please, I just offered you a different decision. And you took it.” He responds, tone softer, looking away to sip his coffee again. She takes a deep breath, heart seizing, hands shaking as she quickly tucks them into her lap so he won’t notice.
“I did.” Her voice is quiet, and when he looks back, she holds his gaze. She searches desperately for malice or obligation but finds none, just that sharp lumination. So, she takes a bite of her soup, and she finds the ghost of a smile on his lips.
Fear and flee the wolf; for, worst of all, the wolf may be more than he seems.
After she eats, they sit quietly together and she does her biology homework. Malfoy does his own homework, and it’s oddly nice to have company. Most weekdays she’s alone, really only seeing her friends on the weekends, or maybe meeting Harry for lunch when she has time on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
She packs up her things and Malfoy offers to walk her to the apparition point, and once again offers his arm to sidealong. The things she dreams of doing to him are practically unspeakable, she had no idea why he was being nice to her, but she was fairly certain he didn’t want to shag her. So, she felt like quite the creep.
On Wednesday, he asks her to get a coffee with him again, and she agrees but only if he lets her pay this time. He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny her. Hermione learns that he gets medium roast coffee with two sugars and cream. Then, after finishing her food, she does something very stupid. She invites him to Harry’s Halloween Party.
He raises an eyebrow and she blushes. Why is she suddenly so stupid? Brightest witch of her age, apparently not when hot men were involved.
“Don’t feel obligated of course!” She practically shouts, wincing at herself. “I just–I just think it could be fun. Harry and Ginny have a hilarious costume.”
“And what’s your costume?” The question catches her off guard.
“Red Riding Hood, from the muggle fairy tale.” She says, avoiding his gaze.
“I suppose I’ll have to find a costume then.”
Harry was surprisingly not mad when she informed him that she invited Malfoy along.
“I don’t hate Malfoy,” He says, straightening his red and gold tie. “Especially after he asked if you were alright, we wouldn’t have known you had fainted if he hadn’t said something.”
“Harry–”
“I’m not lecturing you Hermione, I’m just telling the truth.”
Ginny’s McGonagall costume is brilliant, dark robes parting perfectly to reveal a lowcut dress made from the beautiful fabric they found at the shop a few weeks ago, topped off with small, silver spectacles. Harry’s costume is much more low maintenance, simply breaking out his old Gryffindor tie with a button down and slacks.
“I’m allowed to make stupid decisions.” She huffs, crossing her arms. “You and Ron did it for years.”
Harry rolls his eyes.
“I just said I’m not lecturing you, and yes, you are allowed to make bad decisions. I’m just informing you that I don’t think Malfoy is one of them.” He says, and they leave the bedroom, rejoining Ginny in the kitchen as she stirs an insane amount of vodka into a punch bowl.
Hermione thinks that her costume also turned out rather brilliant, the velvet she bought made a stunning cloak. Underneath she wore an off the shoulder white top tucked into a black mini-skirt, with thigh-high stockings and matching red heels. It was a little sexier than she originally anticipated, and she kept telling herself it definitely wasn’t for Malfoy.
Certainly not.
Hermione’s mind wanders, the whispers of words left unsaid eating at the back of her brain like a parasite. The chase, perhaps she’s the wolf. Malfoy the poor, unsuspecting victim as she salivates over the idea of him, the idea of devouring him.
Grimmauld Place fills, smoke, drink, and chatter, flooding Hermione’s senses as she strolls in her little red cloak. She doesn’t mean to look for him, truly, as it’s a little pathetic. But she will not deny how her heart practically leaps into her throat when their eyes lock from across the room. It’s a pull, that’s what she feels, body suddenly hot in the dark room. He’s magnetic, silver eyes shining in the dim candle light, a beast of prey.
He’s wrapped in black, twisted crown in his white hair, and she can’t help but wonder what his costume is. Her curiosity burns, her feet moving her across the room towards him, stomach curling as he smiles. She swears his teeth are sharp behind pale pink lips.
“My, my,” Draco’s voice is low, “Red certainly becomes you.”
A flush creeps up her neck to her cheeks, pulling her cloak tighter over the bodice, suddenly nervous about the revealing nature of her outfit and the amount of skin she has on display. She gestures to his costume, smiling and hoping he understands, as she’s apparently incapable of words.
“Hades.” He supplies, taking a sip of the drink in his hand, wincing and making Hermione laugh.
“Ginny put an entire bottle of vodka in the punch.”
“Yes, I can taste it.” He eyes the cup before taking another small sip.
“I didn’t know you liked Greek Mythology.” Hermione says.
“I didn’t know you liked fairy tales.” He counters.
He’s dangerously handsome in black, lily white skin and cheeks slightly pink from the heat of the room. She’s never seen his arms exposed before, lean and muscled, with cuffs on his forearms to cover what she can only assume is his dark mark.
Hermione has her own scar glamoured for the evening, nothing strong enough to completely hide it, but enough that it wouldn’t draw any attention. She takes a sip of her own drink, a little weary of the punch, not wanting to get tispy and make a fool of herself.
“I’m glad you’re here.” It’s a little too sentimental, she knows this, but she can tell by how he’s currently holding himself that he’s not comfortable. Malfoy’s posture relaxes slightly.
He seems to consider his response, eyes glinting, head tilted and glaze flitting over her body, making her flush.
“I couldn’t resist.” Malfoy gaze lingers on her face, and she realizes that if he’s going to continue looking at her like this, she needs to cool down.
“Join me outside?” She asks, knowing her face is pink as can be.
Malfoy holds out his arm in response and she takes it, letting him escort her out the double doors and into the cool air of the backyard. Hermione’s skin feels as though it’s fizzling, she wonders if Malfoy can tell that she’s positively burning up from their brief touch of skin.
Her hunger is all consuming, crawling out from her belly and peeling away at her flesh. She wants to touch more of him, to let her fingers trail up his forearm to his bicep, to feel the hard muscle that lingers underneath.
Get a grip!
The moon isn’t quite full in the sky, just missing a wisp of what it needs. It shines bright nonetheless, the glow filling her with something she doesn’t quite understand.
“Wouldn’t you like better company?” His voice is quiet, touch gentle against her skin.
I love the company of wolves, she thinks, wondering how his eyes look in the glow of the moon.
“No one else.” Hermione responds without hesitation, finally letting her gaze turn from the call of the glow to look at him, wondering if he can hear the howl from within her. Malfoy reaches out his hand, firm and certain, lifting her chin gently so that their eyes meet.
The beat of her heart must be loud, surely, rattling off the trees and reverberating back towards them. His gaze hypnotic as it pulls her in, practically melting under the feel of his fingers as they slide up her jaw. His touch is cool against the fire of her flesh, the call of smoke and ember, a memory at the back of her mind.
His lips are on hers and she isn’t sure when they got so close, and the taste of his tongue slipping between her lips only pours gasoline, flames burning unimaginitvely bright, so Hermione closes her eyes and presses her body to his.
Malfoy is firm under his robes, just as she imagined, all lean muscle and hard lines, she lets her arms wrap around the back of his neck as he pulls her deeper into the kiss. Her cloak is pushed back off her shoulders, exposing her skin to the night air, making her shiver and Malfoy pull her even tighter against him.
Malfoy kisses her like a man starved, and Hermione vaguely wonders if she was the only one starving, belly empty yet full of need. His lips are relentless, tongue determined and curious as it explores her mouth. She whimpers when his fingers scrape at the back of her skull, knees wobbling, and feels as though she could collapse from the feeling of his hands on her alone, a heated ache building between her thighs.
He breaks the kiss, chest heaving, eyes alight as he drinks her in. Shadows dance across his face, dipping in the curves of his cheekbones, and along the ridge of his jawline. He was ridiculously beautiful.
“Such a pretty little thing.” He murmurs, letting a finger trail graze over her cheek, and he closes upon her once more like a pair of jaws, teeth nipping along her throat, fingers digging into her ribs. She bites her tongue to keep a gasp from escaping when his fingers pinch her nipple over the fabric of her outfit, so she’s certainly alive.
Hermione, as she stated before, is not a prude. Especially when he’s been haunting her fantasies for months, and she’s fairly certain she’s going to get what she wants. Especially when she slowly unties the string that holds her cloak together, letting it fall down upon the dewy grass, a dark puddle of blood melting on the green blades. She kneels carefully on the velvet, curling her fingers around his robes to bring him down with her, and Malfoy does not hesitate to pounce.
She’s on her back, the fabric bunching around her head, legs eagerly parting to let him lay between them. His mouth finds hers again, harsh this time, teeth knocking before he bites down on her bottom lip. His thigh finds its way between her thighs, it rucks her skirt up, the pants of his trousers pressed against the heat between her legs. One of his arms rests beside her head while the other dawdles over her clothed breast.
“Do you know what you do to me?” His voice is a growl, pressing his thigh into her, drawing a gasp from her throat. The pressure over her clit makes stars briefly burst behind her eyes, she tries to blink them away.
Hermione shakes her head, curls bouncing around her face.
Doing to him? What about what he had been doing to her ?
Malfoy drops a kiss to her pulse point, scraping her teeth across before letting his tongue drag down the valley of her breasts, tracing the deeply pink scar that pulls between her cleavage, pulling her top up so he can lavish her nipple. She keens, her fingernails digging into the bare skin of his shoulders, leaving little indents behind.
She grinds against him like a teenager, all at once back to her years of self discovery, pillow between her thighs and The Bloody Chamber clutched tightly in her grasp, fantasizing about the thrill of sharp teeth and claws, something that she shouldn’t want but makes her ache so desperately.
Malfoy is hard against her, cock warm and so tempting, she lets her hand wander to cup him at the front of his robes. He hisses against her breast at her touch, nipping at her before soothing with his tongue, and she tries to wriggle her hand beneath the fabric.
“Vixen,” He mutters against her skin, “Always just beyond my reach, aren’t you?”
“Not now,” She hums, her clit throbs against his thigh, and she’s a little too eager to chase her release.
“No, not now.” He agrees, rising from her chest to press a kiss to her mouth. “But I’ve been waiting for you for so long, I’m not ready to be done with you yet.”
“Please–” Hermione whines, managing to get her fingers beneath his waistband, only to end up right back where she started when he grasps her wrist.
“I need to see you come first, sweet witch.” He pins her wrist above her head, he smiles at her, teeth glinting and a memory hits her so stark of her first orgasm. Pinned like a butterly against her sheets, a wolf teaching her the joys of pleasure.
Hermione releases a whimper.
“Make a mess on my thigh, such a good girl aren’t you?” He encourages as those little familiar stars begin to sparkle behind her eyelids. “You’re going to do just as I say, and make such a pretty mess in your knickers.”
Oh fuck , her hips stuttered, pinned under the heat of his stare and the grasp of his hand.
It’s a slow build, low in the pit of her belly, the roll of her hips.
“Takes too long–” She gasps out, “Don’t want to make you wait–”
“I don’t frankly care how long it takes.” He’s relentless, white blonde hair framing his stupid perfect face as she rutted against his thigh like a wild animal. “You’re going to come for me before I even touch you with my fingers.”
Hermione was soaked through her knickers, she was practically sliding against his thigh, it should have been embarrassing. But the hot build of orgasm pricked at her anyway with each rut of her hips, Malfoy’s hand gliding along her jaw as he pulled her in for another kiss. She knows she’s sloppy in movement, little moans escaping her, but Malfoy swallows all her noises.
A familiar feeling curls in her belly and she lets her head fall back against the velvet, Malfoy’s saying something to her, but she can barely comprehend it. It simmers beneath her skin, flesh tingling, pulsing deep inside her.
“There it is,” Malfoy whispers, lips planting little kisses over her face, leaving scars in his wake of something she will never recover from, “Let me see you, darling.”
Her climax breaks, sharp as a blade as it washes over her, and she’s utterly lost in silver. Slick spills from her cunt and she’s fairly certain that her panties are positively ruined. Mortifying yet lost in the sensation of her body, she rides out her orgasm, clit throbbing through the aftershocks. Hermione lays utterly boneless against her cloak, only able to take deep breaths and stare in wonder at the man on top of her.
Hermione had expected him to look smug, but he only looks at her in wonder, starlight caught in his irises as he traces his finger along the curve of her breast, as she tries to catch her breath.
“What do I do to you?” She finds herself asking, watching Malfoy’s face turn confused. “You said ‘Do you know what you do to me’ , what do I do?”
He smiles, sharp teeth exposed, she wants to feel them against her throat again.
“You drive me positively batty.” He says, leaning down to kiss her again, hard cock pressing urgently against her leg. Hermione wiggles against it, as if to prove a point.
“I thought you didn’t like me.” She confesses, sitting up, trying to maneuver her legs to straddle him. He huffs.
“Well, you are quite swotty.” His tone is teasing, warm hands grasping her waist to help her up onto his lap. “But I can’t help but find I rather like that about you.”
Draco groans as her wet heat presses against his erection, losing his train of thought and making Hermione grin. A game of cat and mouse, beast and prey. She’d played the game, followed the trail and waited so patiently, and now she would take exactly what she wanted. Hermione knows what awaits her on the other side of the door, and she has no reason to be afraid, it would do her no good.
She lifts his robes, exposing the compression shorts he wears underneath, bulge so wonderfully delicious. She runs gentle fingers over it, relishing in the feel of his cock jumping under her touch.
“Granger–” Malfoy’s voice is a warning, that if she’s going to play with the flames, she would suffer the consequences of a burn. A thrill runs up her spine. Hermione pulls his cock from his shorts, and she’s breathless all over again, his length is creamy white and pink, head drooling with precum. Her cunt clenches, eager, and she couldn’t agree more.
Hermione slides her knickers off to the side, her cunt slick with arousal as she slides down him inch by inch. They both groan, his forehead falling against hers, that starlight cutting back through her again as he stares at her. He’s so pretty like this, cheeks pink and colored with shadows.
His cock hits every wonderful part inside her, tip notching somewhere deep that makes her vision smatter with white spots for a moment.
“Perfect–” Malfoy grits through clenched teeth. “Fucking perfect.”
Hermione couldn’t help but agree, his hands finding her waist to help her bounce on him. She’s lost in the sensation of his cock rubbing against the walls of her cunt, the tip hitting that lovely spot over and over.
“Malfoy–” He cuts her off, mouth pressing against hers, “Please–oh please–”
“Please, what little red?” He taunts, one hand leaving her waist to grope her breast. The burn of her orgasm ready to consume her at breakneck speed.
That simmering is back, boiling and bubbling, and she’s a pot ready to boil over. Except Malfoy has only just begun. She’s whimpering in his grasp, she’s about to burst into flames, and she’s not sure how he hasn’t caught fire right along with her.
“Please make me come.” She begs, voice warbled, swallowed by crackles and the rattling of tree branches. His cock hits that spot inside her again and her brain turns to mush. “Please, please –”
“How can I resist when you beg so prettily.” His hand wedges between their bodies, clever fingers finding the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.
Hermione sees stars, clusters of color explode behind her eyelids, and she’s fairly certain she isn’t holding herself up anymore, so Draco must be as his hand moves from her breast to her back. She’s lost in the feeling of his hands on her skin, mouth against hers, eyes searching her face for something. She’s not sure what it is, but she wants to give it to him. Hermione wants to give him everything, to give him her flesh and hope that he may find it immaculate, to appease the carnivore that lives within him.
The months of uncertainty and eventual back and forth melt away, pleasure white hot through her body, fissuring through muscle and bone, she’s certain that she’s going to crack, break open to only consume him the black smoke that had been billowing in her belly. But he doesn’t seem to mind, breathing her in as if she’s fresh air, consuming her as though she’s perfectly cooked.
He thrusts upward and she’s lost.
“Oh Draco–” His name rolls off her tongue too easily, painfully easy, as if she’d been holding it in her whole life. But it doesn’t matter, because her orgasm bursts finally, and she’s nothing but a pine tree in a wildfire.
Malfoy’s hips stutter, eyes going almost comically wide, sucking in a breath and watching her climax burn her alive. Her cunt clenches around him with each pulse of her orgasm, and his eyes finally roll back, his spend hot and sticky inside her as he finishes. They fall onto the plush velvet of her cloak, skin sweaty as she snuggles close to him. Hermione hisses as he pulls his softening cock from her, seed spilling onto her thigh. Draco presses a gentle kiss to her hairline, chest rapidly rising and falling against her own.
Then it’s nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing, the gentle singing of crickets, and the wind weaving through the branches. Hermione wonders if Ginny knows where they’ve wandered off to, she must if she hasn’t sent a search party out for her, the house glowing in the distance as the party continues on without them.
“Shall I apparate us to bed?” Her voice is raspy, and her eyelids droop from her proper shagging. Malfoy actually laughs.
“Us?” He asks.
“Yes, unless you want to go back to the party?”
“Merlin, no. I only came to this damned party to see you.” He mutters, and Hermione can’t help the smile that flutters across her lips. She loops her arm through his, a mimicry of all the times she’d sidealong with him, and grabs a fist-full of her cloak.
They pop right into her bedroom– damn she’s good– and Hermione casts a quick cleansing charm on the both of them before she drags him into her bed. He sheds his black robes and compression shorts, looking quite literally like a god, and Hermione is hoping he’ll shag her brains out in the morning. She never would have thought him to be a cuddler, but his arms reach out for her in less than a second, possessively wrapping around her middle.
And as his nose finds its way into her curls and her eyelids finally flutter shut, words call to her once more, words from the very book on her nightstand.
Sweet and sound she sleeps–between the paws of the tender wolf.