Chapter note: While To Muddy a Malfoy follows the trajectory of J.K. Rowlings' Harry Potter novel series, I have referenced here a scene from the movie, Deathly Hallows (Part I, Warner Bros., 2010 ) in which Hermione is tortured by Bellatrix LeStrange.

Her heart hitches at the sound of her name.

She wants desperately to comfort him, to convince him of his goodness. She only wishes she knew how. She'd always been so awkward about such intimacies. And, honestly, such occasions with other men were far and few between. It is only with him... Draco, that Hermione finds herself forgetting her self-consciousness. With him, there is always a point to make, a bet to win, or undeniable lust to slake.

But this is no longer a game. It is also no longer an ill-fated attempt to eradicate the suffocating sexual tension between them. Finding herself the initiator, Hermione falters, because even when she'd played at dominance before, she'd always known that Draco had the power to overtake her meager attempts at control.

And what's more, never during their clandestine meetings has she ever felt such an overpowering emotional need to love and protect him as she does at this very moment. This is why Hermione feels so uncertain. Without Draco leading, she has no one to blame for her actions but herself. And she's frightened because this time, this prelude to sex, feels far more intimate than any other she'd experienced with him.

Still straddling his lap, Hermione watches him hang his head, embarrassed by his outward show of emotion. It is this forlorn motion that causes her to toss away incessant worry and allow her heart to lead the way.

"You don't have to hide yourself from me," she assures softly, cradling his angular jaw in the palm of her hand. "I care for the person you've become. You're a better man because of your past." She watches him grimace at her words. "It's just me, Draco," she soothes, her fingertips smoothing away his frown. "I'm just the grown up version of that same insufferable, know-it-all, bushy-haired Mu–"

"DON'T SAY IT," he rasps, his expression pained as his grip tightens on her waist. "I'm sorry I ever..." Draco's voice breaks. He is unable to finish. Hearing the agonized apology in his silence, Hermione gently touches a finger to his lips.

She looks down at his slight pout— this mouth, one she'd already kissed. Those times had alternately been fueled by anger, frustration, and lust... but never love. At least, not like this. She knows that to touch her lips to his now will bare herself to him in a way that being stripped nude before him had never done.


She allows the little light of hope she'd carried for far too long to flare. And before second thoughts take hold, Hermione closes her eyes and leans forward. Though still ridiculously inexperienced, the conviction in her kiss is unmistakable. Draco feels the marked difference in the sweep of her lips and his head sharply lifts. She pulls away slightly, only to look down at him again.

Eyes meet.

The moment etches itself into his memory. He feels the warmth of the merry flames in the grate as they heat the back of his hand, which rests on the gentle curve of her waist. He is lost in a maelstrom of emotion and her tender gaze does little to offer him purchase in the turbulence of the storm. The fire crackles as she tentatively touches his lips with her tongue, tracing their outline, pressing against the seam, before joining her mouth to his again.

He grows very still in her arms. Hermione feels his lips tremble beneath hers and then, with a soft exhalation of breath, he succumbs, opening his mouth with a moan of surrender. Feeling him capitulate to their mutual desires, she more ardently takes advantage of his tentative offering.

He finds himself welcoming the unfamiliar intimacy of her kiss. Hermione's scent and her softness envelop him. Such wiles should be considered Unforgivables, he silently laments, as his arms move to embrace her more closely. Certainly, there is no greater torture than this clawing desperate need for her.


She urges him back into the love seat, which must surely have seen many a heated snogging session between lovesick prefects. His head is pillowed by the chair's cushioned backrest. Her hand traces the contours of his face, starting at his temples, drawing down the strong line of his jaw. She pauses to cup his chin with one hand, pulling down his lower lip with her thumb. Beneath heavy lids, Draco watches her exploration of him. She recognizes his want and spies something else there in his watchful gaze. It is this mysterious emotion that has her reclaiming his mouth, with a desperation to taste him, and to discover the secret he hides within.

Draco moans again, lost, as she, too, loses herself in a kiss that pulls him deeper into the abyss of some yet undefined, slightly terrifying emotion.

Hermione wants to comfort. She wants to give pleasure. More importantly, she wants to give him that which he believes himself undeserving. What frustrates her most is that she is unsure about how to go about doing this properly. Feeling unschooled in something so universal and well... natural... is disturbing for the Hermione Granger. Her brows furrow and she works to summon the intrepid girl she'd once been. The one still harboured within; the one who absolutely refuses to accept defeat when challenged.

With unpracticed hands, she reaches out to touch him, placing her palms on his shoulders. Her only motive for this seduction is her simple desire to express love. She kisses Draco's forehead, his cheeks, his eyes, his temples, only to work her way back to his mouth again. All the while, her busy fingers rake through his well-coiffed hair, tugging the strands this way and that so, when at last she draws away, he looks quite thoroughly kissed.

With a little gulp, she holds his unwavering gaze as she slowly releases his shirt buttons from their catches. She slips her fingers beneath the crisp white material to the warmth of his bare skin. She hears his breath hitch and turn ragged. Her lips quirk as she glides her palms up the masculine contours to work his shirt off his shoulders. She bites her lower lip between her teeth, boldly staring at his well-formed, battle-scarred torso. So familiar is the lithe and muscled strength of him. She shifts to trail kisses from the corded length of his neck, working downward, so that she has to slip off his lap to take pleasure in running her hand across his flat abdomen. She feels him shudder as her hands gently glide along his chest as her lips trail after them, leaving no inch of his revealed skin untouched. She is on her knees when her mouth and hands stop their journey at the closure of his trousers. She looks up, sending him a sly smile. Her fingers reach out to touch him.

"Don't," he strangles out, his hands capturing hers before they can go any further. Hermione makes an impatient sound and tugs out of his hold. Ignoring him, her fingers work his trousers open, dipping beneath his waistband and feeling his pulsing want for her. He groans loudly when her greedy fingers wrap around him. His hips arch up, allowing her to pull his offending garments further down. Her hand more fully encircles him and she looks up to watch his reaction as she touches the one part of him that she failed to give close attention to before.

She licks her lips as she runs her tight grip down his length. She glories in his barely suppressed groan. His eyelids do not fall to cover his gaze from hers. Instead, his irises darken and follow her every movement. His mouth falls open and his hands reach out, stopping short of touching her when she teasingly puffs hot air against him. It's as if he remembers, too well, that night long ago and the rules he once had to keep. She, too, recalls some things she'd done to prepare for the what ifs of that evening years ago. Lavender's fellatio lessons come immediately to mind. Hermione smiles, remembering the scandalized, naïve girl she'd been back then.

Draco hasn't stopped watching her and because of this, she deliberately runs her hand up against his length again. He gasps. She smiles. Her face edges closer to his burgeoning desire and he can only gape at the promise of unspeakable pleasure he discovers in her gaze.

"No," he chokes out, his knuckles white as they grip the cushions at his sides.

"Why?" she asks curiously, her attention not on his face, but riveted to the sight of him, rigid in her hand. Hermione never thought she could do this with anyone, but such a sentiment seems far too short-sighted now. With some surprise, she realizes just how much she wants to love him this way.

"Not here," he manages to rasp between panting breaths. Unbidden, his hands inch toward her again.

"Then where?" she inquires, returning her attention to her previous efforts. The soft sound of his muttered oaths interspersed with the rough sound of her name on his lips is a sweet song to Hermione's ears.

"You choose," he manages at last, biting back another guttural moan. "It's your turn."

Though her touch never leaves him, Hermione stops her movements to thoughtfully peer up at him. She fights to clear her head of its desire-filled haze. As lucidity returns, she surmises that her shared flat is not the place for this. Ginny and Lavender would be underfoot. And the prefect office, while sweetly nostalgic, isn't exactly where Hermione wants her first attempts at such lovemaking to occur. She stares at Draco, noticing his intense struggle between pain and ecstasy. Suddenly, she knows. It's the single most appropriate place for her turn at a do-over.

"Your place," she breathes, her hand beginning to pump him again. The up-and-down movement, punctuates her every word. His hips instinctively follow her lead and he loses track of what she says because of the delightful sensations she creates.

"Your bed, Draco," she whispers huskily, "that's where I want us to be this time."

If he is surprised by her request, he does not reveal it. Silently, he nods his agreement. He thinks of his room, his sanctuary. Looking down at Hermione's firm grip on him, Draco wonders if the act of Disapparating and Apparating will ever be the same for him again.

She is the first witch to have ever stepped into his exclusive space, and the only person to be given the privilege of a return visit. Even Zabini has never stepped twice into Draco's most private domain - despite the innumerable times Draco had needed to be awakened from a drunken stupor.

Draco moves his hand to Hermione's upper arms, pulling her against him. The image of his room and his bed, fills Draco's mind as he whispers the spell that will land them there. His fingers clutch onto her forearms, ensuring she will not be lost along the way. They disappear with a pop.

With a bang they land on his bed. Apparation usually causes nausea and disorientation. Why they feel even randier after experiencing the spell may well be a mystery that the two might never uncover.

Whatever the case, Draco is fairly certain he will burst at any moment. Lying beneath her, he savors Hermione's still dressed form against his nearly naked self. His shirt lies open, his trousers and shorts are bunched at his ankles. Her fingers are still on him and she lifts a bare calf to rub against his leg. Rising on an elbow, her unbound tresses graze his shoulder and she sends him a look that is a tender caress.

The intensity of her gaze is fascinating. Too soon, she drops her eyes and her head follows suit. With her mouth, she traces the contours of his torso, leaving a wet trail from his jaw, down his throat, to the hollow of his neck, around his flat areola, and down the center of his toned abdomen. Her nose nuzzles at his navel, her breath stirs the coarse trail of blond that leads to where her hand still holds the hardened heat of him. She adjusts so she is kneeling between his legs. Alarms ring in Draco's head as he attempts to urge her back up, distressed that she might bestow such a selfless, intimate act on his undeserving self.

This submissive role is new for him, the required trust in another— frightening. He fears his need for Hermione is a weakness from which he will never recover. His mind balks as she inches her head lower. Desperately, Draco tries to dismiss all that had been done to him, reminding himself that this time, this witch, is nothing like the nightmarish hell from which he still desires Obliviation.

Draco squirms at being the one without control. Since the war, sex for Draco is a simple necessity due his gender. The act itself, always a selfish one. And for him, satisfying such masculine desires is very often a business transaction. Cold. Unfeeling. Without entanglements. His inherent distrust of others does not abate in the bedroom, in fact, it grows far worse behind closed doors. So profound is his distress, that the employ of a reliable and healthy escort is far preferable to a likely gold-digger or unwed witch. His sexual preference is to accomplish the task quickly and with a willingly bound partner. In this way, he is able to control how much they are allowed to touch him. Usually, these women are never allowed to touch and he takes great pains to ensure each one looks nothing like her.

Draco is unable to remember having ever bothered to consider any of those faceless witches' needs. There had, however, been one exception. Just one night and with only one witch.


Innocently, she looks up at him. He instantly stops his hands from seeking her. Her mouth, he sees, is so very close to the raging evidence of his desire. The heat of her breath, gathers moistness on the tip of him, inducing insanity. And if this is not enough, Draco is further startled to witness the truth in her eyes. Hungry desire... a mischievous curiosity... and then, there, love.

His heart stutters at the last thought.

Though Draco might not have felt the true essence of such an emotion, he is relieved to be able to have recognized it. The heart-wrenching emotion shines so brightly from her that it steals his breath away. This epiphany strikes just as the wet heat of her mouth dares to take in the tip of his pulsing desire. He forces himself to stop his hips from instinctively thrusting forward. His jaw clenches and he lets out a distressed whimper. Concern and worry has Hermione swiftly removing her lips from around him and he groans his frustration.

"Are you alright?" Under any other circumstance, her alarmed query would have had him chuckling. "Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?"

He vehemently shakes his head no, because for the life of him he cannot speak coherently. Realizing what she's doing to him, she smirks a little before returning to her former distraction. With her tongue Hermione loves him with eager and tender adoration. Taking her time, she tastes him, laving him from root to tip. Her lips pause to suck as her other hand grips and twists his length in a maddening counter-rhythm that has him thrashing his head back and forth on the pillow. Gathering strength from his legendary Malfoy self-control, Draco stops moving just long enough to raise his head to watch Hermione bestow her thorough devotion to her task. A happy purr in her throat adds a delicious vibration to all her careful ministrations, nearly shoving him over the edge.

"Merlin, Granger," he gasps brokenly. "Please..."

"Please, what?" she asks absently, the movement of her lips on him adding another layer of sensation against the part of Draco's anatomy that so desperately wants to be deeply buried inside of her while he ravishes that naughty mouth of hers for bringing him to such perilous heights of pleasure.

"Come here, Hermione," he breathes. "Please."

A sultry smile slides onto her full lips. At the sight of her pleased expression, he smothers another groan. The witch is sure to be the death of him. True to her bookworm nature, her ability to learn and excel in matters previously foreign to her has Draco at her mercy. In so little time, she's already discovered how embarrassingly responsive he is to her touch.

Her fingers leave him as she lifts up to kneeling. Her gaze falls to where he still stands at full mast, the head of his rod bobbing toward her. She grins at her handiwork as she impatiently pulls her summer dress over her head, throwing it to the foot of the bed. Pulling her wand from her thigh holster, she swiftly charms it and her knickers off. Without a moments hesitation, she does the same to the rumpled garments Draco still sports. They fly to join the ones he'd already managed to kick off. Time stops as Draco takes in the magnificent, luscious sight of her above him. Greedily, she sweeps her hands up the front of his thighs.

His eyes threaten to close.

"Look at me, Draco," she whispers as she glides her front against his. With her elbows above his shoulders, she can feel his desire pulsing against her and suddenly she most desperately wants him to be a part of her. Purposefully, she turns to look to the space next to his head. She stares directly at his left forearm, where a fading scar remains. The despised Dark Mark. She feels him flinch when he realizes what has caught her attention. He tries to hide it from her view. Draco stops his attempts at a wandless glamour charm with a cry of dismay when she carefully places her palm over the hated skull and snake tattoo.

Unbearable is the slowness with which she slides her own left forearm up to his. On hers, he sees the fading scar of a single, vile word, once cruelly etched into Hermione's skin by his equally vile aunt. Disturbed to his depths, Draco attempts to resist this touch, tries to pull out of her grasp. But Hermione's hand reaches out, intertwining her fingers with his. With eyes now trained on his face, Hermione moves her other hand to position him at her entrance.

"We are each so much more than what others believed us to be, Draco," she whispers against his tightening jaw. Draco stares at her arm. It hovers a hairsbreadth away from his. "We've found ourselves since we were each marked. We've each found strength on our own. But together, Draco... together we can heal the wounds of our past."

Draco feels her marred skin touch upon his, just as he feels her body welcoming him in.

"I don't blame you for what happened to us," she assures him as her lips move against his. "It's you, Draco, who needs to stop blaming yourself for what neither one of us can change."

A sob catches in his throat. The dichotomy of the erotic pleasure of her impaling herself on him combining with the aching regret brought on by the sight of their dark scars is a lethal cocktail that leaves him gasping for air.

The onslaught of emotion washes over him as she starts to move. He fears he might drown, but Draco feels Hermione's other arm wrap around him, offering him her strength, holding him to her. Without a word, her body speaks to him of unconditional forgiveness and makes good on her promise to accept the man he has become. Draco wonders at the unbelievable friction she creates with each embolden stroke of her body against his. He feels the glorious pre-orgasmic waves of sensation take hold and his thoughts are filled only of her.


The word is inadequate. Words escape Draco as he feels their scars rub against one another, as though trying furiously to erase the marks on their skin that had left each less than whole. With his other hand, he strokes his palm up and down the smooth curve of her back. He keeps her close as she spurns them forward. She purrs contentedly at his touch as she discovers a more lustful rhythm that pleases them both. Her lips move more confidently against his, greedily swallowing the agonized sounds he utters. Perspiration glistens on her skin, the droplets lubricate the space between their bodies, allowing her to glide back and forth against his flat, hard planes.

Her eyes smile tenderly into his, the pleasure and care for him clear in their depths. Her fingers grip his own more tightly, just as the rest of her muscles clench around him. The feel of her milking him is enough to send him whirling off the edge. With one arm, he clutches onto her, anchoring himself as they fly off the precipice together. He hears a shout, barely registering it as his own. At last, Draco calms. His head is swimming when her lips move to touch the sensitive whorls of his ear.

"I love you, Draco," she whispers.

His heart clenches. Scarcely can he breathe. Draco's gaze swings to meets hers and despite how desperately she tries to hide it, he spies the light of expectation shining there. He shuts his own eyelidds, bidding the response she wishes to fall from his lips. When the words fail to emerge, Draco immerses himself in the incredibly intimate connection she'd forged with him. Alarmed, he feels her start to pull away, but this time, he discovers the courage to curl his hand around her wrist, urging her back against him.

"Stay, Hermione," he entreats.

Though not quite the endearment she wishes to hear, his heartfelt request has her relaxing into his embrace. Stroking her hair, he feels his heart slow after his earth-shattering release. He smiles as she nestles her back more securely against his front. After awhile, her breathing slows and soon he feels the full weight of her fall against him, tired, and sated. Holding the witch in his arms, Draco suddenly sees how Hermione had long ago cast an enchantment that would eventually have him falling head over heels in love with her.

And just as any wizard worth his wand is aware, Draco knows that such a love spell is neither one coerced by magical potion, nor cast by any sorcerer's wand.

The ancient magic of true love simply doesn't work that way.

He watches her in repose, awed by how beautiful she'd become in his eyes. Draco silently lifts up on an elbow to place a tender kiss on her cheek. Only when he sees that she does not stir, does he gathers her up close and allow himself to rest.

Author's note: I thank you all for returning to Muddy. This muse is a difficult one to corral and I lost my grammar-only beta. (If you'd like to offer your services, please PM me!) Nevertheless, I am well pleased with this update and hope you are, too.

If you need more dramione fanfics between now and my next update. I have some that I've been too lazy to upload here... or if you dare to tread off the dramione ship onto others, (Neville/Hermione anyone?) come visit my tumblr: foggybythebay[dot]tumblr[dot]com.

Direct links to my story archive pages on tumblr can be found on my profile. Hope to see you there!

Thanks to dreamsofatruedreamer for introducing me to this beautiful new addiction.

As always, happy reading!


p.s. ...and for those of you awaiting Dilemma's next update, my new chapter is currently with that story's beta! Good times!