Drawn ( A Dramione Story)

Lasting Effects

She tossed the black dust into the grate of the Malfoy villa and stepped inside the fireplace. Her head spun around as she squeezed through the channels. A sudden heaviest dropped her stomach to her knees so hard that she fell to the grate, dirtying her hand in dark ash.

Her body quaked. Stomach swirled harder than a washing machine. She barely managed to raise to her knees when the blinding headache came.

The hangover finally caught up.

It was back with vengeance. Probably mad that she'd let herself be so enticed with Malfoy's cock to realize that a hangover would still come in the morning.

She fell face down on her mattress. It was double the size of the other dorm beds. Another advantage of being separate from the others. Only, when she actually needed someone, it was more effort to find someone.

Her patronus otter did the work for her. It flew over to the Gryffindor Tower through the portrait hole up the winding staircase until it reached the girl's dormitory where her best friend slept. She hoped it would not die out before then. Her energy to cast wasn't focused solely on the spell.

Soreness resided in her lower abdomen. No doubt from all the scraping and shoving Malfoy did when he pushed himself inside and permanently disrupted the composure of her internal organs. She laid still as she could for as long as possible, even though her thoughts yearned for Malfoy's flesh pressed against hers. His breath hot against her neck.

Their romp together was more blurred than any other part of the night. Hermione reached far into her memory for any sliver of confidence that Malfoy had been just as enamored as she had by the violent bliss that made it impossible for any second thoughts. Moaned her name, perhaps?

There was a moan, she remembered, but it was distinct. At the Shrieking Shack. He'd moaned it just as his cock stiffened in her mouth, fingers tensed in her hair, and pulled her closer with a slight catch in his breath. The chill that blew in from the drafty boards was nothing against the heat that shot at the back of her throat in startling bitterness. Then came the heat of pride that radiated within.

Pride. Why was she proud? She'd just broken dozens of school rules in one night! Ashamed was a more appropriate feeling for the moment where all her respect for the ancient institution of Hogwarts was drowned out by Firewhiskey.

It wasn't too long before the young Weasley was roused from her slumber. Ginny had the password. The castle allowed her to enter the new dorm of the older students and head straight to Hermione's room.

"What's happened? What's wrong?" Ginny asked.

She wore her Gryffindor pajamas, one strap hanged off her shoulder and the waist of her pants was hiked ridiculously high. Hermione hadn't realized how early it was. Rome was filled with morning light. People, she heard them on the streets, too. But Hogwarts laid quiet.

Hermione groaned. "My head is what's wrong."

"Your head? Why?" Ginny rushed over and cupped her forehead. "Did you fall?"

"Oh, I fell alright. Right to the damned bottom where Malfoy awaits with a large, blissful cock and an appetite the size of a rutting rhino," she spat.

Ginny gasped at her use of language. Crass was not Hermione Granger's style.

But the news was more exciting. "Godric Gryffindor and all that is holy. You mounted the white dragon? Tell me everything!" Her friend squealed with delight. She kicked out her feet, ruffling up perfectly made sheets. Then like a sudden change, Ginny crossed her legs and turned serious. "Now. Tell me. Does he have the part of a dragon that is most interesting?"