Eyes Shut

Hermione keeps her eyes closed when they fuck. As soon as he kisses her, she squeezes her eyes tightly shut. She works by touch, feeling her way, never looking at the pale skin her hands are travelling down. She spreads her legs for him, bites down on his shoulder as he thrusts into her, and harder as she comes, sometimes drawing blood. His shoulder is marred with teeth marks, but it doesn't matter. His robes hide everything, anyway, black billowing things that are designed to conceal.

He keeps his eyes open, looking at her, taking it all in. She's young, but not new to the game. The first night she came to him she had bruises on her thighs, but he didn't ask. She never says much when they're together, which he finds odd, considering that she's always been such a know-it-all in class, although quieter lately. Quiet and unassuming, trying not to draw attention to herself, but he always notices her. He's sleeping with her, after all.

He doesn't talk much, either. Every so often he will say her name. Sometimes it's Granger, sometimes it's Hermione, and sometimes he doesn't speak at all, doesn't make a sound, just moves in to kiss her.

She comes to his room most nights, tiptoeing down the stairs to the cold, dark dungeons of the school. She leaves as soon as they're finished, drawing a cloak around her and slipping out the door, as if it's all been a dream. He never asks why she doesn't stay, or why she comes in the first place. She's beautiful and he knows she has a number of admirers her own age, but for the moment it appears that she's chosen him. He doesn't object. He simply looks at her, and observes how beautiful and raw and vulnerable and yet in control she is, and gives her what she wants.

She keeps her eyes closed, and he delivers.