Chapter 33 The Deluge
It was quiet underwater. It was quiet inside Draco. His arms floated in front of him, a milky, dusty color and lifeless against the dark grey-black. The tips of his hair were moon-white, drifting in and out of his vision like soft sea plants in a gentle current. His lungs burned.
Draco surfaced to take a long breath, the soft lapping of water echoing off the marble like a cave, and then sunk back down into the silence. Again. And again. Slowly. Letting the darkness soothe him and the water hold him. And then, when he no longer remembered why he needed this, he surfaced one last time.
He had work to do.
Just as Draco reached out to tug one of the Great Hall's doors open, a loud thud slammed against the other side of the door. He smirked sardonically. Right on time, then. Feeling his annoyance swell, he pulled out his wand and swung the door open quickly. Before the poltergeist had a chance to turn around, he was immobilized over the middle of the Ravenclaw tables. He rolled in place, cackling hysterically. Spells on poltergeists were tricky and often unreliable, but this would have to do for the moment.
"Think you've caught ol' Peevsie?" he giggled, "Well, we'll just see-ee…" There might have been more, but the rotund little man seemed to lose the thread on a peal of laughter as he rolled.
Wet dishrags lay in small piles on the floor around each of the gargoyle torches that flanked the length of the Great Hall. It looked like a game of Snake Pit that had an unfortunate accident with the laundry. A badger-shaped gargoyle had a towel dripping from its nose.
Draco shook his head. If Peeves had been flesh and blood, Draco was pretty sure he'd be locked in a broom closet in the Janus Thickey Ward. Peeves continued to rotate in place like a spastic kid rolling down a hillside, only without going anywhere. "Whoooo hoooooo oooooooo" he warbled as he turned. Draco cast a silencing spell at him but it didn't take.
"Silencio. Silencio. Can't keep Peevesie shut when he knows secrets about Draco-o. O. O. Oooo," he sang.
Outwardly, Draco rolled his eyes, but a small knot was tightening in his stomach.
"Snakes and lions sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-Geeeeee."
A burst of anger focused Draco's magic and crackled down his arm as he yelled out, "Waddi Wassi," sending the little man flying through the air along with every piece of gum ever stuck to the underside of a table in the Great Hall. With a heavy thud and large, surprised eyes, the poltergeist was stuck fast upside down to the wall by the Sytherin tables. A giant multi-colored gob of old gum stretched over Peeves' mouth like colorful barnacles, silencing him rather effectively (if disgustingly), Draco thought.
Draco shoved the tip of his wand to the poltergeist's neck and growled. "Listen well, Peeves, because I'm only going to say this once. You're going to make yourself scarce for the rest of the year. If I hear your inane cackle even once or have to clean up after you ever again, being strung up with a gob of chewing gum will seem like a Sunday picnic." Peeves' eyes were big and round, his mouth moving beneath the gum. "I happen to know that the Bloody Baron is back from his holiday this very evening," Draco said threateningly. "You'd do well to remember that he and I are on a first-name basis."
Peeves' hat jingled frantically as the little man shook his head in upside-down acquiescence. Draco leaned in close to Peeves' round face with a malicious sneer. "And, Peeves?" Draco tapped his wand on the swathe of old gum stretched over his mouth, "I advise you to keep your mouth… SHUT."
Draco waved his wand at the door and both panels swung open, followed by a flailing poltergeist whose backside was covered in clumps of gum, and whose mouth was, most definitely, shut.
The heavy doors swung closed and Draco released a long sigh.
Hermione watched her breath fan out on the cold window pane, a smudge of grey obscuring the dark landscape. It had been snowing heavily since she returned to Hogwarts late in the evening.
The Head Common Room was empty as she had known it would be. Draco would be exhausted and likely in need of solitude after his long day. Still, disappointment flooded through her and she sagged against the window frame.
Going to Grimmauld Place had been a mistake. The buzz of activity – with long-limbed Weasleys running up and down stairs and through narrow hallways, the countless rounds of hugs and well wishes, and "How were your holidays?" and "We missed you so much!"
and the irritating storm cloud of Ron's temper following her around – had left her frazzled.
She welcomed the stillness of the castle. Its drafty, empty halls. The classrooms, dark and waiting. The cavernous Great Hall. And space. All that space. And quiet. And Draco.
After an entire day on edge, her anxiety about Draco had finally slipped into an undercurrent of resigned agitation.
Hermione sighed and pushed away from the window. A gleam of orange-grey light from the dying fire flickered over Draco's desk, and she picked up the note she'd left there, chewing her lip and staring at what she'd written.
Dinner at Grimmauld Place had been tense. With Draco gone but still the topic of conversation, Ron's simmering petulance threatened to boil over. Hermione's silence on the subject and Harry's quiet willingness to see past the Slytherin's past, was quickly unraveling Ron. Harry's method of dealing with him was to escape under the guise of needing to talk to Lupin or Mr. Weasley.
Hermione wasn't so lucky. Alone in the sitting room after dinner, Ron's long fingers jabbed accusingly at her. "How bloody thick are you, Hermione?" he spat. "You know he's just using you! He's a SLYTHERIN!"
And there it was. Her anger and understanding and her pain for Draco flared up into a towering maelstrom, twisting out of control along with her fear of the terrible things she felt constantly on the edge of.
A spectacular row ensued and she'd had to cast a Muffliato twice in order to not bring the entire Order down on them. The intensity of her anger surprised her (and Ron) and she spent the rest of the evening distracted by her reaction. Even now her busy brain was searching for answers.
Her forehead landed on the cold glass and she puffed out a weary breath. "What the hell am I doing?" She stayed like that for a few minutes with no answers forthcoming. Her brain felt as empty and muddled as the black landscape being buried under the snow outside. She yawned, her body suddenly heavy, and decided that it was time to put her brain to bed.
Back in her room, Hermione pulled on a pair of loose, flannel pajamas and began to climb under her covers when she remembered that she had somewhere to be.
"Damn," she muttered to herself and slipped on her cloak, fastening the clasp at the neck.
The brisk air skating over Hermione's cheeks as she descended four flights of stairs gave her a surface alertness that was in direct opposition to the slowness of her mental state. She pulled her cloak over her messy curls to ward off the chill. She honestly hoped that Peeves was nowhere in sight. She just didn't have the capacity to deal with him tonight on top of everything else. As she pulled open the heavy arched door, a soft puddle of grey light spilled out onto the dark stone floor, eclipsed by her shadow as she stepped inside and came to an abrupt halt as the door closed behind her
Her mouth opened in awe. The Great Hall was sparkling in a misty hush, immense and quiet. The snow fell, thick and heavy. Huge, fat flakes floating slowly, so slowly, down, down, down, to just above the house tables, lower than she'd ever seen, as if the enchantments on the ceiling just couldn't quite hold up under the weight of the deluge.
So slow. She felt as though she had stepped into another world, where time moved like molasses so that the sky could unload its heavy burden. With her head angled up to the ceiling, the hood of her cloak fell back. There was no breeze in the air, no chill, just a soft, thick caress, like a gentle hand on her face.
At the end of the hall, silvery pale moonlight struggled through the huge window, washing the head table in dusty blue light before giving up and leaving the rest of the hall to lie in shadow. Hermione felt small.
She'd missed Peeves, or he hadn't been here at all, and she hoped that he'd moved on to other nuisances. Tomorrow, this hall would be filled once again with the raucous sound of students clamoring to see who got the best Christmas gifts, who visited whom over the break, and all the drama and gossip that entailed. Tomorrow, she and Draco would go back to being Head Girl and Head Boy, and maybe that was all. Tomorrow, everything would be different. But tonight, the Great Hall was a beautiful, silent jewel that seemed to have no sense of time or change.
Hermione's eyes fell to the Slytherin table to where Draco sat. She imagined him sitting there, washed in that dewy blue moonlight. Loneliness flooded her. She made her way through the thick snowfall as it swirled languidly around her skin, never touching, never melting, never giving any proof that it was really there at all.
Hermione stood in front of his seat and flattened her hand on the table, fingers spread wide, and stared at it, pale and moonlit against the black polished wood. A long breath that felt like it had been gathered in the silent ache in her heart escaped, and the snow swirled in front of her. She dragged her fingertips over the polished surface, over the scrapes of letters, lingering over the pits and scratches that were his. She felt like her heart was trying to pump through a vice, and she thought she could smell him, and suddenly she wished she hadn't come here, but her hand felt glued to the spot, to him, so she just closed her eyes and breathed.
The warm, gentle scent of his skin – of sandalwood and warmth – wound around her, and she imagined it was him. She imagined she could feel the thrum of his magic shimmering in the space between them. And then his breath was near her ear, and his large hands gently wrapped around her upper arms.
Hermione's eyes snapped open.
"Thinking of someone… special?"
A burst of fire flamed under her cheeks and the vice let go of her heart as it hammered in her chest. She didn't dare turn around. Oh, God. Oh, God!
"I…I…I…" Hermione stuttered in a whisper. Her breath was stuck in her throat in embarrassment at having been caught by the very subject of her thoughts and then those thoughts revealed so openly. She could melt the snow with the heat radiating off her face.
"Shhhhhh," he whispered and pulled her back against his chest, burying his face in her curls. His breath was a moist swirl of warmth in the crook of her neck and she closed her eyes again. He inhaled deeply and groaned.
"God, I missed you, Granger," he whispered, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Her stomach swooped and she felt a little dizzy. Then he was pulling the curls off her shoulder, the cool air hitting her skin, contrasting with his hot, wet mouth dragging up her neck.
And then she let go, let the anxiety she'd felt all day slip away, and she sunk back into his chest, her gaze losing focus through the falling snow.
Draco's warm breath fanned out just under her ear. "Granger…" It was hot and low and tender and the ache in her abdomen grew heavier. This… yes, this is what she wanted, what she needed. To be lost in this quiet, thick place with Draco wrapped around her, swallowing the chaos in her head and heart, until she couldn't think or reason her way out of it.
His hair was a silky whisper against her skin as he kissed and sucked along her neck, his tongue tracing the shell of her ear, each wave of his breath making her shudder. Draco's long fingers wrapped around the front of her throat until the full column of her neck was covered by his hand, his knuckles against her jaw angling her head up. She could feel the slight pressure of his strong fingers pressed around her throat – just enough to make her suck in a breath and her head begin to feel swollen. Just enough for the uncurling ache low in her abdomen to swell.
His other hand slipped down her neck, between her breasts, and down, gathering and slipping over her cloak as he roamed her body slowly, in time with the snow, making Hermione feel like she was in a dream. Slowly over her hips, the tops of her thighs, smoothing across her stomach, and travelling up over her ribs and her breasts. A small sound escaped her when he passed over her tightening nipple. He paused there, pinched her gently, then more roughly. She groaned and Draco's mouth suddenly grew more insistent. His hand on her neck tilted her head back to expose her neck further. He growled and dragged his mouth and teeth up the side of her neck, sucking and nipping at her soft skin.
In the back of her mind, Hermione was dimly aware that the Great Hall was not the best place for the Head Girl to be making out with the Head Boy, but it was hard to focus on anything beyond Draco's hands everywhere on her. She let out a low moan. And then suddenly his hands were there, on her skin, slipped into her robe, under the hem of her shirt, dragging over the soft skin of her stomach, and she came out of her haze long enough to pull her wand out and quickly cast three locking spells, a Notice-Me-Not spell, and a strong repelling charm on the massive doors.
"Fuck, Granger…" His fingers immediately went to the clasp at her throat and unhooked her cloak, followed by the top button of her shirt, yanking them both roughly down over one shoulder until the fabric caught on her arm, his hot mouth following their path, biting her shoulder. Frantic energy coursed through her. The hand on her stomach moved up under her shirt to cup her bare breast and she arched into it eagerly.
"God, I fucking want you so bad. I want to see you-" he cut off and in a heartbeat her flannel shirt was hanging wide open at her sides. Cool air hit her skin, pebbling her nipples and contrasting sharply with the fire rushing from her face, down her neck, and over her naked chest where her are breasts were now very much on display, right out in the open, in the Great Hall. It was mortifying and exhilarating.
Draco cupped her breasts with both hands, pushing them up, and groaning with satisfaction. His hands were all over her exposed tits, pulling and twisting at her nipples. Hermione reached up behind her and tangled her fingers in his cool, silky hair, arching and shuddering against him. He rolled and pinched her tight nipples hard between his fingers until she moaned out into the snowfall, "Uungh…," writhing with the pleasure-pain of it and pushing her ass against his hard cock.
"Fuck," he bit out and pinched her harder, making her stomach clench suddenly. One nipple remained throbbing between his thumb and forefinger as his other hand slipped down her stomach, dipping below the waist of her pajamas. She held her breath.
His long fingers skimmed her slick pussy lips. Back and forth. Back and forth. "Granger, you naughty little tart. What would people say if they knew the Head Girl walked around the castle with no knickers on?" She wanted to defend herself – pajamas and nighttime and sleeping – but she couldn't get her brain to connect to her tongue while his fingers slid along her folds, separating her sex, and teasing her slippery opening.
"Mmmm, God, and you're so wet." His fingers flicked at her swollen clit and she gasped out loud. She could feel Draco's smirk against her neck. "What would people say if they knew Hermione Granger was in the Great Hall with her pussy dripping wet?" At this, he plunged two fingers deep insider her. A great ache swelled in Hermione's core and her skin prickled with heat. She felt suddenly unsteady – the tension in her core coiling tighter as her legs opened wider for his hand as she tried to push her clit against the pad of his hand. He ignored her body's plea and pushed into her again and again, the wet sound muffled by the falling snow, but not enough. Her embarrassment was at war with her desire for Draco to notstoppleasefuckdon'tstop.
A small flick of his tongue over her ear, and his voice was almost menacing, "Everyone would want to taste you. They'd want to stick their tongues up in that pretty pussy and lick and suck until you screamed." Oh my God. How did he do this to her? Hermione felt like she was going to crawl out of her skin, but he just kept going. Her teeth clenched together and she ground her pelvis down against his hand, desperate and achy.
"What would people say- What would your friends say – if they knew how much you liked having my fingers shoved in her pussy? Hmmm, kitten?" He slowly pulled his fingers out, skimming her clit, and then thrust them back in. She made a low sound in her throat and rolled her hips against his hand, her breath coming in great heaving gulps.
"Mmmm, that's it, Granger." His voice in her ear was deep and rough and it made her want to surrender or just lay down or climb into his skin or anything. She rolled her hips shamelessly, again and again.
Draco pulled his fingers away and brought them to Hermione's mouth, coating her lips with her own slippery wetness. His mouth got closer to her ear, and his voice lowered. "What would people say if they knew that you like to taste your pussy?"
Her mouth opened in a small "o" of shock and Draco sunk his two wet fingers into the heat of her mouth. Her lips closed around them as he plunged them in and out over her tongue. She did like it. There was something both wanton and powerful about knowing her own taste- earthy and rich. And she liked the way Draco made her do it. His fingers pressed down on the flat of her tongue as he pulled them out, and then thrust them slowly in again. Like he was fucking her mouth. Her tongue swirled eagerly around his fingers and he groaned loudly, pushing his hips into her and rocking the length of his cock against her.
"Greedy," he growled. With his fingers still in her mouth, and the rest on her jaw, he turned her to face him at last. Through her half-closed eyes, she saw him, a soft wash of pale blue on his cheeks, his hair slivery and moon-bright, eyes glittering in the dark and his black robes almost lost in the shadows. And then he moved closer, tilting her head back and licking at her coated lips, at his own fingers still in her mouth, taking his share of her juices, and pulling her mouth open for more. Then his fingers were gone and replaced by his tongue, plunging into her mouth, twisting around her tongue and diving in again. Hermione was caught in the avalanche of Draco's kiss.
His hands were on her ass, pulling her closer, pulling her up, and her sore, peaked nipples rubbed against his robes as he took her mouth. Her pushed her core against him with her writhing hips. She felt desperate and wild. She was going to unravel.
Closer. She needed to get closer. Her legs wrapped around him as he pulled her up, grinding her pussy against his hard cock and pushing small growling sounds into her mouth with his tongue. His hands pulled at her waistband, tugging her pants down even while he held her up. The winter air ghosted over her newly bared skin, and then she felt cold wood under her as he set her down on the edge of the Slytherin table and stepped away, pulling her bottoms down her legs and letting them fall to the floor.
When the snow had really begun to fall just after Peeves' departure, that had really been something. Draco had stood there for a long time watching the air fill with the huge fat snowflakes. It was beautiful. But this… This was a sight Draco didn't want to forget as long as he lived and he took a moment to stand back, panting, to take it all in.
Hermione Granger sat on top of the Slytherin table bathed in dusty moonlight like a fucking goddess on an altar with the thick snow falling all around her.
Her curls were loose and wild around her face, and her pretty mouth, swollen and dark from his kisses, still shone with wetness. One milky shoulder was bared where her cloak and shirt caught on her upper arm, and then hung open at her sides, framing her full breasts and dark, hard nipples, and pooling on the table behind her. She leaned back on her hands and the fabric slipped off her other shoulder. Draco watched the blue-grey light sliding over her breasts, rising and falling with her breathing, her thighs bare and slightly spread and fuck her legs were opening for him, her feet resting on the bench below. She looked utterly debauched.
Draco moved into the space between her parted legs and pushed her knees up until she had both feet resting wide apart on the edge of the table, her thighs splayed open. Her breathing quickened under his perusal and he hid a grin, knowing how self-conscious being looked at made her. He pushed her knees open further and moonlight spilled over her glistening pussy lips.
Fuck. She was glorious. A perfect 'M'. Her wet pussy bared at the center just for him.
He watched her swallow nervously and his hand went to his iron hard cock, stroking himself through his trousers. "Spread your pussy for me, Granger. I want to see you wide open for me." God, how was he going to last? He squeezed his cock hard as Hermione's slim fingers tentatively slipped into her wet folds and spread her lips, exposing her engorged clit and the darkness at her core.
"Fuck, you look incredible!" He pushed her knees out as far as they went again, and held them open, staring down at her gaping sex before sinking one long finger deep inside her hot, wet pussy. Her eyes slid shut and her head fell back as she clenched her muscles around his finger. They both groaned.
"Aww, Granger, is all this for me?" he taunted as he pumped his finger in her, delighting in the wet sound and the blush blossoming on her cheeks and chest.
He pulled out his drenched finger and circled her pebbled nipple and areola, spreading her pussy juice it until it shined. He leaned forward and sucked her wet nipple into his mouth, grinning to himself when she gasped and pushed her tits forward. He sucked hard and she hissed through her teeth and bent her back even more as he pulled and tugged at her nipples.
His hand went back to her pussy, thrusting two fingers roughly into her, as his other hand sunk into the curls at the back of head, pulling her forward so he could whisper in her ear.
"What would everyone think of you now? If they could see their pure Gryffindor Princess with her legs spread open on the Slytherin table for me? What if they saw you holding your pussy lips open while your juice leaks all over the table?" She was shaking and breathing hard, her hips rolling against his hand, even as she continued to hold herself open. "What would everyone think if they could see you fucking yourself on my fingers?" His thumb skated over her clit and she rolled her hips hard. "I bet you want to come, don't you?"
"Yes. God, yes." Draco's unrelenting dirty talk, and his blissful torture of her body had her wound so tightly with need that her answer tumbled from her mouth without hesitation. But it must have been the wrong answer, because he suddenly pulled his fingers out of her and slapped her exposed clit hard. She blinked in the stinging pleasure. Her empty pussy clenched, wanting more.
"I bet you do," he teased. "Now, lay back and keep your pussy lips spread open so I can get a proper look at my feast." He released her hair and moved to sit down on the bench. Hermione felt frantic with need. In this moment, she would do anything he asked. She lay back on the cold table with her feet and knees spread wide, and the fingers of both hands stretching open her throbbing, desperate pussy. She opened her eyes to the ceiling, waiting anxiously for his touch, while fat snowflakes drifted slowly down over her, coming so close that she almost thought she could feel them landing. A million tiny almost-kisses prickling all over her exposed flesh.
As the bench scraped on the stone floor, Hermione swallowed with dawning embarrassment. Draco was sitting with this face inches from her spread open pussy. She could feel his warm breath fan over her wet sex. She felt like she was about to be pulled apart and inspected and devoured. If her past encounters with Draco were anything to go by, it wasn't far from the truth.
But then his mouth was on her, hot and wet, licking slowly up her slippery opening and darting inside, and her eyes rolled back in relief. And his fingers filled her up again, shoved deep inside her and curling over that place she could never get on her own.
Draco pushed her hands away and her fingers curled over the edge of the table. He was sucking on her pussy lips, hard, making them feel thick and swollen and achy. His tongue made a broad sweeping stroke over her clit before darting inside her again. It wasn't enough. Nowhere near enough! She couldn't stop her hips from gyrating against his mouth in a bid for more.
"Please. Please," she whispered into the snowfall. There were cooling lines of sweat at her temples and her shoulders trembled. "Please, Draco."
A swipe over her clit again. And then sucking, yes. YES! And then he was back to sucking on her sensitive lips and stretching them open while he thrusting his tongue into her. She was a writhing, frenzied vessel of ache and need and she stared up at the pale, moonlit blanket of snowfall feeling like the whole Great Hall was witness to her unraveling.
Draco fastened his mouth over her clit again. "Yes. Please," she begged. He sucked hard, groaning and flicking his tongue repeatedly over her hard nub, swirling around it and flicking, all the while sucking and thrusting his fingers deep into her pussy. His fingers came out for a moment and he swirled her juices over the tight bud of her asshole. The sensation sent an enormous shiver careening up her spine and into her skull. Oh my God. Oh my God. OhmyGod!
And then he did it. With his tongue gently laving her swollen clit, he slowly pushed a long, thick finger into her tight asshole at the same time as two other fingers filled her pussy again. Hermione's eyes slammed shut and her back arched, her breasts thrust up into the air, and her whole body went rigid. The feeling of being filled in both passages took her breath away. He pulled out from both her holes at once and then pushed back in together, swiping over her clit with his tongue at the same time.
Her orgasm shot through her, starting from somewhere deep in her spine, making her legs and torso quake as it moved towards her center, and then exploding in deep strong spasms in her pussy.
Draco had never been one to vanish clothes, but in that moment, he felt pretty damn close to whipping out his wand and freeing his cock instantly. His shirt was wrenched off in a heartbeat and his fingers fumbled over his belt. Every muscle in his body seemed to be screaming at him to move faster. Faster! Granger's eyes were wide as the walls of her pussy's pulsing slowed and then she looked up at him with that glazed look and he yanked her up and kissed her hard.
"I'm going to…" he ground out as his tongue thrust into her mouth and he struggled to get his pants off, "Fuck you." He kicked his pants off. "Into the fucking table." He fisted a mess of curls in one hand and pulled back hard, making her gasp as he nipped at her neck, and then suddenly flipped her over so her tits pressed into the scratched wood and her knees rested on the bench. He flipped her cloak up over her back so her perfect round ass was thrust out beautifully before him. His hands pushed her ass cheeks apart and there was her tight, rosebud asshole, shining from her pussy juice, and there, his prize, her dripping wet cunt.
Draco buried his cock in her hot pussy in one movement and then stayed there, eyes shut tight, trying not to come on the spot. "Fuuuuuuuck," he bit out into the air. Slowly he pulled back, feeling her walls sucking at him, and then pushed back in hard, making her grunt loudly and her hands reach up to grip the far edge of the table. Draco leaned over her and wrapped his hand around the column of her throat, pressing his sweaty temple to hers. He used his grip on her throat to push deeper inside her and her pussy clenched down on his cock. He growled.
"Feel my cock buried inside you, Granger? Open your eyes. Open them. Look." He angled their faces so they were staring at the exact spot at the Gryffindor table where she sat every day, surrounded by her friends who, he knew, all thought of her as a paragon of virtue. "What would your Gryffindors say if they knew you had my cock buried in your pussy? If they knew your pussy juice was smeared all over the Slytherin table?" She moaned and pushed back against him, squeezing his cock tight. Draco clenched his teeth. Minx.
His fingers tightened a bit on her throat and she moaned again, her knuckles going white on the edge of the table. He kept his grip and pulled out of her heat and then thrust back in again. He felt her grunt stifled by his hand on her neck and he continued to thrust into her while he tormented her. "What would they think of you if they knew you were writhing on the Slytherin table with your legs spread wide open while I sucked on your clit?" He slammed into her again, so close. "What if they knew that you came with my fingers in your pussy and your ass?"
She whimpered and bucked her hips and that was it for him. He could no longer talk over his need to pound into her and come deep inside her. Draco slammed into her, again and again, feeling her "ugh, ugh, ugh" catch under his fingers around her slim neck. He felt the pressure in his spine spreading up through his body as the heavy table scraped against the floor. His fingers let go of her neck and fisted once again in her hair, tugging back hard so she arched and let out a guttural sound that sent him over the edge. Draco's body was tight and rigid as he spilled into her for what seemed an eternity. Still buried in Hermione's pussy, he finally relaxed his grip on her hair and let his head fall on her back.
They were both breathing hard and coated in a sheen of sweat while the snow continued to fall all around them. Draco didn't move for a long time, feeling Hermione's breath even out, and her fingers relax on the table.
"Mmmm?" she answered sleepily.
"I love you." he meant to say. "I'm in love with you." But instead he said, "Stay with me tonight," and threaded their fingers together.