A/N: final chapter, and it's a long one!

Hermione followed him upstairs. It started to rain outside, light and hard at the same time, punctuating the flutter in her chest with the soothing ambiance. She noted the hand that danced across her lower back, and the man to whom it was attached. It was difficult to focus on anything else. Once he opened the door, she entered the master bedroom. Similar to the office, his room was coloured in shades of emerald and silver, with dark wooden furniture and tall windows, from where she observed the cobbled streets.

It was as dark inside, as it was outside.

Behind her, he neared. "Would you like something to drink?" he asked, moving to the table on her right. It was wooden, with wheels attached to the bottom; a vintage bar cart. On top, rested several bottles of wine and whiskey, as well as some Quintin Black, a bottle of which she hadn't seen in quite some time.

The brunette faced him, smartly. "Your attempts at getting me drunk are cute."

"What are you —" His voice hitched. "I'm not trying to —"

"Relax," Hermione laughed, skirting past him and towards the cart, where she uncorked a bottle of wine and poured two glasses, handing one to him before taking a sip from her own. "Mmm…what is this?"

His eyes were focused on her lips for an extra moment, before snapping back. "Superior Red," he replied, with the smallest hint of surprise. "You've never heard of it?"

"Huh," she voiced. "Can't say I have."

"Look there," he instructed, holding the bottle between them, brushing his thumb over the label.

"Mal —" Bewildered, her attention bounced to him. "I had no idea your family manufactured wine."

He laughed a little. "Where do you think the money comes from?"

Hermione shrugged, sharing his countenance. "Just the usual: laundering, extortion, and embezzlement. It all ties in together, really."

"Har har…" he chided, sounding nothing close to insulted. "There goes your complimentary bottle."

"Do you send all your dates home with a bottle of wine?" she asked, teasingly. "Or just the ones you don't plan on seeing again?"

Malfoy arched his brow, with a faint smirk. "I had no idea this was a date," he smoothly answered.

Her cheeks flushed scarlet. "You know what I mean."

"Perhaps not," he inserted. "I don't date much. Never been in a proper relationship."

"What about Pansy?" she casually asked.

He snorted with laughter. "That was never a thing."

"It sure looked like a thing back in school," Hermione voiced, flicking her eyes at him. "I'd venture so far as to say, you were her favourite subject."

"Precisely," he reasoned. "It was one-sided."

"Huh," she voiced, again.

Malfoy looked at her, smiling. "What about you and Weasley? I'd love to know what happened there."

She responded to his sarcastic tone with a lazy glare. "More like what didn't happen."

"Weasel King was too scared to tie the knot?"

"Bingo," she confirmed, mid-sip.

Malfoy nodded in thought. "I'd figured as much."

Hermione swallowed her mouthful. "Because the thought of marrying me is so unbearable?" she asked, in a teasing manner.

"Wouldn't you love to know," he chimed, tossing her a discreet wink as he moved to the window, leaning against the sill with one hand in his pocket and the other around his glass, swirling before each sip.

She paused a moment, keeping her back turned in an attempt to hide the vivid red of her cheeks.

It was soon — far too soon to be discussing such matters.

But the undertones remained.

Hermione forced the lingering heat further down her esophagus and moved to the windowsill, beside him. It happened in slow succession. She felt his eyes bounce to her legs, one of which had been wrapped firm around his waist not a moment ago. It was back again — that prickling heat. On the verge of passing out, she downed the remainder of her wine in one stream. Her skin burned with the memories, of his mouth on her neck and his hands on her waist.

But nothing burned more, than the sensation of being pressed up against him, against his heat. In response to this, her muscles tensed. Merlin, he's delicious…

"Truth or dare?" he then asked, as though he'd waited all night.

She faced him, cheeks aflame. The answer was clear. "Dare."

It was clear as day.

Draco studied her for the better part of the next moment. It was difficult not to. She was there, beside him, in his house, in his bedroom, within reaching distance. If he so much as shifted an inch to the right, their bodies would touch, and as tempting as that sounded, he couldn't. After mauling her in his office, the next move would have to be from her. It was clear she wanted him, in some capacity, but he didn't want to pull the trigger without knowing for sure.

That in mind, he formed his response.

"I dare you to do exactly what's on your mind," he voiced, noting the colour of her cheeks, the rhythm of her chest, the airiness of her eyes and the manner in which his body responded to her.

It happened slowly, spanning tens of seconds — minutes.

Granger said nothing.

She chose instead to focus on the dare, to lift the wine glass from his grasp, to set it on the floor with hers, to rise from the windowsill, to turn her body toward his, to move closer, to unconsciously brush his skin with the ends of her hair as she leaned forward, to wrap her arms gently around his neck and shoulders, to balance both knees on either side of him and cause his trousers to tighten, as she lowered.

"Not so fast…" she softly cautioned, swatting his hands before they reached her hips. "This is my dare."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but his words were cut short. Granger silenced him, placing her index finger over his lips and pressing down on his lap, watching the way his countenance wavered from heat to burning, uncontrollable fire. It was quite sadistic. But, he didn't mind submitting to this woman. He rather craved it.

Miles deep in the sensation of Hermione Granger firm on his lap, where she belonged, he barely noticed when she leaned forward and skimmed her lips over the shell of his ear.

"Listen to me," she whispered, adding to the hardness in his trousers with nothing but her voice. "In about five seconds, I'm going to kiss the smirk off those lips…and you, Draco Malfoy, are going to take it."

With immense restraint, he kept from tearing her dress to shreds and burying his tongue deep in her cunt. Merlin, the things he wished to do, the pleasure he wished to give this witch. Just the sound of her voice drove him mad with longing. If she kept up her touching and her teasing, he would have no choice but to teach her an important lesson with his mouth between her legs.

Granger cautioned him again with a single, penetrating look and then slowly, put action to her words. She kissed him, in a way that told him he couldn't kiss back until she said so. It was light but hard, and burned him from the inside out. Unlike their previous kiss, her lips moved with confidence and conviction. It was clear she had something in mind; that she wanted to turn him into a hot, writhing mess. Between her lips, she sucked on his, releasing him with a wet pop and then deepening the kiss, exploring his mouth with her tongue. It took every ounce of self-control he had left, to not kiss back. Particularly, when she chose to lower the kiss, to suck and to bite the flesh of his neck, down the column of his throat.

Around that time, when he decided he could hold back no more, the brunette separated from his neck and whispered two words to him.

Join me.

Delirious from the build-up, Draco followed her command and buried his hands through her hair, bringing her face to his for a medley of lips and tongue. She tensed and then melted, moaning into the kiss with her chest aflutter. It was perhaps the most erotic kiss he'd ever experienced. Judging by her reaction, the same was true for Granger — for Hermione. His lips devoured hers, moulding to them and tugging on them and in a bold move, biting lightly with her bottom lip between his teeth.

She moaned again, heavier. "Oh, Draco…"

Just the sound of his name on her tongue, made his muscles harden with anticipation.

"I've…wanted this…wanted you…for so long," he told her between kisses, dragging his lips to the pulse of her neck, nibbling there. "So long…"

In his arms, she softened, rolling her head back. "Me, too…"

He secured an arm around her waist, holding her close as he disentangled the knots from her muscles with only his mouth. First her neck, and then her shoulders, and then lower, reaching the neckline of her dress. Hermione quivered against him, against his touch. Slowly, at a pace in which she could have stopped him, had she wanted to, his hands pushed the biker jacket from her shoulders and then skimmed the back of her dress, locating the zipper. She didn't object. She instead leaned into the crevice of his neck and kissed him there, as he dragged the zipper down her back.

Once that was done, he brushed the bottom hem of her dress, slipping underneath and moving up; slave to the scorching heat that was her bare skin. Several tremors ran the length of her body, as he did this. In that moment, it was clear what she wanted and that he planned on giving it to her.

Minutes of this, of his hands exploring her back and her sides, and she eventually raised her arms; cheeks ablaze, as he lifted the dress from her body, removing it in one gradual motion. Draco tossed the material to the floor, and beheld the sight before him. She was at on his lap in nothing but lace: white brassiere and matching knickers, with the faintest hint of her blush pink nipples visible beneath the upper garment. His eyes burned with hard, rooted longing. It wasn't long after that, that he swept her in another kiss. This time, along the bone her clavicle, where he sucked vigorously, stirring another moan from her parted lips.

"Gods…" she breathed. "How is this…How can I…"

It seemed her mind was buzzing with the same thoughts, the same questions.

Draco dispelled those questions with his next words."I'm yours…" he murmured to her.

Her chest contracted. "Mine?"

"Yours," he confirmed, moving to her lips. "If you'll have me, that is…"

She whimpered, helpless to her own desires and the way each of them revolved around him. Seconds after that, his hands cupped her breasts, directly over the brassiere, and he kneaded them in slow circles, whilst returning her starved, indecent kisses with some indecency of his own. Like strings on a harp, they played to one another's senses with wicked determination. Draco, as he unclasped her bra and then bowed down, smoothing his tongue over her nipples, capturing one after the other in wet heat. Hermione, as she pressed down against him, against his hardness, stimulating him with the roll of her hips.

Something rumbled deep in his chest, and he groaned. Perhaps it was time to teach her that lesson.

It was then, that Draco secured his arms around her waist and lifted her from the windowsill. She gasped softly, startled but not unwilling. This witch was eager, and he loved that about her. Though, not half as much as he loved the look in her eyes, as he carried her across the room and lowered her to the foot of the bed. She devoured him in that one look, leaning back on both arms with her breasts bare, watching him as he tugged the shirt from over his head and tossed it to the pile of clothes on the floor.

Her gaze dropped down his lean, muscled torso.

"Oh…" she breathed, drinking in the v-line that framed his lower abdomen.

Draco held his position for an extra moment, with the faintest smirk on his lips. It was nice being gawked at by the likes of Hermione Granger. More than nice. But even that feeling couldn't surpass the one that stirred deep in his core, where the gap between her legs beckoned him forth. He moved closer to the bed, aware of the colour that danced across her cheeks and the simultaneous heat in those eyes. From there, he fell to his knees, almost level with her due to their height difference, and with one hand through her hair, he kissed her.

She kissed back, frantic in the way her lips craved his.

Despite this, he separated from them, moving down her body, slowly.

Hermione trembled in response. It had to be the first time in a long time, since anyone had done this for her. Draco was, of course, the happiest, most willing candidate. Night after night, he'd dreamt about what she'd feel like against his tongue, about her taste and about the sounds such an act would inspire. On their second night, he described it to her, what he would have done, had she been there for him to touch and to kiss.

But this was no longer about words.

Bearing that, his tongue cascaded her torso and found the hem of her knickers with one swipe. Hermione waited, with bright eyes and swift awakening, thirsting for him as he ghosted his lips over the white lace, where her body had responded to each of his maneuvers.

Fuck, he thought, muscles aching from how bad he wanted her. She's gloriously wet.

Sensing his inner monologue, the brunette blushed harder. Draco was left unaware, as this time he carried on, without another second to spare. He hooked his fingers into her knickers and removed them, down her legs and then into the pile. Before him, was her nakedness. Vulnerable to his heated gaze, her hand moved to cover the place between her legs, where he noticed a small, manicured triangle of chocolate brown hair.

He was delighted to see it was almost as frizzy as the hair on the top of her head.

"Shut up…" she chided, embarrassed at the smile that danced across his lips.

The man looked to her, only then realizing she was frowning. "Hermione," he softly dictated, holding her hands in his and lacing their fingers together, bringing her wrists to his mouth, where he kissed them, each over the echo of her heart. "If you'd allow it, I'd love nothing more than to kiss every inch of your body."

She tensed. "You mean…?"

Draco nodded, dropping his gaze to the uncovered wealth between those legs. He didn't think it possible, but she really was beautiful everywhere. On instinct, he licked his lips. She watched, intent on keeping her silence, whilst tantalized by the look in his eyes.

It happened slowly.

Hermione spread for him, breathing in as he moved closer. Just an inch or two from where he started, and already he caught scent of her arousal. Draco steadied the drum in his chest, bringing his heartbeat to a calm, even pace, before bowing his head lower and snaking his arms under her legs and around her arse, in rhythm with the moment he had his first taste.

Eyes shut and cheeks flushed, her entire body shook. "Oh…Oh, my gosh…"

It was the best feeling, knowing he'd inspired those sounds. She arched her midsection toward him, with her hands in his hair and an almost possessed look about her face. Draco carried on, breaking her seam with the tip of his tongue. She tasted sweeter than he expected. Starting slow, and then increasing the pace at which he licked her out, he lavished that pussy. Kissing, licking, sucking, and nibbling. Seconds, and he found the perfect combination; a blend between stiffened, hardened flicks, and smooth, rousing strokes. It drove her mad, in a way that told him he had to keep going — not that he had the slightest intent to stop.

"Draco…" she breathed, again. "Oh, fuck…"

The sound of that word blanketed by her moans, was more than his body could handle.

Desperate to release some of the pressure, he quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. It didn't help much, but it helped some. He kept them on, and allowed them to slide down an inch or two, as his tongue worked at Hermione Granger's mouthwatering clit.

Quivering against him in full-bodied motions, she urged him deeper between her legs. Draco took this as his cue to up the ante. With his thumbs, he parted her lower lips and blew air over her silky bits. She was practically convulsing by this point, but he wasn't done. The pureblood carried on, outlining her entrance with his index finger and capturing her clit in another lustful kiss.

"Oh my…Oh, gods…" Her breath hitched, the moment he bathed his finger in her heat.

Inside, he twisted his finger and beckoned her as best he could. Merlin, she's unbelievably tight. It didn't surprise him one bit. She hadn't been with anyone in quite some time. But the fact that he could fit no more than one finger in her wet channel, was downright unfathomable.

Draco furthered his efforts, foreshadowing the events to follow with quick work of his finger, and flicking her taut nub with the tip of his tongue, as if spelling out an apology for the years upon years of torment. It skidded through his mind in a flash, on slides, before her burst of pleasure broke his concentration.

She tightened around him, muscles tense and rigid, riding through the climax with unparalleled bliss, until releasing, feathering to the bed in blend of breaths and breathlessness.

He watched, moist-eyed and wondrous.

He had done that to her. He had dragged her to that sweet, euphoric state. Not once. Not twice. Three times — but the first and second time, mattered little to him. It was all about that moment. It was all about that night.

She exhaled, staring into the ceiling. "That was…"

"Less than you imagined?" he asked, climbing in, laying down beside her.

Hermione turned to him, brows in the air. "Are you mental? I…I've never…" Her cheeks flushed. "Never mind."

Draco studied her, through the corner of his eye. It was clear, the thoughts racing through her mind. If he had to be honest, the same thoughts were racing through his. Only, he knew the truth. "Gr — Hermione," he swiftly corrected. "I meant what I said earlier, about being yours."

"Did you?" she asked, as though she tried to sound casual, but failed miserably.

"I did," he confirmed. "I do."

The brunette tensed a little. "You don't have to —"

"I know," he interjected, sensing it before the words left her lips. "I know I don't have to — but I want to. I've wanted to for a long time. Haven't you?"

Her features softened. "Yes," she answered, quietly. "I have."

Slowly, he reached for her hand and she accepted. It was strangely affectionate, seeing as there was once a point in their lives, wherein they couldn't stand to be in the same vicinity. Since then, their dynamic had long changed. Draco wasn't sure he could ever revert back to being enemies — or worse, strangers. For a reason he didn't quite understand, the thought of never seeing her again left an inconsolable lump in his chest. It grew, the longer he thought about it.

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione asked, noting the change in his expression.

His conviction on the topic didn't waver. "Us."

She studied him, for a long while. "If you're interested, there's an outdoor viewing of 'A Streetcar Named Desire' in the park across beside my building. It's tomorrow at midnight. I was supposed to go with Ginny but she double-booked, which…leaves me with an extra ticket."

Draco faced her, surprised. "Are you asking me out?"

Her face blanched. "I — You — "

He chuckled at her expense. "Oh, Granger. Don't be stupid. Of course, I'll go with you."

She relaxed, tossing him an imminent glare, but smiling nonetheless.

Particularly, when he brought her hand to his lips and kissed, with a swift wink. "Dear Diary," he teased. "Today, Hermione Jean Granger asked me out."

"You know my middle name?" the brunette questioned, taken aback.

"Oh, there are plenty of things I know about you."

"Like?"

"Like," he enunciated. "That fact that you have more of a hard-on for that first edition copy of Ulysses, than you do for me."

Hermione burst into a fit of laughter. "Oh, believe me. No one has more of a hard-on for you, than you do for yourself."

To this, his lips twitched with amusement. Draco cracked up, tilting his head backward, filling the space between them with laughter like he had never known. Never in a million years, would he have anticipated the night to have gone so…smoothly. There was, of course, a momentary glitch down in his office, but he was glad they were able to address those issues before anything happened.

"By the way," the brunette added, drawing his attention back to her as she rolled onto her side, facing him with an indecipherable look in those bright, brown orbs. "You're wrong."

Draco looked to her, stifling what remained of his laughter. "What d'you mean?"

Hermione closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, they were filled with tenderness; redolent of the undertones — past and present. She used one finger to trace his forearm, where his skin burned under her touch, ignited by their connection.

"I don't think I've ever wanted something…someone…as much as I want you," she confessed. "I couldn't focus during that concert. I…I must have missed three or four songs, just thinking about all those things you said to me during our calls. I couldn't believe it was you…and to be honest, I still can't."

He blinked. "Maybe I can help with that…"

She smiled, thoughtfully. "I think you've done plenty to convince me. Now, it's my turn."

Draco stared at her, quizzically; startled, as she rose into upright position before positioning herself on top of him, straddling him whilst balancing her featherlight weight on both knees. She then lowered, kissing him. But his efforts to reciprocate were interrupted, as she moved her kiss from his mouth, down his body. For one, staggeringly long second, he couldn't wrap his head around what was about to happen.

She worked past his pectoral muscles, to his abdomen. Draco watched her, aware of the thickened, lustful, smoke-filled veil that ghosted over his eyes. Just then, she reached his trousers, sparing a moment to look at him, before hooking her fingers under the waistband and dragging his trousers down.

His throat clenched.

His eyes closed.

Dreams turned into fears and the world caved in around them, the moment her hand brushed his length.

Gods.

In the back of her mind, she heard the lyrics to 'I Wanna Be Yours' echo in the voice of Alex Turner.

Hermione watched him, caught in the rapture of his satisfaction, as his length grew to full mast. Unable to do anything else, she wrapped her fingers around him. His size alone, was enough to stir the most devilish thoughts in her mind but nothing compared to the feeling that swirled in her core, the moment she stroked down and uncovered him.

Dear sweet lord, she thought distantly. His cock is magnificent.

Coloured white like the rest of him, but flushed under the sweltering heat of his arousal, he stood an even nine inches, with enough girth to make the space between his lover's legs whirl with longing. She ran her tongue between her lips, moistening them, aware that his eyes were on her as she came down on him.

His muscles tightened, one after the other. "Oh, fuck me…"

With one thorough lick, she moistened his head with her own heat, whilst bathing her tongue in his. In the most carnal sense, he ran one hand through her hair, lacing her curly strands between his fingers, careful not to rise too high off the bed or choke her with his unfathomable length. She lapped him up, sampling his lustful, masculine essence. If it were possible, he tasted better down there than he did mouth to mouth. But that was her own arousal talking.

Hermione released him with a damp pop, and scooted closer, positioning herself directly between his legs, using one hand to stroke him and employing the other below, massaging him there. Startled by this move, he tensed around her; not with alarm, but with ardor. She came down on him again, taking as much of him as she could, lightly grazing his skin with her teeth, enough to make his toes curl and his eyes roll to the back of his head, in rhythm with both her hands as she worked at him from every possible angle.

Again and again, her tongue lapped him and lavished him. Never in her life had she been so aroused from pleasuring another person. With other men, it was laborious and exhausting, and made her mouth and jaw ache, but with him it was electrifying. She sucked on him hard, aware of his strangled words, aware of his praise and the string of expletives under which it was veiled. Nothing felt better than knowing she could turn him into as much of a hot, twisted mess as he could, her.

Endless nights spent wondering, whether this man could put action to his words. She found out that night, that he could, and that he was able to awaken something within her; her inner lion, brought to life by his wicked snake.

Hissing to her, his accolade, through his firmly clenched jaw, Draco tightened once more. In her mouth as well as his body. She continued her assault on his senses, pumping him fast and hard, loving the way his entire being responded to her movements, running her tongue from bottom to top and then over the head of his cock, where she enveloped him in the hardest suck of his life.

"Stop —" he demanded, spiralling her out of the motion the moment she hoped he would come apart.

Hermione tossed one look at him, flustered and feverish in her own right, certain she had hurt him or done something wrong, until it happened. He launched at her, lifting her with both arms and pinning her against the headboard with their faces inches apart.

By that point, her heart was pounding with unfound intensity.

She opened her mouth. "What are you —"

Draco cut her words short, swift and without mercy, pressing his lips to hers with urgency, delivering to her his thoughts with nothing but a kiss, before breaking apart. Panting and dazed, his mouth hovered one, maybe two centimetres from hers. "I need you now," he relayed to her, voice drenched in quivering heat. "I need to have you, Hermione."

It was soon after that — seconds, maybe faster.

The song in the back of her mind came to an end, replaced with her own chorus, as she widened her legs and felt the head of Draco Malfoy's succulent cock rub between her lower lips. Chest aflutter, Hermione grasped his shoulders, biting down on her bottom lip and releasing a fragmented cry, as he entered her. She gasped, overcome with the feeling of each inch, plunging deeper and deeper; so deep her head was beginning to spin.

"You feel so good…so tight…" he murmured over her lips.

By then, her words were lodged so far back, there was no hope of finding them. Instead, she tightened her hold on his shoulders, with her back firm against the headboard, panting from the sensation of being filled to the depths of her womb. She stretched to accommodate him, wrapping his length with the wetness and the tightness of her channel, as he moved all the way in and then all the way out.

Hermione whimpered against him. "…Please…more…"

He combed the hair from her face and kissed her, feeling her moans vibrate from his mouth down to his cock, as he filled her in. She tilted her head back, thankful that his hand was there to save her from hitting the board. Sensing her need to move and ride the waves between them, he lowered her onto the mattress, where she lifted her left leg over his shoulder and met his slow, lustful thrusts.

It couldn't have felt better, she thought.

But even that was proven wrong, as Draco moved his lips to her neck and licked her throat, with the same heart-stopping motion as below. She was on fire — every inch of her body. Hermione strained to murmur some sort of praise to him, something to convey how glorious this felt and how badly she needed him, but she couldn't. Instead, she dragged her fingernails along the skin of his back, undoubtedly marking him. It didn't seem to bother him. In fact, his response was rather the opposite.

Faster and with more fire each time, he filled her in with his nine inches of raw masculinity.

If ever someone told her, she would one day beg to be fucked by Draco Malfoy, she would have sent that person to St. Mungo's that same second…but now, the thought of being fucked by anyone else made her feel like the crazy person. How could she ever, in what remained of her existence, dream of being with someone with as much skill and sensuality, as the man whose body was currently suspended above hers? It wasn't about his looks or his riches. It was more than that. It was the way he knew her, despite himself and despite everything they had endured in the name of their rivalry.

Hermione could think of only one person who knew her as well as he, apart from her family, and that was Harry. But her thoughts were far from her bespectacled best friend. She could think of only one man.

It occurred to her then, what to do next.

She hooked her leg around his torso and reversed them into a position that left her on top. Draco froze mid-thrust; his cheeks blood red and his chest beating hard. He opened his mouth, as though to ask how she had done that, but he was silenced in a matter of seconds, as Hermione used the time to lower herself onto him.

His eyes slammed shut. His hands dug into her hips. His breathing intensified and from his lips, escaped an animalistic sound of approval. Close to a growl, but with the added flare of a single, definitive word.

Witch.

Hermione would have smiled, were her lips capable of doing anything other than shape to her moans. She both hated and loved, that being on top felt equally sensational for her, as it did for him. Her eyes strained to stay open, but the harder she came down on him and the faster he met her movements, the more difficult it became to concentrate on anything apart from the slow building knot inside her. Inch by inch, his length worked to disentangle that knot. But she couldn't lose herself before he. Not again.

Still, he felt so, so unbearably enormous. It was all she could do not to bounce on him once, twice, three times and collapse into another state of orgasmic bliss. Had she known Draco Malfoy was packing this much heat, she would have put action to those fantasies and fucked him to the very core of the earth, with his Slytherin Quidditch uniform still on.

But her thoughts soon fluttered away from those fantasies, as Draco did one better, using his core strength to swing upright. In that position, he held her close to his chest, with their dampened lips and fast-beating hearts suspended millimetres apart.

Hermione lost herself in it, melting against him, as he thrusted to the skies with her on his lap. Arms now tight around the back of his neck, she moved with him, caught in wave after wave of bliss. Not soon after that, did their movements become fast and frantic, each racing to make the other come undone first. She, with the edible points of her breasts and the tightness of her slit, and he, with the overwhelming size of his hardness and the manner in which he knew exactly which beats to hit and when.

It wasn't long after that.

Slave to the incandescence of their sex turned lovemaking, Hermione came apart first, tightening around Draco, causing him to follow in the steps of her rapturous, sweat-slicked madness. She gasped his name, voice scratchy from the endless, deep-seated moans; heart racing; adrenaline surging through every inch of her body; and then…ecstasy. Better than any drug or any drink she had ever consumed, was the raw, no holds barred sensation of coming down from the heights of orgasmic heaven. It rippled through her, at the exact moment it rippled through him.

One minute, maybe longer…and finally, their bodies collapsed to the bed in slow motion.

Somewhere along the line, Draco staved off his exhaustion long enough to yank the covers over them and after that, came the aftermath of their hushed love affair.

Midnight, the Next Day —

Crisp winds blowing and autumn leaves stirring, the brave souls who chose to endure the cold that night, had found their places in the park. It wasn't large like the one in Serpent's Crossing, but Draco found he quite liked the simplicity of Muggle parks — almost as much as the simplicity of Muggle theatre. To his knowledge 'A Streetcar Named Desire' was originally a stage production, penned by the famed Tennessee Williams.

But that night, the fifty or so people that had gathered outside were there to watch the successful, highly publicized film adaptation, starring Vivien Leigh and Marlon Brando. It was an older film, released sometime in the fifties, which meant black and white visuals. His favourite. There was something about the grainy, textured look of early film that made the stories and the lines echo that much deeper.

Caught in these thoughts, Draco failed to notice one particular brunette, as she approached the spot he had reserved for them, with a bundle of blankets and cushions, and some snacks to munch on during the film.

"Say…" she voiced, dressed in a trench coat, with her hands on her hips and her hair falling to her elbows in tight spirals. "Aren't you Draco Malfoy?"

Draco turned, facing the brunette; a faint smirk on his lips. "Depends…" he smoothly inserted, popping one of the Honeyduke's sweets into his mouth. "Who's asking?"

She moved closer, wielding the exposed parts of her legs like weapons. "I believe I'm asking…"

For a moment he simply watched this woman, delving deeper into those bright, brown eyes until little else mattered. Taking his cue, she moved even closer and then lowered onto the blanket, in their place not too far but not too close from the screen. The film hadn't started, and it appeared both of them wished to hold off on the production one moment longer — maybe two.

Draco inhaled, catching her scent of her light perfume, as she neared. So close now, he could count each individual freckle that dotted her cheeks and nose.

But the moment she leaned in, eyes fluttering shut with her lips moving towards his — he leaned away.

"Sorry," he apologized, allowing his smirk to transition into a smile. "I have a girlfriend."

"Is that so?" she asked.

Unable to stop himself, he tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "I hope so. I mean…I did come all the way here to ask her if she wants to make things official…but she's late, you see…"

"Well…" the brunette voiced, absorbed in his touch. "I'm sure she's around somewhere…"

Draco nodded slowly, leaning towards her. "Maybe you should keep me company until she arrives…" he suggested, speaking softly, quietly, with his lips millimetres from hers. "How does that sound?"

"Perfect," she whispered. "Because I have a boyfriend…"

His heartbeat quickened. "Well, I'll be damned if he's not the luckiest man in the world."

"Oh, I'm sure luck has nothing to do with it," the woman in the trench coat furthered, running her fingers along the collar of his jacket, before grasping it lightly and with a faint smile, pulling him towards her.

This time, he had no objections.

The End