Hermione closed Slughorn's office door and ran halfway down the corridor before stopping to catch her breath. Merlin, she'd barely gotten out of there. The invitation had listed 7 p.m. to 9 p.m., but Slughorn kept finding ways to draw out the evening. Thank Merlin for Trelawney, who'd woken from a nap on the sofa and began grabbing people and wailing about the Cold White Hands of Fate. That helped clear the room.
She checked her wristwatch: nine-forty. There was an alcove at the end of the corridor where she could wait until ten, when she'd Vanish to ...
To Draco. The wizard had left the party long before, but Hermione still flushed to think how handsome he'd looked in black robes with steel-grey ruffs at his wrists and throat. Hermione's red-and-gold nails, which had shortened as she reviewed Isobel's party study, had lengthened again with only a few words from him. She hadn't expected such a striking recovery and immediately began babbling ...
Shaking her head to clear it, Hermione yanked the alcove's curtains aside to reveal Romilda and Cormac. "Sorry!"
She moved down the corridor to another alcove, this one warded against entry, but not sound: "Don't push me, Isobel ..." No, that growl couldn't be Justin's! "Or you'll find how demanding I can be. I like everything just so ..."
Hermione fled again and discovered that every alcove and classroom on the Fifth Floor was occupied by couples snogging, or more. It was nearly ten—someone was going to see her Vanish if she didn't—
"Granger?"
Oh Sweet Merlin, what had she ever done in her life to deserve repeated encounters with Theodore Nott? Hermione spun around with a fake smile and a quick look at her watch. Nine-fifty-two.
Nott looked irritated, although Hermione couldn't imagine why. Slughorn's party appeared to be a success, even by Isobel's metrics, and Nott's scheming had benefited both Draco and his House.
"Patrolling to report tipsy couples?" Nott sneered. "And here I thought you Gryffindors were hopeless romantics."
"I was ... I was ..." Hermione couldn't help staring at a distinct handprint on his round cheek. Someone had slapped Nott. Good for them.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
Nott looked shifty. "Nothing."
"Daphne Greengrass?" Hermione guessed.
The wizard just glared.
Hermione crossed her arms, amused. "I suppose you tried to kiss her. Or insulted her. Which was it?"
"You don't know what you're talking about," Nott snapped. "And it wasn't an insult!"
"What did you say?"
Nott looked up and down the empty corridor and was silent.
"Clearly, you were an idiot somehow." Hermione said. "I won't tell anyone. Hopeless romantic, remember?"
Nott visibly warred with himself before snapping: "I told her that Divination was rubbish."
"You what?" Hermione dropped her arms, aghast.
"Well it is, Granger!"
"Of course it is! But you don't tell her that! What kind of Slytherin are you?"
"I had to say something!" Nott sounded almost desperate. "She told me we weren't in the stars and that my aura was all wrong and that the cards warned her against me. Then she started describing frog entrails!"
"Erg," Hermione said, revolted.
"Quite so," Nott agreed. "Who does that? She just stood there, right in the middle of the party, and listed all the spells and scries and sticks she'd cast for us and how every single one spoke against me!"
Hermione looked at the wizard thoughtfully. The swollen red handprint throbbed on Nott's pale face and his green eyes were wide, reminding her of Harry's. She thought of Draco's awkward apology in the DADA classroom, of his drunken snarling and sudden confession ("You're so beautiful"). Of his tantrums over Justin and hostility toward Tennant ...
"She likes you," Hermione said flatly.
"What?"
"Greengrass has been pleading with the Spirits for a positive sign because she likes you." Hermione couldn't help wondering why. Surely the blonde witch could do better than a sneering, conniving, patronizing Slughorn acolyte like Theodore Nott. But people did want strange things, as Hermione herself could attest.
"Well, you need to apologize, and maybe shape some tea leaves into a heart," Hermione advised.
Nott gaped at her like a well-dressed fish.
"You could make up some dreams, or images you 'See' in a crystal ball," she went on. "Or you could join Trelawney's Divination Club—I know for a fact that they spend most of their time writing love letters and casting Love Prophecies."
Nott was appalled. "I don't know why I told you anything!"
"I was surprised as well," Hermione admitted.
The Slytherin muttered a curse under his breath, turned on his heel and stalked down the corridor, emerald robes billowing behind him.
"And one more thing!" he suddenly shouted, turning back to get the final word. "I will never—"
But Granger was gone.
***
Hermione landed with a thump on the bed and grabbed at a white-painted post to keep from rolling off. Where did all these stuffed unicorns come from? Oh. She giggled.
Draco's head popped up from behind the back of his armchair by the fire. "Hermione?" He stood and walked toward the bed, rubbing his face with his hand. His hair was mussed and his robes half-unfastened, and Hermione found this even more appealing than his pristine elegance at the party.
"Are you alright?" Draco asked.
Hermione blinked up at him. "I ... erm ... you ..." She flapped a hand at the pale V of skin revealed before her. "Robes. Hair."
"Did you hit your head? You weren't running, were you?"
"Running," Hermione whispered. "Nott."
"You were running, you little idiot." Draco took her hand and gently tugged her out of the pink-lined bed and onto the sofa.
"Positive signs," Hermione breathed.
Draco sighed. "I so rarely have the pleasure of understanding you."
Hermione didn't answer, just lay her head on his shoulder and soaked up his warmth. Her heart slowed slightly and her mind cleared.
"Slughorn's party ran long," she said. "He kept standing by the door."
Draco snickered. "We'll have to ask Isobel: Is it a successful party if the host keeps people from leaving?"
"Probably." Hermione could imagine Ravenclaws adopting the same technique next year to check people in and out. ("You can't leave yet—you haven't had optimal fun!")
The Slytherin reached out a long arm to unstop a crystal decanter and pour firewhiskey into two glasses. "You'll have to drink it neat," he said, handing her a glass. "The darkwood just turns it into warm milk at this hour."
Hermione sat up, unable to hide a smile at Draco's testy relationship with his new wand. Her own beloved vinewood was still tucked away in her room, recovering from its ordeal.
Draco blew on both glasses' rims to light the flames. Then he stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. Hermione tucked her robes around her.
"What shall we toast?" she asked. The drink was warm in her hand.
"Are we celebrating?"
"Why not? Tennant is gone. You're not cursed."
Draco looked down at his glass, dark lashes veiling his eyes. "It's not that simple."
"No, I suppose it's not."
They drank quietly for a moment, each with their own thoughts, until Draco spoke again.
"I don't understand how you can sit in this room," he said. "I wouldn't stay here if I didn't have to."
Hermione opened her mouth to make a quip about this lap of luxury, then instead decided to match his mood. "It's safe here now," she said. "He won't be back."
"You know what I did to him."
"Yes." Her hand touched his. "And I'm sorry."
"I don't regret it. I'd do it again." He sighed. "I cast an Unforgivable."
Hermione's hand clutched his. "It was necessary."
"It shouldn't have come to that." Draco sounded like he was forcing the words out. "My spell brought you here."
Hermione shook her head. "Tennant would have come after me regardless." She thought of the trembling Astoria Greengrass and her pile of books.
Draco looked doubtful.
"It's true," Hermione insisted. "I'm very interfering."
She expected a smile at that, or at least a smirk, but Draco just looked down at his drink again.
"Yes, you are." He sighed. "Trouble."
Hermione didn't know what to say to that, so she leaned forward and gave him a soft, quick kiss, no more than a peck. She expected Draco to deepen the kiss, pull her close, but instead he sighed again and laid his head on her shoulder this time. His face was still flushed from sleep and a deep line crossed his cheek. Hermione stroked his hair, absorbing the odd, quiet peacefulness of this formerly sinister room. The strong lamplight brought out the furnishings' vivid greens and blues as well as the silver, not to mention the glowing pink bed.
After a time Draco lifted his head again, looking a bit more alert. He set down their drinks and pulled her onto his lap, both his feet flat on the floor, her red skirt draped over his legs.
"Lovely robes," he said, trailing cool fingers down her throat.
"I bought them today. Rush job."
Draco didn't respond, just began peeling off her elbow-length red gloves and tossing them aside. The MUDBLOOD scar glowed in the lamplight (she hadn't glamoured it tonight), but he didn't stop, just brushed light fingers over the thin ridges.
Hermione's breath caught. They shouldn't move so quickly after Tennant ... she should insist they negotiate some more ... she shouldn't want ...
But she did. "Draco," she murmured and kissed him again, and this time he responded, deepening the kiss with his hand at her back. Hermione pulled her mouth away to kiss his jaw and down his throat as her own hand slid down the skin of his chest. She tried to open his robes further, but her clumsy eagerness, plus suddenly long fingernails, made progress difficult.
She heard Draco chuckle into her hair.
"Let me," he murmured, and deftly unfastened his robes and pulled off her cape in seconds. Hermione was sitting up now in only her sleeveless bodice and skirt, and Draco's open robes hung off his shoulders, revealing silk boxers beneath. He took her in his arms again, and Hermione pressed close, as she had their night before the fire. It seemed a lifetime ago.
His kisses were needy, demanding, his fingers pressing into her flesh, and Hermione opened her mouth wider and scraped her nails against his skin. She couldn't take it anymore. They deserved this.
Draco's hand slide under her skirt and up her leg, and he broke off the kisses to look her straight in the eyes.
"Tennant Rowle is gone." Draco's voice was soft. "He won't be back. Ever. This is my room again, full of my things, and here you're mine."
"Yes," she gasped. "He's gone."
His hand slid higher up her thigh. "No more pain ..."
No more pain.
"No more fear ..." His fingers stopped on the edge of her knickers.
No more fear.
"Only pleasure," he purred. "Say it."
"No more pain, no more fear," Hermione repeated, "only pleasure ... ah!" Her head fell forward against his shoulder and her eyes slid shut as he stroked her.
"Yes, oh yes ..." she moaned.
"So wet," he breathed, his fingers busy. Then his voice changed. "Louder." She had never heard his voice so deep. "There's nobody else here, Hermione. Just us. There's no one to hear you ..."
"Draco, please ..."
"Louder."
"PLEASE."
"Please, what?"
"Please, keep touching me, make me come ..."
The fingers were withdrawing, he was withdrawing, why was he ... Draco lay her on the sofa cushions and slid onto the floor, lifting her red skirt and disappearing beneath.
"Draco!" Hermione felt sticky fingers on her hips and something soft and warm touched the wetness between her legs.
"Draco," she moaned. She was likely suffocating him, but the wizard below her was in no position to complain as his tongue worked. The night by the fire had been wonderful enough, but now Hermione had gravity on her side, and she controlled their movements, guiding him with her moans and squeezing legs.
Her screams echoed through the room as she came, releasing all the fear and pain and worry and confusion. Hermione could feel her magic sparking off her body. That's it. I'm keeping him. I won't be sensible.
Draco appeared again, his mouth red and wet and his hair all on end. Hermione found herself on her back on the sofa, tasting herself in his mouth. Time blurred, and she only retained flashes of memory: Draco pulling off his robes, her elongated fingernails digging into his ribs. His hands in her hair, yanking her head back to deepen his kisses. So close to what Tennant had done, and what Tennant had wanted to do, but such thoughts were quickly scattered. No pain, no fear, only pleasure. As far as Hermione was concerned, Draco could do anything he wanted right now. This was no time for negotiation. She wanted all of him, right now. Take me, her blood sang, take me pleeeeeease ...
Unfortunately, her mouth was too busy to tell him so, and he had her pinned on the sofa as he unlaced her bodice so she couldn't even communicate wordlessly. Her bodice fell away and Hermione could feel his hardness against her. She managed to wrap her legs around him, but even that didn't get the point across. Her knickers were gone and her skirt bunched around her waist, but Draco was still wearing his silk boxers, bugger it.
He tore his mouth from hers to attack her throat, and Hermione took a mighty gulp of air. "Take me ..." she began.
"You want the bed?" Draco asked, misunderstanding her. He pulled away and Hermione blinked up at him, at his face rosy under the golden lamps. Her breath caught at the look in his eyes.
Then his eyes narrowed. "I'm not doing this on a pink bed with kittens," he declared. "Turn it back."
"We don't need to go—" She felt the cool smoothness of darkwood slide into her palm. Oh, for Godric's sake, if he would just quit bossing for a single second they could just stay on the sofa ...
"How did you do it?" Draco's heavy fringe fell over his eyes and she could see only his full, swollen lips and pointed jaw. "I spent an hour trying to turn it all back."
Oh, Merlin. Hermione was proud of her spellwork, but was this really the time? She sighed. There was no reasoning with Draco when he was fixated.
"What did you try?" she asked, resigned.
"Colovaria Contrarium."
"Close, but not quite." She pushed against his chest, reluctantly removing her legs from around his hips as he sat up. "The spell began as an accidental Colour Changing Charm, but I amended it."
"How? With what spell?" Draco cried, pointing. "Stuffed unicorns!"
Hermione giggled, then twisted her body to aim the darkwood wand at the bed. "I added a Cheering Charm to the spell," she said. "Whenever you tried to reverse it, you made the bed happier."
She swirled the wand in slow circles, trying to focus, although her mind and body were on entirely different tracks now. "You have to reverse both aspects for the counterspell to work. Colovaria Contrarium Gaudia Frolicum!"
A flick of the wand and the bed reverted to its former green, silver and black. The carved snakes slithered back up the bedposts, no longer flowering vines.
"Showoff," Draco muttered.
Hermione smiled up at him. "One should always consider amendments carefully when casting or reversing a spell."
Draco rolled his eyes, then rose to his feet to loom over her.
"It's time I put something into that smart mouth of yours," he growled. He blanched at his own words. "Fuck, was that too—?"
"No, I'm fine," she said. And she was. Perhaps if he took her to the bed they could get somewhere.
Which he did, picking her up from the sofa and laying her on the coverlet with rare gentleness. Then he stood over her, hesitating.
She sat up. Now what?
"Hermione, we don't have to ..." Draco raised his hands at her glare. "Alright, alright." He gave her a wicked smile and slid off his boxers. His erection leaped out at her and Hermione looked up to see his pale face melt with longing, his jaw slack.
She crawled forward, topless, long curls falling around her shoulders, her legs tangled in her skirt. Draco's eyes looked almost demonic, black with lust, his cheekbones spread with a dark flush. His cock was a rosy, kitten-pillow pink.
Hermione stared. Their night in front of the fire had been too shadowy and ... busy ... for any close examination. She'd gotten a better look on the second night of the Vanishing Spell, the night Draco accused her of botching the incantation. The night he'd held the snakewood to her throat. The night he'd first kissed her on purpose. And somehow the memory of that angry Draco, looming over her like a vengeful god, cock half out of his boxers, only aroused Hermione more.
She'd never stared at a naked man so openly before and probably would have remained on her hands and knees, hypnotized like a ninny, if Draco hadn't spoken.
"Taste me, Hermione." His dark voice made her blood pound. "Show me what that quick tongue of yours can do."
She was so close to touching him, just inches away, her head bending, but something made her look up again. A mother-of-pearl clock face glowed beyond Draco's bare shoulder, the ornate hour hand pointed to ...
Bong ... bong ... bong ...
Her eyes met Draco's. Oh, no. Nooo ...
"Accio bodice!" she cried, and the scrap of red silk, stiff whalebone and untied laces flew into her hand. Hermione slipped it on—ye gods, she was headed back to the Fifth Floor corridor!
Draco cursed as he tossed her the cape and the final bell tolled. Then Hermione could only watch helplessly as the bed, clock and the wizard's despairing face all Vanished in a white flash.
NEXT UP: Draco learns what's in the cards in Divination.