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Chapter Text

He was genuinely so fucking pathetic.

Like disappointing the long lineage of the House of Malfoy and making them weep in their respective cold graves pathetic.

Draco took another bite, and just swore he could taste her.

In the moments following Granger’s huff of an exit, he began to behave in a rather spectacular display of extreme depravity. After all, she’d pulled the thread loose from his precarious grasp on his sanity and he was, henceforth, no longer in control of himself.

It was rather disgusting—no, just fucking insane really, and, also, wholly Granger’s fault.

So, picture this: Draco, half-hard in the centre of the library, devouring an apple he’d just plucked off the floor with such animated fervour that Madam Pince came around the corner, shooing her weathered hands with lips fixed to scold him about setting a bad example for the first-years huddled together nearby.

‘No eating in the library, Mr Malfoy—you should know by now!’

He had wanted to tell her that yes, he had set a bad example, though not by devouring a floor-apple but instead because he’d just spaffed down Granger’s throat in view of Moste Potente Potions and Magick Moste Evile.

But his mouth was full (with that crass consumption of Granger’s apple) so he merely shrugged, gathered his belongings, and went sniffing after the witch. And, despite his very best efforts, she was nowhere to be found.

So after an hour of aimless wandering and inner turmoil, he’d returned to his dungeon as instructed by Pansy, whom was probably still fucking Longbottom which was a detail that was not lost on him but rather ignored in a way to compartmentalise his mental unraveling.

Theo had been inside the common room upon his entry because of course he was. Lounging on the couch like a tableau de dunce, he sat up straight upon catching the view of Draco’s stalking and gave a desultory and dignified sniff.

‘What’ve you been up to?’ asked Theo, eyebrows quirking as his eyes raved over his friend. He had a glass held between two fingers with a lazy grace, his eyes glazed in a way that suggested he’d been doing some indulging of a different sort.

‘Studying,’ Draco had responded, flinging down in a wingback chair opposite him. He tugged a hand down his face, resisting the urge to scream and pull at his hair.

‘Fat load of shite,’ Theo announced, far too loud to be casual. Drunk then. ‘Why is your mouth all red?’

‘I ate an apple.’

‘An apple?’

Draco sucked on his teeth. ‘Lost your fucking hearing, have you, Nott?’

Blaise appeared, or maybe he was there all along. He had a habit of lurking in shadows like a bereaved poltergeist waiting to make his presence known.

‘Did you eat the apple out of a trough, Draco? You look mussed,’ the beautiful boy drawled as he came into view, walking around the back of Draco’s chair to appraise him. His eyes ran up and down, and Draco shifted in his seat, suddenly wishing he hadn’t maintained his erection in the hope of tracking down Granger in some dark corner after leaving the library.

After a silent moment of observation, Blaise added, with a downturn of his mouth, ‘You look…fucked.’

Theo let out a delighted giggle.

‘He does, doesn’t he? Got that flush on the high points of his cheeks,’ Theo gasped, leaning in. ‘Who do you imagine would shag our little blue boy?’

‘I pity her, whoever she is.’

‘Either that or him and Granger were having a go–’ Theo started, before Draco’s hearing piqued to white noise, a side effect of feeling like he might explode on the spot.

For fuck’s sake.

Draco pushed off the seat and took a few steps towards the chamber of boys’ dorms. As an afterthought, he turned back around and curled his lip at the pair.

‘You’re both idiots,’ said Draco with a decisive nod of his head, which made Theo whine and Blaise snort.

‘Still unpleasant even when he’s come,’ Blaise mused as Draco turned his back and stalked down the hall.

‘What a miserable, miserable boy,’ cooed Theo from his seat, probably having flopped back with disgruntled air of faux-vexation.

He wrenched open the chamber door and disappeared inside.

Once inside, Draco became aware of the ringing in his ears. As he stood in front of the wash basin and caught sight of himself in his reflection, anger flared in his chest. His cheeks were pink, his chin and mouth puffy from point of contact re: Granger’s clitoris.

He filled the basin with the coldest water he could charm and plunged in head-first. The leftover taste of her cunt seeped into the soak, the scent of her suddenly flooding all of his senses as it was diluted with the liquid around him.

There, in the dark of his room, head down in the sink, he finally let off the scream that had been building in his chest.

“Say a word and I kill you.”

Draco awoke to find Pansy standing over him, her wand poking directly into his throat. His body jerked, which only made her press harder.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” he hissed in a whisper, voice groggy from interrupted slumber.

“Like it’s hard to get past the gender ward.” He couldn’t see her roll her eyes, but knew her well enough to know her face was turned up in a way that always had him feeling stupid. “A word about Longbottom and you’re dead.”

“Well, the same goes for you.”

“Oh, please.” She shrugged off the threat, lowering her wand so it was instead hovering right over his heart. “As if I care you’re shagging Granger.”

“I’m not,” he corrected.

“Sure looked that way.”

“It was...spur of the moment.”

“Right,” she scoffed.

She poked him with her wand, and he slid over so she could sit on his bed while she threatened his life.

“And you and Longbottom?” Draco trailed off, and Pansy collected her wand in her lap. She gave him one of those long sighs.

“He’s fit, what can I say?”

Draco grimaced at the way she spoke. So content. Happy.

“Yuck,” said Draco, though another feeling pooled in his throat.

Despite having come, he was feeling like he was missing some satisfaction. Which was stupid. He got off. He’d fucked Granger’s throat. He should be feeling smug. Yet, something was missing.

Pansy clearly wasn’t having the same issue.

She smirked in the dark. “Yuck, indeed.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Better be,” she responded, shooting him with a mild stinging jinx before he could defend himself. He swallowed the yelp, not wishing to wake those sleeping nearby.

“Great fuck, Pans–” he hissed.

“Go to sleep,” she ordered.

He rolled over as she stood from his bed, closing his eyes and trying to get himself back to sleep.

“Same goes for yours,” she whispered before leaving without another sound.

As previously stated: he was losing his fucking mind.

If he’s awake, he’s thinking of Granger.

Asleep? Dreaming of Granger.

Eating? Imagining what it would taste like if he licked whatever morsel he could choke down off her skin.

Walking? Talking? Wanking? Granger, Granger, and you fucking guessed it: Granger.

His eyes find her with ease, every blasted time, like she’s a bloody beacon on a dark sea – it’s like he’s not even trying to maintain a grasp on his sanity. He’d be eating in the Great Hall and suddenly has an inkling, and a tingling shoots down his spine and then he’s whipping to her coordinates like some well-trained bloodhound.

Maybe if he rolled over, she’d reward him for a job well done.

He shifted in his seat at the thought.

He can’t stop looking at her. Watching her. Noticing the way her hair curls get tucked behind her ears when she’s making her morning tea, the way she licks her bottom lip before she takes a sip, the little flush she gets when Potter or the Weasel tell her it’s time to go.

So yes, his grip on reality was beginning to fray.

And worse, Granger appeared to have satisfied whatever curiosity she had about him. Their fraught truce that had permitted him between her legs had dissolved into a great lot of nothing.

She was no longer salaciously eating cherries or standing in front of him in closed spaces. She wasn’t grinning at him or telling him how much she’d like to choke on his cock.

Draco did not take well to being ignored, as he was an only child and very much used to having his every whim doted upon quite lavishly. So when Granger began treating him like he didn’t exist, he began to, for lack of a better word, freak the fuck out.

It made his blood boil.

Who was she to ignore him? It’d been her plan, after all. So bloody easy, as she’d said.

Draco was not easy. How dare she insinuate as much.

He chalked it up to a job unfinished. He had had parts of Granger but ultimately didn’t get to shag the curly-headed and annoying witch. This, he thought, explained his ever-present stream of consciousness that was dutifully keeping tabs on her.

He’d only run into her once, on chance, because she was looking around in her bag as she left Ancient Runes.

Also, Draco stepped directly in her path when he noticed she wasn’t looking.

If one can believe it, he actually did not have a plan. He wasn’t exactly sure what the fuck was driving him to loom in her path, chest pressed out in an embarrassing display of bravado, but his mind was frayed around the edges, tinged with the memory of Granger moaning his name. With the surge of testosterone that the thought gave him, he was thinking that it made sense to impose himself on her space because, well, he wanted to.

After all, she’d been ignoring him, and Draco thought they had struck up somewhat of a truce. Really, it made sense for him to demand an explanation.

Yes, that’s what he’d go with. Needing her reasoning as to how she could pretend he did not exist.

“Excuse me,” said Granger.

Draco did not excuse Granger, but rather took a step closer, composing his face into one of trained irritation as he sneered down at her. Part of it wasn’t feigned– who was Granger to pretend he didn’t exist? Prior to all of...this, they at least had an agreement to maintain hateful jabs and sneered glances. Now, she’s not even glancing in his direction and offering up an ‘excuse me’? To Draco?

This was worse. Far worse. Draco thought he might put his hands around her throat in full view of the lingering students and professor still meandering about the room.

Instead, he cocked his head at Granger, lifting a brow. “Excuse you?”

“That’s what I’ve said, Malfoy.” Though her words should have been laced with that haughty uppity nature, he found the syllables droll– as if dampened down on precedence alone.

“What is your problem?”

This made her look up at him finally, and Draco took the opportunity to fully examine her features, if for no other reason than that he wanted to. Her freckles remained in place, but a curious blush was creeping up on her face like a vignette, colouring the exposed skin he could see of her throat and closing in on her cheeks and nose. Granger’s breath, he also realised, was timed impeccably as if she were reminding herself of how to do so.

Draco’s lip twitched. So she wasn’t so unaffected after all.

“Currently, you. As you’re standing in my way and going to make me late for Potions.”

“I meant in general.”

“Generally,” she sighed, seeming to consider for a moment. “Still you.”

She tried to shove past him, but Draco caught her wrist. Hermione whirled back around, looking at where they were connected, like she might be able to light him on fire with her mind. He felt his breath hitch at the thought.

“We’re not done,” he said.

Well then. Where the fuck had that come from? Draco felt his face heat and a fresh anger rolled through him.

Hermione’s eyes flashed, and she surprised him by taking a step forward. “Are you quite mad?”

He wanted to hiss at her in the affirmative but held his tongue. That was the whole issue. She had driven him mad.

“You’re just going to pretend it didn’t happen?”

“What happened?”

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I thought you liked it when I did,” she tutted, voice hardly a whisper. Her lips slammed shut, like she’d let it out despite herself.

Such a smart little mouth. He wanted to squeeze her cheeks, tell her as much. Instead he squeezed tighter on his wrist, exerting a great strength against her bone that made her eyes go wide.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

Granger scoffed, finally pulling her wrist loose. “In case you don’t remember, Malfoy, we aren’t friends. There is no need for me to acknowledge that you exist.”

“So that’s it then?” he asks with an incredulous edge.

He was inclined to believe that she rather liked what he’d done with his tongue—and he’d been told by others that he was enthusiastic, which was, if the several orgasms he’d wrung out of his previous sexual partners were to be proof, evidence of a talent that couldn’t be taught.

He was good at what he did.

And he liked it. Not eating Granger out specifically, he qualified internally—like it mattered. But in general, pleasing his partners.

Not that Granger was his partner.

She was...Granger.

He looked down at where she’d been just a moment prior, anticipating her response, only she’d turned on her heel and was already several steps away from him and nearly out the door.

Just walked off, ignoring him further. The realisation had him moving before he could remember all the reasons he should stay put.

“Granger,” he hissed to her back, but she barrelled out of the door. He’d gotten just out of the frame when Professor Babbling was calling out to him to collect his things.

He halted, watching her disappear among the other students in the corridor before he stalked back to retrieve his stupid bag.

She had been the one to shove him into the closet.

En route to class, and while passing a great many faceless Hogwarts students, Draco had been on a straight path until he was suddenly being thrown askew. His vision was blurred by the shove, knocked in the chest, an oof! spilling from his lips as he was thrown back into the shelving against the far wall. His head knocked against some cleaning potion, the liquid sloshing from the contact and crashing to the floor. It pooled under his shoes and as he looked down, he saw the shiny loafers of Granger stepping directly in front of him as the door shut with a soft click!

He briefly wondered what the fuck her problem is, lips already working the first half of the thought through his clenched teeth when suddenly Granger was on top of him.

Like fully fucking climbing him like a tree.

Granger’s mouth was soft, but the force of her kiss was bruised, punishing. Her hands found the back of his head and she tugged roughly at the hair brushing the back, surely pulling clumps in her grasp. The contact made Draco huff against her mouth, and when his lips parted on a moan, she slipped her tongue inside, teeth clicking as she pressed forward, seeking and demanding more.

His hands slipped to her hips, fingertips biting in at the flared bone that settled there, kneading against her skin and tugging her impossibly closer. He wanted to fucking devour her, lick her and suck on every point of exposed skin he could latch onto, and with this sudden display on her part, he was swiftly sure he’d do just that. She was malleable in his hands, practically thrusting herself forward until he sat inside her but the many layers of mandated winter clothing separated him from their apparent shared goal.

“Granger,” he murmured, pulling back slightly to see her hair mussed – lips pink as her eyes slowly opened.

“Draco,” she whispered, eyes pleading as she looked up at him from under her lashes. “Fuck me.”

Leave it to Granger to get to the fucking point.

“Here?” Draco asked.

“Here. Anywhere. I need you inside of me,” she exhaled. Her warm breath ghosted over his skin, ghostbumps pebbling over his body as she peppered kisses along his neck with each word.

“Fuck, Granger.” He pulled her back from her assault at his neck, running a hand up and over her collar, then settled tucked underneath her jaw. Draco turned her face up to look at him. He wanted to see that her eyes were clear, her words not garbled. Needed to know she meant it. “You want me to fuck you in this closet?”

“Please,” she begged. “I need it so badly. I’ll die without your cock.”

Gods, was she filthy.

He brushed a finger over her lips, and she opened her pretty mouth, tongue flicking up and over the digit. Her breath was hot as she exhaled then closed her lips down around his finger. Granger sucked in, tongue swirling over him and he had to bite down on his inner cheek to will himself to not burst in his pants at the sensation.

Through clenched teeth, he asked, “Don’t you want me to warm you up?”

“Oh please,” she bleated, “Put your mouth on me again.”

Who was Draco to deny her when she asked so nicely?

“You look so fucking pretty when you’re begging.”

“You like me like this? Wanting you so badly I might lose my mind?”

“I like you dirty,” he said as he shoved her against the wall, which made a rattling sound under the impact. “It’s in your nature.”

Her head cracked against the force and she left out a moaned gasp that he promptly cut off with his lips. His fingers came up, tugging her shirt out of her waist band and fumbling with the buttons. Hermione’s fingers released from where she’d thrown them into his hair and tugged it open, sending buttons scattering everywhere in some dramatic display of primal lust.

Draco felt his eyes widen for just a fraction of a second, and then, with a very undignified groan, his lips were back on hers, seeking more – slanting her mouth to open for him so he could lick inside of her, desperate for her taste.

Her head tilted back, opening up for him and kissing him back with equal gusto. She nipped at his lip, pulling it between her sharp little teeth and pressing down so hard that he was sure she drew blood. He pulled back and she released him with hesitance.

As he looked down at her from the tip of his nose, the way she was panting, bra – which was, of-fucking-course, green – exposed to the air, exposed to him, something precious and significant snapped all at once.

Perhaps it was the death rattle of the man he thought he was before she’d been crawling at him across the library floor nights prior. Perhaps it was the sad last thread of dignity he held dear. Perhaps it was an ancestor weeping from the grave. Or, maybe, it was just a surge of blood to his cock.

But in that snap, it occurred to Draco that he quite literally needed to put his tongue inside of her, or he might well perish.

Draco knelt down, hands gripped to either of her hips, and nuzzled his face into the front of her skirt. He drew in a pathetic rasp of air here, like a deranged animal displaying a flehmening, memorising the scent of Granger’s cunt so he could better envision her when he wanked to the thought of this later—as he already knew he’d be doing exactly that.

But for now, here, between her thighs, against her skirt, Draco was content. Granger made little keens, needy and waiting and far too loud for what he’d planned to continue doing to her. He pulled back, one hand grasping at the knot of his tie and loosening it in a smooth pull.

Up off his knees in an instant, hand closing down around her jaw and parting her lips, Draco pressed in on her cheeks with his fingers. Her mouth fell open, a drawn gasp hanging loose there as he took the tie and quickly shoved it into her mouth.

He let his two fingers linger there, pressing down on the fabric in her mouth as her eyes looked back and forth between his, as if to ask why?

“Do try and keep quiet, Granger.”

She didn’t move, just stayed staring at him, eyes wide.

“Unless, of course, you want someone to hear you calling out for me to fill your cunt?” He said the words slowly, trying to hide the fact that he wanted to hear that more than he’d like to keep breathing.

“Mm-mm,” she hummed with a shake of her head from left to right.

Draco hid his disappointment with a practised smirk, then leaned down and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “You can be good, then? Keep quiet?”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm,” he echoed with upturned lips, taking his station on his knees before her skirt. Her eyes followed his down, watching as he flipped her skirt up enough for his head to duck under then letting the fabric pull back around him, closing him in the dark with Granger’s cunt.

And the witch wasn’t wearing knickers.

He was, he should mention, hard as a rock. Had been for the entirety of this time, but if he wasn’t already, then all resolve would’ve crumbled at the sight of her flesh so readily available to his tongue.

He let his hand run along the back of her thigh, over the curve of her arse first until it dropped to her knee. Draco was not one for delayed gratification, especially when it came in terms of getting what he wanted. He pressed in, pulling her knee up and over his shoulder to better display her for him, then his mouth was closing over her cunt with a barely stifled moan.

For all that he’d referred to her as dirty or filth, her taste was anything but. He ran a greedy tongue over her slit, loving how easy her cunt spread from her own arousal. She had dripped down between her thighs, and with no fabric to catch her desire, the slick now spread over Draco’s chin as he dove in.

He liked sweet things. Sugar quills, fudge flies, even the expired butterscotch buttons offered by old women that they’d found at the bottom of their extended and capacious bags. If it could be found in a colourful shoppe and was known to rot teeth, he would consume it. He would demand it.

But here, at the apex of Granger’s thighs, Draco had found his favourite treat. Here, with her parted, swollen and seeping for him, cunt soft against his tongue, Draco was in heaven.

His heart thudded in his ears as he continued his exploration of Granger, letting his tongue delve deeper, swallowing her slick like it was a taste he’d been seeking all his life.

She moaned around his tie, the sound only serving to make his cock strain harder against his pants. He rocked forward, seeking and finding friction against the front of his pants.

He drew a line with his tongue, travelling to the button at her core and flicked his tongue against the pebbling skin. Granger rocked forward, moans muffled by the tie halfway down her gullet. Draco hummed against her, suctioning his lips and sucking in.

She was already warm for him.

But his mouth was glued here. He needed to taste her through her orgasm. Like his knees were cemented to the floor until her release was splashing across his face.

He ate her with fervour, coaxing her to the edge, feeling her thighs tighten on either side of his face.

“Mr Malfoy!”

Draco drew back instantly, mouth wet as he blinked at the onslaught of light all around him.

He was...in the library.

Not just the library, the Restricted Section.

Draco looked around, blinking more to right himself and try to understand what was happening.

“If you would please refrain from eating in the library.”

It was Madam Pince’s voice. As he blinked again, the view was clear. Granger was perched on the table, though now her bra was a light pink, and, also, the entire selection of prefects had surrounded them, clutching apples and staring as Madam Pince’s hands moved erratically.

She stuck a long finger out, on the end of which was a ripe, red cherry.

“This is not behaviour becoming of a Malfoy,” she said with an air of fitted disgust.

The prefects nodded all around them, then drew back their hands as if poised to cast them at him like stones.

Draco looked over his shoulder, except it wasn’t Granger laid out for him on the table but rather a pile of stacked apples – green, mirrored and in various arrays of some degree of consumption.

He swallowed, but any explanation or words got lodged in his throat.

When he glanced back to where Pince was meant to be, Grand-mère looked at him with malicious intent.

“Franchement, c'était un spectacle navrant,” she hissed before poofing into a cloud of mist as the first cast apple connected with his skull.

Draco awoke with a gasp.

His room was dark, still too early for his roommates to be awake. He tried to right his breathing, but the thought of his grandmother in front of him as he suffered from a raging boner was a deep and previously untapped fear. He shifted, peeling himself off of his back and trying to sit up to better take air into his lungs.

Only then did he become aware of the feeling in his pants.

He was sticky.

Draco’s eyes went wide, rage suddenly replacing any inkling of fear he’d had as the gravity—nay, the depravity of the situation weighed on his mind.

He’d spaffed to a wet dream of tonguing Granger.

Not fucking her. Just...tasting her.

He slammed a palm against his nightstand with enough force to earn a half-awake ‘shutthefuckuhhh’ grumbled in his direction. He gripped his wand with white knuckles. Draco hissed out the vanishing charm then flopped back on the bed so hard that he winced.

Stupid fucking Granger.

The rest of January passed much the same.

As did February.

In March, she caught his eye across the hall. She had a bit of cake on the tip of her fork, hovering right next to her mouth.

Draco was aware that he’d been craning his neck, watching her in a way that was rather obvious. But now, she looked back at him, as her lips opened and the fork went in. She closed down, then pulled the fork out rather slowly, the bits of frosting that were stuck on it disappearing as she sucked in.

His eyes flashed, watching the display, feeling some surge in his chest he hadn’t felt since he found out exactly what she could do with her mouth.

Then she looked away, eyes flickering to something Potter was saying, the whole table captured on his every word. In another life, Draco would look away too, in fact, he wouldn’t even be looking at her at all. But it’s this life, and he’s staring at her from two tables away.

She held the fork vertically, swinging it as she swallowed the bite of cake. She laughed with the rest of them, some stupid fucking cacophony like they’re in one of the muggle sitcoms Theo won’t shut the fuck up about.

She was no longer looking at him as she brought the fork back to her mouth, her tongue darting out to lick the prongs. But Draco was looking at her, and thought, stupidly, that this display was for him.

She stuck the tip of the utensil back between her lips, sucking on it gently as she listened with rapt attention to the braindead idiots she associated herself with.

A loafer clad foot connected with his shin underneath the table.

“Could you be any more fucking obvious?” Pansy hissed at his side.

He looked down at her with a sneer. “That hurt.”

“You look pathetic,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

Draco merely sighed.

He couldn’t argue with it. He was pitiful. Pathetic. Deplorable. Whatever the fuck you wanted to call it.

But it wasn’t his fault.

He looked down at his plate with a soured appetite.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe that this is our last time returning home before we’re finally done with schooling,” Theo babbled as they settled into their seats on the train.

Everyone dutifully ignored him, as per usual.

“Any big plans this Easter?”

Considering none of them practised any organised muggle religion, this was a moot point.

Theo would do this; keep talking until someone took the bait. Blaise didn’t engage, leaning against the wall and pretending to be asleep. Pansy rolled her eyes, peering out the window as if she were expecting someone to come for her.

She probably was.

From what Draco knew of the situation, which was very little indeed, Pansy and Longbottom were on great terms. Admonished the shame each had about their circumstance as star-crossed lovers, or whatever twee-brained, insipid little Austenesque ramblings Theo could fart about their incongruous coupling whenever he’d indulged in anything more than two and a half glasses of Ogden’s.

‘Aren’t they just so cute?’ he’d stage-whisper as he twirled about the common room, foot catching on the rug Draco had jinxed and slamming down with a dull oof!

Draco did not think they were cute. In fact, the labyrinthine droll of Theo and his self-proclaimed prophetic penchant for sensing romantic matches made Draco want to commit increasingly creative and egregious acts of violence.

He hated it. He hated the air of love about the castle, the moony eyes the two dolts made across the Great Hall, he hated her—that stupid mess of curly hair and the way her cheeks glowed in the spring air, and he most certainly hated Theo’s sudden pursuit of muggle spoken word.

If he was forced to sit through another night of that idiot dimming the lights in the common room and trying to fit ‘arse’ and ‘centrifugal force’ into Iambic pentameter, he swore to every god, muggle and magic, he would end the bloodlines of both Nott and Malfoy swiftly and without repentance.

Insert a long-suffering sigh.

The pair, Pansy and her lapdog, had been spotted spending time together in the halls and library. Whoopy-fucking-doo. He’d caught her on more than one occasion sneaking back in, on nights when Theodore passed out with scraps of parchment littering and staining his body like a fucking impressionist painting of a suicidal wordsmith. Draco had to bite his tongue at the way Pansy looked particularly flushed, robes askew in an appearance that was distinctly out of character, even going so far as to shoot him a grin that looked genuine.

Draco loved Pansy, sure. There was the whole fact that they’d grown up together and that weird bit where they anticipated they’d one day be betrothed, but all that aside, she was a good and loyal friend, perhaps the smartest of those he surrounded himself with. However, he felt no sense of kinship or happiness over her new beau.

What was he meant to say on the situation? Good on you for fucking a war hero? Whatever. It was stupid. And while his feelings of palpable hatred might read as something of jealousy, he knew in his heart of hearts that he was not jealous, but rather intensely and immensely sick of it. It was Longbottom after all, who for years had been a mouth breather resembling a gaping fish, and who was neither as sharp-jawed or startlingly blond as Draco.

His previous sentiment (see: Yuck) still rang true.

Then, like he’d summoned some ancient oarfishish deity with his thoughts, lanky Longbottom was there, in the door of the fucking carriage, asking Pansy if she’d come sit with him. Pansy blushed, something he didn’t think he'd ever seen from her, unless Draco counted when her cheeks got red as she was screaming at one of them, or blubbering, or crying.

“Malfoy,” Longbottom drawled, giving him a singular nod in greeting.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Longbottom seemed to think catching Draco with his head between Granger’s thighs and then not spreading the information like the fabulous gossip it was, created some esprit de corps—a term he’d learned from Theo’s poetry.

Except it didn’t. There was no esprit. Certainly not any de corps.

It drove Draco insane every time Longbottom looked at him like he was a kicked puppy. Beady little eyes and downturned lips, with that ever present look of simple-minded good naturedness on his long face. Gods. Why Pansy wanted to fuck someone that had the same energy as a half-baked bridge troll, he would never understand.

If his eyes wavered from where he was watching Granger like some freak, they sometimes fell over and saw Longbottom looking at him with something akin to pity.

He didn’t need Longarse’s fucking pity. That was...a disgusting thought.

Draco ignored the absolute turnip’s greeting. Pansy punched his shoulder. He looked down at her, seeing eyes wide with wrath. He scoffed, which made her stamp on, thus scuffing, his shoes.

“Hello,” he hissed, ignoring the pressure on his fourth and fifth metatarsals.

“I could use your help with something,” Longbottom continued.

“Not in the mood for charity work.”

Pansy pinched him so hard that he swore she broke skin.

“Fucking ouch—fine! What do you want?”

Longbottom’s lip twitched at the violence, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, stretching back and looking down the hall out of the carriage. “Follow me.”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

Draco threw down the book he’d planned to read and followed after the couple. Maybe they weren’t as ill-matched as he thought. Pansy certainly tucked in against Longbottom’s side in a way that looked befitting. Draco shook his head, clearing the thought.

He kept following them past several occupied train carriages, everyone already pressed in and discussing the upcoming break.

They walked for several moments in silence, the guard passing and telling them to find seats before they felt the train lurch forward. Longbottom and Pansy didn’t stop until they’d walked far enough back Draco was sure no one even utilised the weathered carriages around them.

Longbottom tugged open a door and motioned for him to enter.

“What’s this?” Draco said, looking at Longbottom’s extended hand and taking offence.

How dare he try to give Draco direction.

“I knew he’d be difficult,” muttered Pansy.

Longbottom reached out, grabbing a fistful of his tailored blouse, and shoved Draco inside. He only was able to manage that, Draco reasoned, because he had been caught off guard and thus overpowered by Longbottom’s bruteish, bony-eared assfish-imbued strength.

Draco stumbled back, landing on his arse under the window as his head connected with the wall. He looked up at the two of them in the doorframe, shock and a clear blush registering on his features.

“What the fuck?” Draco seethed.

“Malfoy?”

Draco’s blood went cold. He looked over, and there was Granger perched on the seat, holding a book in her hands. She looked down at him with surprise, eyes wide and a blush colouring her cheeks.

“We thought you two might fancy a chat,” Pansy said, to which Longbottom nodded.

Draco scrambled up, righting himself to stand on two feet. He took one step forward and Longbottom slammed the door shut on his nose.

“Pansy, the fuck is–”

But Pansy wasn’t listening. She had her wand pointed at the door and was muttering some incantation.

“Think that’ll hold?” she asked, looking to where Longbottom watched over her shoulder.

“Your charms have really improved since we’ve been studying.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” the witch said with a smirk.

Then, to Draco’s immense horror, they started walking away.

“Pansy!” he yelled. His hand extended, but when he touched the handle, a bolt of yellow shot out and zapped him with a humming crack!

Draco recoiled, palm braced against his chest. His eyes were wide as he looked at the door.

Fuck? Fuck. FUCK.

He reached back out to grab the latch for a second time.

“I wouldn’t–” Granger said, while Draco did exactly that. He was zapped once again.

“Fuck!”

“Malfoy, just...Merlin, sit down.”

Draco turned silently, seeing Granger sat, legs folded underneath her bum, finger holding her place in her book.

He swallowed in irritation. She looked serene, peaceful.

Meanwhile, his shirt had come untucked, his chest moving erratically up and down as he tried to suck in a breath, unable to form a coherent thought.

Draco shuffled to the seats across from her, dropping down as silently as possible.

“Need a bit of water?” offered Granger.

“No.”

Granger nodded, then looked down and reopened her book. There was a spot of silence, condensation building on the glass as the train picked up speed, headed in the direction of home, and a feeling so solid bludgeoned in Draco’s throat that he couldn’t stop the words coming until they were already out.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She hardly even looked up from the text.

“Easter,” she muttered slowly.

He briefly wondered if she’d be so smug if he pressed her face up against the glass, or better, worked his fingers around her throat.

She gave a long sigh, eyes still glued to her text. “Are you going to continue to stare at me the entire time we’re locked in here?”

“No one told me to bring my fucking reading material,” he hissed in response. She looked up, irritation plain in her gaze.

“You realise this is your fault, don’t you?” she asked.

Draco felt his eyes pop out of his head.

Making a series of discordant, choking rasps, he debated the ethics of murdering her with his bare hands. His fault?

“You must have lost your bloody mind, Granger, if you think that any of this is my fault.”

“Isn’t it? Couldn’t keep your hands off me in the library, could you?”

Draco sputtered, a shocked laugh springing from his clenched teeth.

“Are you fucking mental? Did you forget you told me how easy you thought it would be to seduce me?”

“Well,” she sighed. “It was easy.”

More sputtering on Draco’s part.

“I– I…I am not—easy, you stupid–”

She slid her finger down the page she was reading, dog-earring the bottom, before she slowly closed the book as Draco struggled on his words.

“What—what—what is it, Malfoy?” she mocked slowly. “Can’t get it out?”

His jaw set as he looked at her, a previously untapped rage boiling anew in his veins.

“Shut up,” he spat.

“No.”

“You’re such a fucking–”

Bitch, he wanted to finish but bit the inside of his cheek instead.

He thought about Pansy twisting his arm the single time he had made the mistake of uttering the word aloud in her presence. He learned quickly he could think it all he wanted, could curse himself blue with insults, but he wasn’t allowed to say it out loud or he invited the wrath of the witch he’d spoken it against.

But Granger? Gods, was she testing his fucking limits.

“Say it,” challenged Granger, eyes slanting as she tilted her head. Her curls were loose, cascading down and over her shoulder, and he wanted so badly to cross there. Wrap a fist in her hair and yank her head back. Make her look at him. Make her stop talking.

But he couldn’t do that. All he could do was look at her, stewing in the irritation that was singular to her completely. Her lip twitched, triumphant, and it took a concentrated effort not to shout.

Instead, he hissed, “Brat.”

Granger was silent, letting the term roll around between them like a flavour she couldn’t place. She looked away from him, fingers sliding into her bag, pulling out a lump and her wand, then sliced it crosswise with a flick of her wrist.

The fruit split in two, the pit sticking out of one end. Draco watched with mounting horror as she popped it into her mouth, sucking on it as she set the other half on top of her bag. With it still in her mouth, she grabbed her book, flicked it open, and proceeded to ignore him.

Draco’s head fell back against the seat behind him.

He would kill Longbottom, that much was certain, but would probably only get away with a quick curse before Pansy lit him on fire with her mind or something. Why would they think it was a good idea to lock him in a room with her?

At least he hoped he’d be able to get some sort of revenge. If he survived this ride. If she didn’t kill him first.

Worse, he couldn’t even feel good about Granger’s silence. He felt his gaze travel back to her. With something filling her mouth, she seemed content to read and ignore Draco. Part of him desired to hear her spit back some sharp retort, wanted to goad her and push until she was breathing heavy, lips wet, staring at him with that same sort of fire he’d kept replaying in his mind.

She pulled the thing from between her lips, teeth grazing along the pit, before a low pop sounded in the otherwise silent carriage. Draco turned his head, looking out the window and pressing his head against the cold glass. Against his better judgement, a memory flashed through his mind; Granger popping something else out of her mouth with a lewd slurp. The sticky, hot sensation of her mouth as she choked on his cock. The tears that spilled over the corners of her eyes.

Draco blinked, eyes focusing on the way the glass had fogged from where he’d been daydreaming about Granger on her knees. He shot up, staring right at the bane of his existence.

“Where did you even procure that?” he snapped.

She ignored him, face remaining calm as she went back to town, slurping on the fucking orange lump. His rage boiled over, hearing the sounds, watching her cheeks hollow, with each passing moment her eyes flitted along the text as if Draco didn’t even register on her radar.

So he hissed, “Hello?” with enough force that he bit down on his own tongue, a sharp sting of pain radiating throughout his mouth.

“What?” she asked after a moment, eyes not even moving from the text she read.

“The thing you’re suckling on like a teat.”

She withdrew it from her mouth, looking over at him with one eyebrow cocked.

“A mango, Malfoy?”

Her lips closed down, and she sucked on it, pink cheeks caving in as she pulled into her mouth, producing a slurp that made the hairs on the back of his neck raise.

“Yes.”

She sighed, rotating the fruit to nibble a bit before she found enough energy or patience to respond to him. She looked back at her text.

“The trolley has more than just tooth-rotting sweets.”

A fresh sense of irritation rolled down his spine, setting his limbs on fire. She could rile him up and then, so easily, go back to ignoring him.

Before he could stop himself, body running hot, he’d spoken, voiced raised. “Are you like this with everyone?”

Granger glanced up. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re insufferable.”

“The feeling is mutual,” she muttered.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands as he hissed, “You were far more pleasant with a cock in your mouth.”

He watched the words land between them. Granger looked up at him, finally giving him the attention he fucking deserved, and set her book down in her lap. Her head tilted to the side.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” she said slowly.

“That’s all you’re good for. Pretending.”

She sat up. “What does that even mean?”

“You pretend. You ignore.” He leaned forward, not liking the way he felt his cheeks go pink. “Are you embarrassed, Granger?”

“No,” she bit back.

“Then what? Ashamed?”

She paused, lips opened slightly, gaping as she thought about it.

“That’s it, then. You feel shameful you want to fuck me.”

“I do not want to—gods, you pig!”

“Right,” Draco hummed, sitting back. He smirked, watching her fluster.

Granger slammed her book onto the seat next to her and stared at Draco with such intensity that he almost faltered. Almost felt fear that he was seated in front of Hermione Granger, a witch known for being ruthless and mildly insane.

But he saw the pink on her cheeks, heard the way her voice pitched up, and liked the quick insult that rolled off her rosy little tongue.

Later, Draco would need to take stock about his negging desire to be on the forefront of Granger’s mind. He’d have to come to terms with the fact that he liked the idea of being in her thoughts. That it puffed something up in his chest, made him feel bigger.

Currently, though, he was thinking about Granger’s tongue and trying to not get hard.

“Why would I want to fuck someone who can’t even finish the job?” she asked, enunciating each word.

Draco’s brows narrowed.

“That’s what this is? You’re mad because you didn’t get off?”

She was silent, her mouth opening as if to say something, but nothing escaped. She bit her lip. Draco watched her teeth sink into the fleshy pout as her brow furrowed.

What the fuck was with her revisionist imagination? Did she forget his head at her centre, licking between her thighs like he’d found the god-damned elixir of life? Was she genuinely so daft?

“No,” she hissed as a vibrant crimson crept up her neck.

He watched her go red, thought about her heated skin under the pads of his fingers. He wanted to lick along her throat, graze his teeth over her jaw while she panted filthy little sounds of encouragement. Wanted to press in on her cheeks with his palm, see her pink tongue pop out, feel her breath as she stared up at him, bright and eager for whatever he’d give her.

“Come here, Granger,” he said before his brain caught up with his mouth.

“What?” she floundered, face falling.

“I said, come here.”

“No.”

Brat. Wanted one thing, said another.

His lip twitched and he settled back, putting his arms along the back of his seat. His head lulled to the side as he looked at her, spreading his legs to relax.

“You want me to be sweet to you? Want me to ask nice?”

“Malfoy, what the fuck are you–”

“Please, Hermione,” he drawled. Her eyes went wide. “Come here. I need to give you something.”

“I don’t–”

He dropped a hand from behind him, patting against his left thigh.

She went straight against the back of her seat, rising up and peering at him, like he was brand new in front of her. A second passed, feeling longer in the way her eyes glanced down to his thighs, the breath she sucked between her lips as she weighed it out in her mind.

He fucking loved it. Loved the way she couldn’t hide a single thought on her face, the way her motivations and desires were so fucking plain. Evident now that he knew exactly what it looked like when she really wanted something.

Hermione sat forward, moving like her stupidly large brain was telling her a hundred reasons not to. Moving because he told her to. A heady sense of pleasure roiled through him. Draco pulled his hand off his lap, clearing her seat, and ran it through his hair, pushing the fringe back from his eyes.

It’s like everything he was doing was automatic, logically, he was aware that he was dumb as rocks, but he couldn’t help himself. There was something about Granger that made him lose all sense.

She pushed up more, coming to the edge of her seat, and then hesitated. His fingers drew from his hair, falling down to the smooth seat next to him. He patted again, keeping his eyes on her.

A breath shook from her chest before she stood. Their eyes connected again, and he grinned at her, which earned him her huff of irritation. She reached behind her, grabbing her fruit, and stalked to the seat—sitting next to, but not on him.

The distinction threatened to make him descend further into madness until her knee knocked against his, sending some sort of buzz of energy straight to his chest and in turn his cock, and he realised he should pick his battles.

She’d come to him all the same. Natural for Granger to overcomplicate it, be a pain about it.

She moved away at the contact, sliding against the wall and pulling her knees up and underneath her again. She fidgeted with the fruit in her hands, glancing from there to up at Draco and then away again. She took a bite from the inside, then scrubbed at her chin, wiping away the liquid as she chewed slowly, avoiding his eye.

“Do you want some?” she murmured, like she hadn’t wanted to offer at all, but was doing a half-hearted attempt at amity.

Draco turned his body, pressing against the opposite wall so they were facing one another in the seat.

With a grin, he said, “Sure.”

Her arm extended, holding out the lump towards him. His eyes fell to the mango, appraising the contrast of her smooth tanned skin against the orange of the fruit’s exterior. He reached forward, purposefully covering her fingers with his own.

Hermione gasped, recoiling and dropping the fruit, which he caught in his palm. He plucked it up to his mouth, inspecting it in his grasp as she shifted across from him.

“You don’t eat the outside?” asked Draco.

She snorted. “You’ve never had a mango?”

“Not like this. It’s already sliced usually.”

“Of course you eat pre-cut fruit,” she muttered.

He hummed, looking up, and caught her inspection of his lips.

“Just bite the inside like I did,” breathed Granger, glancing away once their eyes connected. A flush had settled on the apples of her cheeks.

There was something appetising locked in this carriage with Draco. It was clear that the fruit in his palm would not curb his appetite, not with the flushing witch across the dusty blue seat from him.

He turned it over again in his palms, seeing the indentation her teeth had left.

“It’s…easier if you have a spoon,” Granger supplied, like she couldn’t stop herself from talking. His gaze tilted up and found her looking at him once again. He grinned at her.

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning forward towards the fruit. There was a smooth divet on the interior, the half she’d pulled away from the pit, and he squished it—a foamy sound as the liquid seeped from the hole.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, a bit breathless.

He nodded, because that wasn’t helpful—they didn’t have a spoon. Conjuring one would force him to reach for his wand, which he thought might destroy whatever mutually agreed upon truce seemed to occur once she crossed to sit on his side of the carriage.

It looked aperitive, the sticky fruit glistening against the light, as he moved it in his palms. His eyes kept going back to Granger’s bite mark, feeling some depraved desire to cover the fruit where her lips had been, lick up any lingering essence of her, and swallow it down.

Ah, fuck it.

He didn’t blink before he’d brought it up to his mouth, tongue darting out first to lap up the juice and tasting her. Quickly though, his eyes closed—in rapture, probably—as he bit, pulling a bite into his mouth and chewing.

It was deliriously sweet. A hunger flared in him that he’d never previously felt. Maybe the trolley cart bought magically enhanced fruit, the kind grown with some kind of charm to liken it to candy, but he knew it had nothing to do with the fruit he currently worked between his teeth, or the juice he licked up off the side as he made eye contact with Granger yet again.

He knew that there was some trick of his own mind, a result of Granger’s breathy little responses, ringing with intensity because of where he could see her bite marks. He was certain that that trick had convinced him that anything imbued with Granger was the only thing to satisfy him.

He couldn’t help the small moan as he tasted, his tongue picking up the soft notes of hers. He was certain he’d never had anything quite that sweet, quite that mind-numbing in intensity.

“Mmm,” he appraised, finally opening his eyes as he swallowed. He felt a dribble run along his chin from where he’d pressed into the fruit, and swiped a finger across before he stuck it into his mouth. “Good,” he mumbled around his finger.

Hermione’s jaw moved, like she was speaking without making any sound, and then he heard an audible swallow. He withdrew, smiling.

“You...you can have it, if you want.”

He wanted a lot of things. He did not want to finish off the fucking fruit.

“Nonsense, Granger,” he drawled. “We can share.”

He slid closer, settling in the middle of the seat as he watched her eyes go wide.

He liked it when she couldn’t hide behind whatever image she’d thought of herself. He felt emboldened now, sitting so close to her, sharing bites of fruit and watching her cheeks darken, watching her chest rise and fall quickly as the distance between them shrunk.

“You don’t want to?” he murmured, extending the fruit to her.

“I–”

“No, that’s not it, huh?” he tutted. “I know what you want.”

Granger’s lips moved again, but no sound. Opened. Closed. All he heard was the breath pass between her lips, hissed out, then sucked in.

He abruptly turned away and slid back to the opposite wall. His eyes tracked her exhale, a cloud of disappointment settling on her features, which she tried to coolly sweep into indifference.

“Will you come here now, Granger?”

She didn’t respond, not with words. But her knees shifted, kicking her legs out from underneath her slowly before she stood again. Draco’s posture widened, making room for her between his legs.

She looked at him, and then quickly turned away, walking towards the door.

The sudden turn of her attention shocked him. He sat forward slightly, prepared to say something that would maybe be partially coherent.

Hermione’s hand went up, before she tugged the shade down, blocking off the view from the hall. She stayed facing the window for another moment, her shoulders going up and down with long breaths before she turned back to him, cheeks flushed and lids heavy.

“Once more,” she said. “Once more, and that’s it.”

He nodded slowly, despite not agreeing. But Granger could think what she wanted. Clearly his earlier sentiment had been correct—he did know her, did know what she wanted, what made her whine.

Once hadn’t been enough. Twice surely wouldn’t either.

He didn’t feel like fighting. Not with her in front of him, with the taste of her on his tongue, with the silent permission that had come in lowering the shade.

“Just fucking come,” he murmured, extending his free hand out to her. She drew in a breath, but went, standing between his thighs and looking down at him.

“Right,” she said, blowing out a breath. “Don’t make me regret this.”

He rolled his eyes before wrapping his hand at her waist and tugging her down onto his leg. Her mouth opened like she meant to protest before he cut her off.

“Granger,” he purred, her name tasting sweet on his tongue. She was finally close, his fingers trailing along her hip, pressing into her like he’d wanted to each time he caught sight of her. He should’ve pushed her into an alcove, tucked her away inside an empty class long ago and finished the job. “You’re remembering it all wrong.”

“What?”

“Do you think I gave a fuck that Longbottom and Pansy walked over and saw my face buried in your cunt? I would have stayed between your thighs all night if you’d let me.”

She shifted, leaning back against the wall, spreading her legs just slightly. Draco’s attention went there, before looking back up to her face. His lip twitched.

“Here,” Draco said, putting the fruit up to her lips. “Bite.”

Her mouth opened, biting from the inside of the mango pressed at her mouth. She chewed slowly as he spoke.

“I could feel it, you know? You were about to give it to me. All those breathy moans, the way your legs were shaking.” He drew in a breath, nostrils flaring in irritation. She had kept that from him. He could’ve been making her come during each passing period since then, but Granger had to be fucking dense. “You made me crave you.”

“Malfoy–”

“Shut up. Bite.” He pressed the mango back up to her mouth, and she repeated. He watched her chew, then swallow, lips wet.

He had an urge to press forward, abandon his little pathetic monologue, and bite her lip until it bled. He knew how sweet she was. His mind was clouded between logic and need.

“I don’t care if there’s an audience,” he grunted, voice half choked as he forced himself to stay back. “I’d put you on top of the table in the Great Hall and feast in front of hundreds of eyes. Bite, Hermione.”

Granger watched him, eyes following his lips. She rocked forward a bit, unnecessary since he was here doing all the work, feeding her fruit like an acolyte performing an act of reverence. His fingers pinched her hip, and she paused before bringing her hand up and rotating the mango in his palm, providing more fruit for herself and nibbling it from his palm.

His hand dipped down her hip, running along her pleated skirt.

“That’s why it’s so irritating that you ignored me all this time.”

A thought occurred to him, made him bite down on his tongue before he looked back at her.

“Did you fuck someone?” he asked, watching her brown eyes flick to him immediately. “Yeah, huh? Bite. Did you try to let them get you where I got you?”

She was silent, unmoving, before she shook her head. He clicked his tongue, smiling. Granger took a bite, holding it in her mouth.

“Don’t swallow,” he instructed.

His fingers moved swiftly, free hand bunching up her skirt to sit on her hips. His gaze fell down, looking at her knickers—a pale cream. He dropped the mango onto the seat, then brought his hand up to his mouth, sucking off the juice that had dribbled down his palm before popping them back out.

“Did you touch yourself at night then? Thought about my fingers curling inside of you as you rolled that pretty pink clit under your thumb?”

Draco pressed a finger against the front of her knickers, feeling the heat radiating off of her. She was wet, the fabric damp. He smiled, looking back up to see her mouth trembling, fruit hanging between her lips.

She nodded, then whispered a muffled, “Yeah.”

He pulled the fabric to the side, letting his finger trace her slit.

“You think you can ignore me, hm?” asked Draco, imbibing an artificial sweetness in each word, fingers rubbing in a slow circle over her core. Hermione’s gaze darted to his, a defiant glimmer sparking there. But her lips were soft around the mango, holding it in her mouth just as he asked. She wouldn’t bite down. Wouldn’t let juice fall onto the seat of the train.

Always lived to please, didn’t she?

“You think one time got me out of your system?”

He watched her chest go still, seizing up and catching like the breath caught in her chest. His finger trailed down, slipping into her cunt like he was dipping into a warm pool. A whimpered cry was muffled by the mango resting between her teeth.

Hermione keened, cunt slippery on Draco’s finger as her hips bucked forward. He looked into her eyes, tutting his lips and blowing out a breath as she stared back at him with a look of need. Pleading, pliant.

Fucking perfect.

Draco pressed his face against her ear, burrowing into her curls. He slipped a second finger in, feeling her muscles clench down on him. He moved his palm, pressing in on her clit, wet under his thumb—sliding easily with each pass.

Hermione moaned. Loud. A plea.

“I already told you,” he whispered, curling his fingers up as he pumped inside of her, drawing them out with his thumb braced against her clit. She was so wet that his finger slid around, falling from its intended target. He pressed harder, doubling down, and her hips came forward.

“Please,” she repeated, again and again, muffled around the fruit, juice seeping down her lips.

“I know,” he purred in a sweet voice, pushing in as he circled over her pebbled clit again. “Get it all out, Granger.”

He thought she tried to protest, garble some mumbled insult around the slick flesh of the fruit between her teeth, but it was not loud enough to be intelligible. And he knew it was all some ploy. She was fucking putty in his hands, pressing against his fingers to find her release.

He wanted to use his mouth but he knew that’d be pushing his luck. It’s a wonder no one had burst in yet, accusing him of assaulting Granger. He’d love to see her try and sputter through that explanation.

She moaned, chest vibrating as her hips went forward, pressing against him. Draco drew in a breath, watching her fuck herself on his hand, feeling himself go hard each time she shifted, breathing ragged.

He drew his hand out of her, putting his fingers to his mouth and laving his tongue between each digit. He tasted her, groaning once he had her on his pallet. He didn’t realise how much he’d missed it until it was all he could think about, until she dripped all over his pants and moaned from her seat on his lap.

“Fucking Christ,” he hissed, the muggle swear rolling off his tongue as he sought some way to explain the haze that his mind fell into whenever she came around.

He gripped her, his hands tucking underneath, and picked her up. He turned quickly, setting her down so her hips were hanging off the seat. Draco got on his knees and tucked his hands on either side of her waistband, then tugged the knickers off so hard he thought they might’ve torn. He could hardly register any rip before he dipped his head down, mouth connecting with her core.

Granger let off an expletive as Draco groaned between her thighs. His tongue darted out, flicking over her, as his cheeks hollowed—sucking desperately, needing more.

He looked up to see her bite down, the mango split in half as it fell from her mouth, lost to the seat. Her mouth opened again, a stuttered oh, oh, oh slipping between her sticky lips.

“Draco, I–” she moaned.

He pulled back only to mumble, “I know, fuck, I know.”

Like a moth to a flame, everything about her cunt drew him in. He pressed his face there, his entire body on fire, as her hips shot forward, grinding against his mouth. He could feel her growing wetter, the slippery folds growing indiscernible from her leaking arousal and the wet of his own tongue. Each pass made her grow hotter there, made her hips stutter and press harder, more uninhibited in seeking a finish.

Draco’s mouth found her clit, swirling over it as his fingers pressed in. He curled up, doubling his efforts because he needed her on his tongue, needed his chin coated with her release. He wanted to taste her for days, long enough to hold him over for break.

And then, when they got back, he’d do it every chance he got. He’d eat her cunt for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Anytime she’d let him if she kept tasting like this.

She moaned, hips stilling for a moment, before her thighs clamped on either side of his face. A small cry poured from her lips as Draco remained, obedient, tongue rolling over her clit in a slow, insistent circle.

Each pass was a promise, a vow traced at her centre.

I’m at your disposal.

Lick.

Use me.

Suck.

Yours.

Repeat.

Finally, her legs loosened, but Draco didn’t let up. He couldn’t. She tasted the way rapture felt, like he’d made it to heaven, like he finally understood a silent day of rest on Sundays, like he could imagine kneeling in church and hollering praise up to an unseen deity. It kept him there, stuck between her legs—still wringing sounds of pleasure from her with each swipe of his tongue. It was his hymn—a testimony to the universe, the first crack of veneration in his chest.

Granger’s hands knotted in his hair, tugging him up roughly. He barely let off an unf! before she pressed her lips forward, connecting with his mouth, and jumped on top of him, pushing him back onto the floor.

He connected with the floor with a thud, grunting against her lips as she laughed an apology, pressing kisses to his face before finding his mouth again.

Draco’s eyes wound shut, as she licked at the seam, her teeth catching on his bottom lip and biting down. He groaned, mouth opening, and she dipped her tongue inside, running along his until he felt breathless.

His hands ran up her hips, over the curve of her waist and shoulders, and held either side of her neck—the tips of his fingers curling at her nape, twisting in her curls. She breathed a moan against his lips, kissing him like she’d come awake.

She pulled back suddenly, pressing her hands in at his chest and rocking herself back so she straddled his hips, peering down at him. His mouth stayed open, waiting for her to come back—take all the breath that saved in his lungs and finish the job, put him out of his misery.

Draco’s breathing was erratic, staring up at her as his eyes slowly opened.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and a smile bloomed on her face—a winning grin, so genuinely happy that he realised he had stopped breathing. Her curls were crazed, and her cheeks were pink—rosy and warm and all because of him.

He blinked again.

“Uhn?”

“Thank you,” she repeated again, pushing off of his chest. She stood, leaning behind her, and found her knickers where they were tossed in Draco’s haste to eat her out. She slipped them on, still grinning at him on the floor like he was an imbecile.

Well, he was. He finally closed his lips.

Then, without further ado, she stepped over him again, gathering her book and bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

“Wait–” Draco started to ask as Granger’s hand reached for the knob. He braced himself for the flash, a cry of pain, heat emanating from where the jinx stung her.

The door opened silently.

Draco’s eyes were wide, staring ahead as he propped himself on his elbows, watching her run one last tug through her coils before she turned back to look at him.

“You—you could–”

“Of course I could open it, Malfoy.”

“But–”

“It’d take too long to explain. I’ve been away for longer than normal, so I’ve got to go.”

Draco blubbered, a million thoughts racing through his mind before his brows pinched together.

“That whole time?!”

Granger rolled her eyes.

“Have a nice break, Malfoy,” said Granger, leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes glanced into the hall, looking out like she meant to step, before she turned back to glance at him once more. Draco watched her drag her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down on the flushed flesh.

“What?” he asked, irritated with her. With himself. Every time he did what she wanted.

“The Astronomy Tower.”

“Wh–”

“I go there some nights.”

He started to wonder why she was telling him this, especially if she’d gotten what she wanted. Yet again. Then she pushed back, lip twitching at him one last time, and disappeared into the hall. Back to her housemates, who were probably hooting and hollering about the trials and tribulations of being fucking idiots, and her dimwitted twosome of cockwombling taint goblins. Potter and Weasel probably were hard-pressed without her there to wipe their conjoined arse. Lest they be forced to remove their attentions from where they were blissfully wanking one another to completion over their shit quidditch stats and the Power of Friendship.

And Granger. Draco’s entire body burned at the thought of her. She might be the worst of them all.

She’d be content to sit there, surrounded by idiocy, with her cunt still warm and wet from Draco. Pretending, again, like she hadn’t been with him just moments prior.

He hated her.

He wanted her.

He didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

Draco moved his arms, letting himself reconnect with the floor with a dull thud. He breathed in through his nose, trying to be less stiff as every ounce of blood in his body seemed determined to concentrate in his fucking cock.

And it was there, as he was staring up at the ceiling from the floor of the train carriage, trying to imagine mundane, horribly boring things to get rid of his hard-on, that it finally clicked for Draco.

He just needed to stoop down to her level.

Granger played dirty. No, filthy.

He felt the start of a smile pulling on his lips. He could do the same.