Author's Note: Thanks you so much to all those reading and reviewing! I appreciate your feedback so much! Please note that the final scene "Dessert" deserves an M-rating, imo. It is not necessary to read it however if you're not keen on smut; the story's official end is actually the scene before it.
Now on to the final part of this fluffy little story! I hope you all enjoy :3
۞ Part Four ۞
Hermione didn't go to lunch in the Hall; she ate in her rooms like a coward instead, her mind racing madly in leaps and bounds, racing in circles chasing its own tail. Her – rather excellent – memory dredged up every significant interaction between her and Malfoy since she had started being polite to him, and in hindsight it was blatantly clear. Blatantly, painfully clear. They had been flirting. She and Malfoy had been flirting all this time, and she had developed feelings for him that went beyond the platonic. And although Hermione wouldn't be willing to bet on it, it seemed very much as though Malfoy had developed a similar attraction to her. In fact, she was rather certain of that. Oh dear Merlin, this was not what she had wanted from her first year of teaching at Hogwarts.
It was Malfoy. The horrid boy, the Death Eater, the colleague she sat next at every meal and bickered with, the complicated, sarky, unexpectedly sweet man that she had become friends with. The man whose father wanted to see Hermione dead, and whose mother thought she was lower than dirt. Hermione stared with unfocused eyes down into her barely-touched soup. It was ridiculous. He couldn't…
But Hermione remembered very clearly the way Malfoy had looked at her in the Three Broomsticks, leaning down, so close to her she could smell his cologne, his pupil-swamped eyes locked hard to hers, his fingers just barely grazing her shoulder and yet making her shiver all over. She had wanted to kiss him so badly. And it was more than just a brief flash of chemistry – it was so damn much more than that. She just hadn't realised until now. Hermione's breath escaped her on a juddering groan and she dropped her spoon back in her soup in frustration. She retreated to the little couch before the fireplace, curling up on the soft leather and staring into the flickering fire, her chin resting in the cup of one hand.
It was undeniable, Hermione realised, sitting there on her couch before the scorching heat of the fire, soup abandoned on the table behind her: she had gone and fallen for Draco bloody Malfoy.
So…what was she going to do about it?
Hermione avoided meals for going on four days, visiting Minerva that first evening as the Headmistress drank a cup of coffee that she suspected might have been laced generously with firewhiskey. She pled fatigue, and generally not feeling quite well, as her reason for staying away and eating in her rooms. Minerva raised a sceptical eyebrow at that, but could do nothing about it; while teachers were expected to attend a certain percentage of meals, Hermione had exceeded that number so far this school year and the Headmistress had no real reason to inquire further. That didn't, however, stop her from doing so.
"You're still well enough to teach, Hermione, so what exactly is the issue?" The much older witch pursed her lips and pinned Hermione with a sharp look. "Is this about Mr Malfoy? Has he…been bothering you in some way?"
Hermione was rather certain she wasn't imagining the humour hidden in Minerva's age-paled eyes, and twitching around her wrinkled mouth. She looked down at the floor, feeling exposed, and indignant with it. So the Headmistress knew too. How mortifying – but not entirely surprising. "No, no he hasn't been bothering me. I simply…would like to have some peace and quiet with my meals."
"Because the holidays were so strenuously chaotic at mealtimes?" Minerva asked pointedly, with an openly knowing smile, and the image of the almost-empty Hall flashed through Hermione's mind. She flushed. "Very well, Hermione," Minerva relented in her line of questioning with a hint of kindness, and a dismissive wave of her hand. "Do as you please."
"Thank you, Minerva. I shall." As Hermione turned to leave the Headmistress' office, Minerva's voice calling her name stopped her in her tracks. She glanced over her shoulder at the stately witch, seated where Dumbledore once sat, and filling the role admirably.
"One piece of advice, if I may act as though I am your Head of House once more, Miss Granger." Minerva smiled dryly, before continuing: "You can't avoid awkward situations forever. And unfortunately, that has a tendency to just make the situation worse." Hermione frowned slightly. She knew very damn well that she couldn't hide forever but she wanted some time to sort through the bewildering array of feelings that had emerged, and she didn't think there was anything wrong with that. She inclined her head respectfully to her old Head of House, though.
"Thank you, Minerva. I'll keep that in mind."
She ate her dinner and every other meal thereafter in her rooms, and avoided Malfoy in the corridors like a ninja.
When she finally emerged for breakfast after going on four days in hiding, Hermione wore dark grey trousers, a pale blue silk blouse, and sensible ankle boots, with her voluminous teaching robes over top hiding what was beneath anyway. It was the usual sort of attire that she wore during term time. She wasn't going to dress any differently just because she and Malfoy had some kind of highly inappropriate feelings for each other, and because she had decided what she was going to do about it.
She stared in her mirror, feeling a little frantic. Hermione didn't even know Hogwarts' regulations regarding teachers associating with each other romantically – there were probably all sorts of rules. Panic was seizing her in rushes and flushes, and she felt like an idiot. She had been lucky enough to never have any kind of strong feelings toward a colleague before. Office romances – weren't they said to be a bad idea? Well. It was too late – she'd already made up her mind. She felt like she was preparing to fling herself off a cliff, and she very much hoped she hadn't misread Malfoy, and he would be ready to catch her.
Her throat was dry, and her heartbeat was going at Olympic – and frankly quite worrying – speeds. Her hair was still behaving quite well so she left it down – the easier to hide any mortified blushes behind if, or rather when things got awkward with Malfoy. She made sure to arrive to dinner early, so she could steel herself for Malfoy's arrival before he appeared, dragging Neville along with her as a human shield just in case he had decided to be there early too. Luckily Neville was an early riser, and had already been up, pottering about in the greenhouses cheerfully. They chatted about light topics as they made their way to the Hall.
"Honestly, Hermione, you're acting completely neurotic," Neville said kindly, as she lost her train of thought halfway through a sentence for the fourth time since they'd sat down. "So you like Malfoy – really, what's wrong with that? Nothing! It's hardly the end of the world."
"I am going to murder Harry for telling you," Hermione muttered darkly to herself, poking her spoon neatly into line with the edge of her placemat with one fingertip. Harry had been horrified to hear from Ginny that his best friend and the younger Malfoy had had a moment at the Three Broomsticks. When – after his initial firecall in which Harry said unwise things that had irritated Hermione greatly – she had refused his subsequent, multiple firecalls by way of using an aguamenti charmto put out the fire, he'd firecalled Neville.
Harry had apparently related the situation and spouted some nonsense to Neville about looking out for Hermione and making sure Malfoy didn't hurt her, Neville had relayed with a small, embarrassed smile. Ridiculous. What did Harry think this was? The 1950s? "He had no right." She glowered at the world in general, feeling rather sullen about Harry's terrible behaviour. She'd already sent him a Howler, but received no apology yet.
"I'm sorry, Hermione – I would have told him not to tell me, only if I'd known he shouldn't have told me then I'd already have known, wouldn't I, and…" Neville said without pause for breath, face worried and hangdog, and Hermione instantly felt badly for him, being shoved in the middle between them all.
"Calm down, Neville, please. It's fine; it's not your fault that Harry went and blabbed to you." Hermione gave Neville a reassuring nod and tried to smooth away her frown with her fingertips sweeping over her forehead, and smiled at him, albeit tiredly. "But please don't try to play matchmaker. What happens – or doesn't happen – between Malfoy and me is our business unless we should share it and invite opinion. And a firecall from Harry is not –" She broke off, her head jerking to the side and her eyes widening with badly hidden shock.
"Draco." She said his name in a blank tone like an idiot and stiffened in her chair, coming over half-faint with nerves and embarrassment as he sat down in his seat with a nod to her and Neville. He had to have heard some of what she'd said. Hermione clenched her fists hard in her lap, wanting to sink into the floor.
"Longbottom. Hermione." He sounded completely normal, even if he looked somewhat cool and distant in his perfectly-tailored black teachers' robes, his features set in neutrality. "Good morning."
"Morning, Malfoy," Neville greeted him with a nervy kind of grin, and then shuffled his chair an inch or two away from Hermione, as if abandoning her to Malfoy. Hermione couldn't really blame him for wanting to extricate himself from the situation though – she would quite like to do that herself, if it were possible. Unfortunately it wasn't part of the rough plan she had plotted out in her head. A plan that Hermione seemed incapable of implementing. Of course. She sat silently staring at her still-empty plate instead, bar occasional peeks at Malfoy out of the corner of her eye, her palms sweating, so aware of his presence. It was so stupid – she felt like a giddy schoolgirl with a crush.
The breakfast meal appeared, a magnificent spread that weighed down the table to creaking as always, and Hermione sighed. She really wasn't hungry right now. She put a dry bit of toast in the very centre of her plate, and shot a sneaky glance at Malfoy. By a stroke of bad – or was it good? – luck, he was looking at her, and they stared at each other for a frozen moment. Then a smile curved his mouth into a lopsided, wistful shape, and Hermione returned a weak echo of it. God, Malfoy was too bloody gorgeous when he smiled like that, and in a strange way it was a relief to be able to admit that to herself instead of steeping in denial.
"You've been avoiding me," he said bluntly but quiet enough that no one else could hear, his eyes dragging over her, the look oddly intimate. Hermione gulped.
"I wasn't feeling well."
He gave her a scathing look. "Really. Is that so?"
"Yes, actually," she lied through her teeth – badly – and then prevented further talk with a mouthful of toast. Malfoy stared at her a little longer, obviously wanting to goad her into…Merlin knew what. But he didn't, and turned away to his tea in the end, and silence fell and reigned for a while.
"The Potters' kid was…cute," Malfoy said hesitantly, out of the blue. He was clearly making an effort to be casual, although he was still hanging onto part of that distant, awkward demeanour – his voice a little too formal, his posture a little too stiff. Hermione smeared a thick layer of butter over a second piece of toast, and sawed it neatly into two bits.
"Isn't he just?" she said, speaking to him as though they were polite acquaintances and berating herself for doing so. She needed to relax, damnit. She was supposed to be talking to him, not ignoring him. "It was adorable the way he smacked you one." She smirked up at Malfoy, tearing a bit off the crust of her toast and popping it in her mouth. He cocked an eyebrow.
"Not so adorable from my side of things, although I must say it brought back memories. You had a good arm on you, if I recall correctly."
"You do," she said, grinning as she stuffed another morsel of toast in her mouth. "God, I wish someone had videoed that."
"One of your proudest moments, was it?" Malfoy asked, relaxing subtly in his chair and shifting to face her, stretching out his legs lazily and crossing them at the ankle, arms crossed equally lazily over his chest. Hermione hummed a little laugh under her breath, eyes going faraway as she remembered the occasion, before refocusing on the man beside her.
"No…no, not proud. I was rather ashamed of myself, actually, for giving in to such a barbaric urge. No." She shook her head, bit her lip, fully aware that she was deliberately flirting at the teachers' table in front of all the other teachers, and the students. She felt positively scandalous. "It was just so…satisfying," she admitted with innuendo-dripping relish, and Malfoy's eyes flashed dark, he swallowed hard. His eyes pinned her, cool, pale grey and yet somehow filled with heat. His voice was a little rough when he spoke.
"Very," Hermione told him, dragging out the word slowly and meaningfully, and then playfully, dismantling the sexual tension: "You really, really deserved it."
Malfoy hummph'ed quietly at that and a smile played about his lips as he inclined his head to her in deference. "Fair enough. I don't disagree. I was a little bastard to you, after all."
Hermione stared at him then for a long moment, as though she had never seen him before. The man before her was her friend, the one-time evil little git and then Death Eater – whom she had now tumbled into incredibly inconvenient head-over-heels infatuation with. And that was…so, so strange. She stared at him with wide, puzzled eyes trying to comprehend it, and he gave her a puzzled look, waved a hand in front of her face to get her attention. "Herm–"
"Would you like to go out?" fell out of Hermione's mouth, and her face blazed up maroon, her hands tangled in her lap, squashing the poor slice of toast beyond all hope of rescue and getting butter all over her hands. And Malfoy straightened in his chair and narrowed a steely, intent kind of gaze on her, filled with such a myriad of emotions that she had no hope of identifying them all. He cleared his throat and canted his head to the side, looking at her very carefully.
"Go out?" he asked smoothly, eyes narrowing and a glint of vaguely malicious pleasure sparking up in them.
"Yes. Um. Yes. Out. For…erm, dinner? Or…er, lunch, perhaps?" Oh good one, Hermione, she berated herself furiously, do try to sound more flustered why don't you?
"We eat together every day, Hermione," Malfoy pointed out, a sly, not-quite-benign mischief in every sharp line of him. "Breakfast, lunch, dinner…why would we want to go out?" He was all fake-innocence and Hermione huffed and glared at him, embarrassment lost beneath a rising annoyance. She didn't stop to think that perhaps that was why he had been gently goading her. She took a deep breath and stared him down.
"Because it would be a romantic dinner," she said very bravely, half-glaring at Malfoy thanks to her determination to just say it, and then added belatedly and nervously: "Unless of course, you don't want to, in which case –"
"Salazar save me, shut up, of course I damn well want to, Hermione. I've wanted to for…" Malfoy gave her a helpless look, loose-boned with relief and smiling at her in a way that her heart skip. "…For quite a while, to be honest. But I thought you didn't feel that way – I – I wasn't sure. I didn't want to –"
"You were too afraid to ask me out!" Hermione accused him, full of surprise and almost-laughter. "You great big coward."
Malfoy scowled at her, but didn't deny it. His expression spoke volumes though; he looked like nothing so much as a scalded cat for a moment. And then he deliberately straightened in his seat, ran a hand over his hair, adjusted his robes, and finally fixed her with a completely composed, contemplative stare. Hermione shifted uncomfortably as his eyes raked intently over her, a little twinge sparking up betwixt her thighs in response. His expression turned vaguely triumphant as she pressed her thighs hard together, as if he could tell.
"Tonight," he said decidedly, as if there would be no argument on her part. And there wouldn't be, but he didn't know that, the presumptuous git. "Tonight; I know just the place." He named a very well-known Muggle restaurant in London, and Hermione felt her eyebrows crawl halfway up her forehead in surprise.
"…You can get a table there on such short notice?"
"Of course I can," he said with a dismissive shrug of one shoulder, and a half-smirk, leaving Hermione agreeing with a nod and stupidly shy smile, while inwardly wondering where and how on earth she was going to get an appropriately dressy outfit in time. And then Malfoy turned the conversation neatly back to lighter subjects, lifting the stomach-twisting tension for the remainder of breakfast, thank Merlin. But all Hermione could think about beneath the appearance of relaxed chat was dinner, her nerves already balling up in tightly-strung knots.
"You look amazing," Malfoy complimented her for the fourth time that evening as he pulled out her chair for her at the restaurant. She smiled with embarrassed pleasure and looked down, cheeks flushing faintly warm. It was so strange to be out on a date with him like this. Especially with him strikingly handsome in a Muggle suit that had to have cost more than a month's wages, and she in a brand new dress that had cost almost a week's wages.
"Honestly, Malfoy, if you say it too much more, you'll just sound insincere," she told him, self-conscious at all the flattery, trying to tug down the skirt of her dress as she sat down at the cosy table with a view out over London. She wore a black bandage dress – insanely tight in her opinion – that showed off more cleavage than she was entirely comfortable with and stopped an inch too high up her legs, paired with dark purple heels that she felt distinctly wobbly in. Well, that was what she got for letting Ginny help her in a hurried shopping dash only a few hours before her date. Malfoy certainly seemed to like it though, and Hermione couldn't deny that she loved the way he looked at her tonight, with a faint almost-awe in his eyes. She felt sexy as hell.
"Well I'm not," he told her firmly as he took his seat, popping open the buttons on his suit jacket with an easy, quick motion, lean and predatory in charcoal pinstripes with his short hair slicked carelessly back, and his top shirt button undone. Merlin he was hot. "Just so you know. I mean every word, Hermione."
She hid another smile behind the menu the waiter gave her. Dinner unfolded, simply, easily, thank Merlin, both of them relaxing as the evening went on – although the electric hum of sexual tension remained, buzzing in the air and making everything somehow more…meaningful. It was just like any other time she was around Malfoy, only now she was constantly being reminded of her desperate desire to shag him senseless. And then when the dessert menu arrived, Malfoy tossed it onto the table, leaning back in his chair and fixing her with a look.
"Hermione…"he began as a slow smile crawled over his face, wicked and sharp. "How about we skip dessert?" His voice was silky and persuasive, the real meaning lurking in his words crystal clear, and Hermione felt her cheeks slowly heat. "Or rather, have it elsewhere…" he continued in a low voice, and then waited for her answer with a vaguely amused expression as she caught in her breath and bit her lip nervously. Oh Merlin. She wanted to, but it was their first date and she wasn't sure it would be wise.
"We would…partake in your rooms, I assume?" she inquired as calmly as was humanly possible, wanting to make sure they were really talking about the same thing, and shock crossed Malfoy's face and shattered his carefully assembled composure as he mistakenly took her query for a tentative assent. His breath pulled in hard and his grip on the stem of his wine glass tightened, his full lips parted in a way that made her want to kiss them immediately.
"We would," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. Hermione couldn't help smirking to herself faintly, taking a rather childish little pleasure in realising the effect she could have upon him. But this was only their first date, and madly in lust with Malfoy or not, Hermione was not the type of person to leap straight into bed with someone.
"I…no, I don't think that would be a good idea," she declined Malfoy gently and watched his face fall – surprised by his disappointment and realising belatedly that he had been fully expecting her to say yes. She wasn't sure whether that spoke to his self-assurance, or whether his opinion of her was that she was wildly uninhibited – and if the latter she wondered where in the world he would have gotten that impression.
He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, and his eyes dropped to the tabletop before he looked up again with a tight little smile and a nod. "Of course. Sorry. I shouldn't have…"
"It's fine, Draco. Honestly. I just…" She trailed off, unable to find the words. An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them, and she cursed in her head – a slew of filthy words that she'd mostly picked up from Ron. Dessert was incredibly stilted, and Hermione thought that perhaps her – perfectly reasonable – refusal had crushed Malfoy's ego. They managed to return to easy conversation just as they were leaving the restaurant, but Malfoy was uncertain and careful with her now, his smooth confidence gone, and Hermione was unaccustomed to taking the lead in romantic situations.
But after they'd disapparated to Hogwarts she made him walk her to her rooms, and said a soft goodnight to him in the empty corridor with the torchlight flickering dimly, casting leaping shadows on their faces. Malfoy kissed her goodnight cautiously on the cheek, and Hermione took great pleasure in sliding her fingers into his hair and firmly redirecting him to her mouth. Her kiss was demanding, insistent, and Malfoy made a please, low sound that was rough in his throat, and returned the kiss in kind.
Hermione smiled against Malfoy's parted lips. Just because she didn't think they should shag yet, didn't mean they couldn't…snog… She lost herself to the kiss as it lingered and deepened, her breath coming faster in a series of mmphs and ngghs, the tight skirt of her dress hitching up precariously as she pressed the inside of her knee to the outside of his leg, trying to fit herself closer to him.
Malfoy's mouth was warm and soft on hers, his arm curling lean and wiry around her waist as he pressed her back up to meet the cold stone wall so they didn't lose their balance and fall down in a tangle. Hermione's back arched out, her breasts nearly bubbling out of the low-cut neckline, his thumb gently tracing the curve of one swell before he bent his head to her again, their tongues just barely brushing, making want shoot through her like lightning, and her clit beg for the touch of his long, skillful fingers. But instead he clutched her hip firmly with one hand, fingers indenting her flesh, and buried the other in her hair. Her whimpers were muffled by his lips, her hands curling over his shoulders and crumpling his suit as she grabbed onto him tightly, her knees feeling weak and watery.
"Christ," she gasped rather breathlessly as they broke apart after several long minutes, their eyes meeting, a smile burgeoning on Malfoy's lips that crinkled his eyes, his thumb grazing across her damp, kiss-swollen lips. He stepped back, smiling crookedly.
"Good night, Hermione," he said, and then walked away before she could form any kind of coherent words, his hair bright in the torchlight, straightening his suit jacket neatly as he disappeared down the corridor with a bounce to his step. Hermione slumped back against the wall bonelessly, tugging down the skirt of her dress as she stared after him wide-eyed and just a little dazed, her lipstick smeared. Wow.
"Good morning," Malfoy greeted her the next morning, bright and friendly, without a hint of innuendo. He sat down beside her, one of the tassels of his green hat sticking out of his deep jacket pocket, his hair ruffled and his grey eyes light and clear. "It's Saturday."
Hermione couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, her insides all suffused with delicious, happy warmth, remembering last night – the kiss, oh god, the kiss. Aloud she answered him pertly, with a hint of teasing sarcasm: "It is indeed, Malfoy. What an excellent observation."
"Would you like to go for a walk into Hogsmeade? Right now? Perhaps stop in at the Three Broomsticks and have breakfast there instead of here?" He could have been asking her as a friend, perfectly casual and warm without a single jot of awkwardness – except the way his foot pushed against hers and his eyes glinted meaningfully were not platonic in the slightest. Hermione beamed at him, nodding without hesitation.
"I'd love to." She pushed her chair back and stood, a smile still playing about her lips as he pulled on his knitted cap and shot her a lopsided grin. She very much wished they weren't in front of half the school, because in that moment she really wanted to take his hand and hold onto it tightly. She did so as soon as they were off the grounds, completely alone, and he started with surprise at her cold touch, and then smiled down at her affectionately. His hand was warm and callused around hers, and he tucked her fingers up inside his to keep them warm. Their breath puffed steam on the air, and they bumped gently against each other as they strolled along in companionable silence, the air reddening their noses and cheeks and their feet crunching quietly on the path.
It was really rather perfect.
Hermione had waited far too long for this – four long, long weeks to be exact, aside from all the time she'd spent firmly in denial about her feelings – and from Malfoy's rough eagerness it seemed he agreed with her about the urgency of the matter.
She was barely through the door to Malfoy's rooms, flushed and nervous and aching inside, before he was on her, door flying shut with a bang at his muttered charm. Hand to her cheek, calluses rough and dragging like heaven on her skin, backing her up fast and stumbling into the wall.
"Fuck…Hermione…" He was touching her all over with skilful, frantic hands, and her arousal was stoking like a bonfire on Guy Fawkes', flaming through her every nerve ending.
She slumped back against the wall, her skin tingling and her insides twisting deliciously as Malfoy growled into her hair, the sound breaking with a tight little hitch as his body flattened to hers and his erection ground against her belly through their clothes. The wall was hard and cold on her back, and he was hot and wiry, and as she pressed forwards against him she could feel the pound of his heart vibrating through his chest.
Her hands began hurriedly popping the buttons on his dress robes open, and his lips grazed along her temple, laying open-mouthed kisses. His mouth found hers as he bent his head, and Hermione chased after his lips, capturing them in a kiss that left them both gasping. Malfoy's mouth was soft and damp and hot, and the curls of his tongue made her clit throb and her pussy clench. It had been too long – much, much too long.
God, there were too many damn buttons. Why did that stupid wizarding restaurant have to have something against easy-to-remove Muggle clothing?
"Do you mind dreadfully if I just rip this off you?" she asked him with half-desperate humour as they broke apart for a moment to breathe, tugging at his robe roughly, cursing the long row of tiny buttons. Malfoy left off nibbling at her jaw and met her eyes – his pupils blown and his breath coming as short and jagged as hers was.
"I'd really rather you didn't, to be honest," he said ruefully. "Do you have any idea how expensive this was? And magical mending just isn't the same."
She giggled near-hysterically, shaky with nerves and desire, and shook her head. "No I have no idea, and I don't think I want to. Just…get it off. Now."
"Bossy," he chided her with a wicked glance, but his long, elegant fingers were working at the buttons on his robes with quick sure movements. Hermione's robe fluttered to the floor in heaps of grey cloth just before his – far less buttons, being as her robes had been more of a cloak atop her floor-length wizarding style dress – and she took the chance to take off her heels, kicking them carelessly aside and watching as Malfoy draped his robes over the back of the couch.
"How much were they, then?" she asked curiously as Malfoy stepped forward and she immediately leaned toward him, his hands sliding around her waist to flatten on her back. Her head tilted up as she gazed at him with hooded eyes, and he kissed her mouth light and teasing.
Hermione went up on tiptoes and kissed him more deeply, swaying into him and cupping his face in her hands hungrily, her lips moulding to his and her tongue flicking out teasing and greedy. His cheeks were sandpapery with the faintest shadow of stubble, and he tasted like the sweet wine he'd had at dinner. Sparks of want shot through her and made her need him in her, now. She felt like she wanted to push him down and bloody ravish him on the floor right there.
"Fuck me," she told Malfoy raggedly as she stared into his eyes, the filthy, wanting words spilling from her tongue so naturally, and he groaned, his hands running down the curve of her back to grasp her bum through the thin silk of her dress.
"Oh fuck," Malfoy mumbled shakily against her skin, mouth latching to her throat, laying sucking kisses in a tickling line beneath her jaw, and her flesh prickled, shivers running over her like the crackle of static. "Oh fuck, Hermione, trust me, I'm going to."
Malfoy was breathless and his cock was hard against her abdomen, his fingers gathering her long skirts up with impatient little motions, and Hermione was dizzy with need. His hand shockingly hot on the bare skin of her thigh, like a brand, climbing up, stroking upwards towards the thin knickers she wore, now damp and just a bothersome barrier. He hooked her knickers down and replaced them with his hand, cupping her, his touch a welcome shock on her slick, needy flesh. She pressed eagerly against his touch, moaning and stuttering gasps as his fingers grazed and teased over all the right places, her own hands fumbling and tugging at his trouser fastenings.
Hermione was sure Hogwarts had some archaic rule about unmarried staff members not being allowed to have sex on school property, but at this point she didn't really care. And as long as they didn't start playing footsies at the High Table, she didn't think Minerva would care, either. She finally got Malfoy's trousers undone with a little cry of triumph, and shoved them and his shorts down over his hips, his cock bobbing free, her hand wrapping around the silky-hard hot length of it and squeezing, eliciting a choked moan from his lips, his forehead tipping down to press against hers, his pupils blown and eyes glazed. Hermione smiled.
He was bloody delicious, and oh Merlin, she was starving.
Author's Note: I had a great deal of fun (and frustration) writing something that was so completely out of my comfort zone - short, and fluffy. I think I learned a lot about my strengths and weaknesses writing this, so yay!
I'm not *quite* happy with the pacing in this chapter, but unless I want to turn the fic into something twice the length, it was time to wrap it up. I hope the pacing worked okay for you guys :) Please leave a comment and let me know!
Oh, and: Happy very belated birthday, Phnxgirl! XD All the love!