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It's Just Sex

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“Fuck, Granger, you taste so sweet,” Malfoy says with a muffled voice. He’s got her legs slung around his shoulders, and they’re quaking so violently, he has to tighten the grip of his hands as he devours her. “Do Potter and Weasley know you’re such a slut?”

“Shut up,” she wants to say but it’s distorted by a low moan as he folds her back even further, her calves now bracketing her head. Her limbs start shaking again as his tongue dips into her swollen cunt. He licks along her puffy lips; licks away the juice sliding down her bum and legs and collecting on the mattress below. He licks lower, down, down, down to her sphincter, and Hermione aches to be filled with his cock again. “F—uck,” is all she manages.

“That’s right. I want to fuck you here, too.” His voice is full of reverence, but his eyes are shining greedily. “I want you dripping out of every hole. I want you totally defiled.”

But he doesn’t fuck her yet, even though she can see his cock is rock-hard and leaking. Instead, he uses his tongue to tease her, licking up all the honey that’s been spilling out of her.

Hermione’s so wet. He’s annoyingly good at making a mess out of her, and he knows it, the twat. That’s why nobody must know. She can’t very well risk Malfoy going around bragging about the power he wields over her—or perhaps the secrecy is half the appeal. Hermione’s only knows she doesn’t want this to end because she can never get enough.

“Don’t stop,” she moans, and Malfoy obliges.

She thinks it must be impossible for her body to keep going. Physically impossible. And yet, it always does.

They’ve been going at it forever. She never knows how long, because her brain tends to stop working properly around her fourth orgasm. Outside, the night sky’s brightening, so it dawns on her it’s been hours since they stole away from the Friday pub night. They get lost in this primal dance of their bodies. Malfoy loves this, she knows. He’s proud to render her an inarticulate mess, but she’s certainly no better, which is why he uses her body the way she uses his, until they knock each other out, falling asleep from pure exhaustion.

Not quite yet, though.

Malfoy’s in heaven playing with her anus. His is mouth glistening with the evidence of his prowess and her lust, and a rush of hot lust spikes through her. The way he takes control of her body; the way she can let loose. The way she can be a slut, just for him.

His tongue dips lower, further exploring the place nobody else had wanted to go because they’ve considered it dirty.

But not Malfoy. Malfoy doesn’t think it’s ugly or uncouth. Malfoy wants all her body can give. He wants it all, all the time, but especially her bum. This fixation, it’s a mystery to Hermione. It must be Freudian, she thinks. His cock will be hard and leaking because her bum always gets him going. Whenever they dare touch in public, secretly in brimming lifts or anonymous Ministry crowds, his hand goes straight to her backside. He likes to get a hand-full, his large palms effortlessly holding almost all of her. He’d come up close and whisper all the pervy things he wants to do to her, all the ways he wants her exploding in orgasm, and then, he’d rub his stiffy against her skirt-covered bum, knowing she’ll be a sodding mess.

She gets wet easily. It’s Malfoy’s personal triumph that he’s made her a squirter, and now her reaction’s become almost Pavlovian.

What’s between them, it might be just sex, but the sex is utterly glorious.

Malfoy has lost himself in a haze of lust between her legs. He’s got that manic expression when he’s about to achieve something big. Hermione’s seen it a million times before, in and outside the bedroom, and it’s such a turn on. He’s deliriously sucking at her between her thighs, fucking her arse with his tongue, high on a power trip. Hermione knows that feeling well, too. She could take away his breath right this second, quite literally squeezing the life out of him, simply by snapping her thighs shut.

Their eyes meet and an understanding passes between them: about the power they hold over each other and the rush they get from it.

And then, Hermione senses it coming; that familiar crescendo of energy rising again. It spreads slowly, grows steadily, faster and faster until its presence is undeniable, the energy manifesting in every last cell, every nerve, every atom, taking hold of her entire body, searching for ways to expand until it explodes out of her.

Then, Hermione sees stars. Light bursts between her eyelids and there’s a ringing in her ears.

Her body quakes violently, and she’s helplessly muttering incoherent streams of expletives as the high sweeps through her, leaving her at his mercy. Malfoy’s latches onto her, holding her close. He devours the juices he’s coaxed from her while he keeps fucking her on a finger, pushing it deep, his signet ring a steady pressure on her over-sensitised flesh.

When her brain starts working how it’s supposed to again, Malfoy is smirking at her.

She almost smiles back—but that’s a victory she’s not yet willing to concede.

“That’s it,” she says and she pushes him onto his back. She spreads his legs and settles between them, and his expression is impossibly hungrier than ever.

“My turn.” She sucks on two fingers and pushes them deep into his anus. “No I get to ruin you,” she says proudly and curls her fingertips.

His moan is deep and desperate.

Malfoy’s such a slut.

Chapter Text

Her bloody heels. That’s what caught his attention: Granger stomping down the Ministry corridor in black high-heels. On the surface, nothing out of the ordinary; he was aware she could be dressy—the Yule Ball had taught him that. And now, with her rising through the ranks of the Ministry, nothing less but impeccable, professional taste was to be expected from the future Minister for Magic.

But those bloody heels.

Black and elegant, they’d be considered formal—if it hadn’t been for those soles.

They were bright red.

Draco got an instant stiffy. Bloody fucking embarrassing.

He’d not reacted like this in a long time, not since he was fifteen, at least, and certainly never to shoes.

Except—those scarlet soles were such an overt contradiction to professional, prissy little Granger in her smart skirts, and buttoned-up blouses, and serious black pumps.

That day, he barely managed to keep his dick in check all through the meeting. His eyes were glued to Granger sitting a few chairs down, her silk-stockinged legs crossed as she scribbled away, all her attention directed at Robards droning on and on about insipid details, which gave him ample opportunity to follow one beautiful, long leg bobbing up and down and up and down as though it was the most riveting match of Quidditch; taunting him with that high-heeled shoe and salacious glimpses of scarlet.

What a tease.

The red peeking out beneath the black was like a promise. Look at me, it said, I’ve got a naughty little secret.

And Draco was desperate to find out all about it.

He imagined himself worshipping at Granger’s feet. He pictured her standing above him in her heels and silky stockings, and because he was lying on his back, he could see straight up her skirt to the skimpy lace that was barely covering her cunt.

Oh, yes.

Granger was definitely wearing lacy knickers with a matching bra; sex-red to go with those shoes. She was the type to be naughty like that. In private, she was probably as pervy as they come. She’d have a string of lovers, possibly several at once, all being told off when they weren’t performing up to her standards—just like she did with his colleagues when their work came up lacking. She’d direct them into position, to move their tongues like so, roll their hips like that. And if they did well, she’d offer them her tight little cunt as a prize for being such good boys.

How Draco ached to be a good boy for her. She didn’t know, but he only turned his assignments in late to capture her attention; so she’d lecture him. Unleash that fiery personality on him for a quarter of an hour, and Draco would sit there and try not to smirk and take it all in, whilst secretly thinking of all the glorious wanks he’d have about Granger screaming his name.

His dick throbbed in his trousers, and Draco shifted his notepad to hide his burgeoning stiffy.

A couple of chairs to his right, Granger turned in her seat and gave him a long, searching look. You never knew what was going through her mind, but it was likely to do with rules and regulations.

An image of Granger chastising him for a missed deadline materialised in his mind. The image was perfectly clear as though it had been waiting for him in the depths of his mind, biding its time to be summoned. She was leaning against her desk, he sitting in a chair opposite her. Look what happens when you keep me waiting, Granger scolded him and placed a red-heeled foot against his tenting trousers. The Draco in this vision started to salivate as Granger began rubbing her shoe up and down, up and down, stroking his rock-hard dick through too-many layers of cloth, the long, sharp heel sliding over the fabric, kept only at bay through her self-control.

His dick twitched. He ached for more.

Power and lust was a heady combination, and Granger’s eyes were as wild as her hair as she kept teasing him. He felt as though he was about to combust. Not just his cock. Yes, his dick was leaking, he could feel it, but the urge to be touched, that itch, it was possessing his entire body. The overwhelming desire to grab her rose inside his chest. He was desperate to move her onto his lap and push her against his crotch so she’d rub one off over his hard and throbbing cock.

Draco shuddered, thinking of Granger writhing on his lap, using him for her pleasure, wearing nothing but lacy underwear and blood-red pumps. He thought he might lose his mind.

A slight cough brought Draco back to the conference room and Robards’s dreadfully boring debrief.

Present-Granger was staring at him, one eyebrow raised.

His heart stuttered inside his chest as it dawned on him how dangerous it was to let one’s thoughts run wild in a room full of Aurors and Unspeakables.

He breathed deeply and emptied his mind.

He mustn’t get carried away like that.

He mustn’t lose control.

Opposite him, Granger scribbled furiously in her diary again, her high-heeled feet now firmly planted against the floor, concealing the erotic-red beneath.

I must have her, Draco thought, watching her with baited breath, I simply must.

Perhaps it was time to use that bottle of Felix Felicis he’d been storing away for a special occasion. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

The hand holding the quill paused, and Granger lifted her head. Their eyes met, again, and all the air left his body.

Granger smirked and crossed her legs, revealing a hint of salacious scarlet.

He almost came right then.

Chapter Text

‘But why?’

‘Hm?’

‘Why weren’t you spying on me in second-year?’

‘Oh.’

Hermione twisted away to hide her blush, burrowing into the blanket that was haphazardly pushed to the side and halfway off the bed already. Malfoy grabbed her round the midriff and pulled her back against his naked front. They were both slightly damp from their previous rounds of shagging. It was one of those days they couldn’t get enough of each other. While catching their breaths, they were talking about this and that, and somehow, conversation had landed on that year.

‘Tell me,’ he whispered into her ear, and she could feel his cock pressing up against her bum, stiffening again.

Hermione resolutely shook her head.

‘Astoria said she saw you in hospital,’ he continued. His hand skirted around her naked stomach and up to her nipples; they pebbled at the first of his touch and he gave a delighted purr.

‘Nobody saw me.’ Hermione jutted her chin—which didn’t have much of an effect, spooning as they were, in her bed. ‘Madam Pomfrey made sure of it.’

She could feel his grin against her shoulder blades as he kissed her along her neckline. ‘You’re rather testy,’ he said, intrigue and humour colouring his tone. ‘You know what that does to me.’

Hermione harrumphed, pretending not to be affected by his touches.

‘There were rumours, you know,’ he whispered and continued peppering kisses up the nape of her neck. ‘Rumours that you had cat ears and a tail.’

‘Liar.’ Hermione wanted to be cross. She hated that school mistake in particular—except that Malfoy was clearly, oddly, turned on by it.

His hard, thick cock was pressing up against her bum, eagerly rubbing up and down her cleft.

‘I can just imagine it. Granger, with cute little cat ears that twitch when you caress her kitty—’

He licked a stripe from her scruff to her ear, his lips pressing deliciously against her heated skin. As he nipped at her earlobe, a jolt of arousal spiked through her and pooled low in her body.

‘With a tail, one could grab and wind around one’s hand as one pounds into that perky little arse of yours.’

He moaned, and Hermione did, too, and soon the blanket was thrown off the bed completely as they went at it again like animals; Malfoy fucking into her from behind, calling her his good little pussy and twisting the tail round his wrist that Hermione had spontaneously transfigured.

Chapter Text

 

Whoever first claimed that Granger was a bad liar was either a liar himself or a bloody idiot.

 

Draco let his eyes drift over her, marvelling once again at her guile. The fascination she exerted was still unparalleled. Even now, in the middle of the dance floor of the Citherean, partially transfigured and surrounded by a crowd of other anonymous half-naked bodies swaying to the hypnotic beat thrumming through the cavern-like room, she stood out to him like a Lumos Maxima. Despite her dress, which was so dark, it only reflected its purple colour in the flashing club lights, and despite the fact that she was raven-haired instead of curly-brown.

Draco greedily dragged his eyes over that dress again.

It barely deserved the name, that’s how flimsy it was. There was just enough fabric to suggest rather than show that she wasn’t wearing any knickers. That she wasn’t wearing a bra either, on the other hand, was painfully obvious—painful for his cock, which had been standing to attention since the second she’d stepped out of the Floo this evening.

Draco could scarce believe how lucky he was; that Granger had agreed to do this was beyond his wildest imaginations.

 

‘You want me to enlarge my tits,’ Granger said, arching one elegant brow.

Draco breathed deeply.

He mustn’t blush. He mustn’t appear too eager.

‘If you agree.’

‘How much?’ she asked without a second thought.

He swallowed with difficulty. Granger already had an impressive rack. She certainly didn’t need an enlargement by any measure. But this wasn’t so much about needs, as it was about wants.

‘I want them double the size.’

At first, Granger didn’t give any reaction at all. All she did was watch his face. After about fifty heartbeats, she finally asked, ‘And what will you offer in return?’

‘What do you want?’ came his immediate response. With any other person, he’d regretted displaying so much eagerness. But Granger would hardly ask too much of him, surely.

 

Oh, how he had miscalculated.

 

Draco made his way through the crowd, two vials in his hand. As he reached her, he passed her the larger one. Granger gave him a devious smirk and pushed it deep between her massive tits until it virtually vanished between those glorious mountains of flesh.

His dick twitched inside his trousers. Rationally, Draco knew it was ridiculous. A fascination with boobs was so utterly juvenile, such a pathetic schoolboy fantasy, it shouldn’t affect him.

But it did. And so he couldn’t help but stare.

Granger’s tits were straining against the dress, her nipples hard and clearly visible through the thin fabric, as though they were begging to be touched. Every movement Granger made, even the tiniest, was amplified by a jiggle of her breasts. Draco’s hand itched to reach out and grab them, squeeze them, play with them.

But he mustn’t. Not yet.

Inside his trousers, his cock was twitching and leaking precum.

Granger was his wildest teenage dreams come to life. With her beautiful long legs, perky tits, hard nipples, and that blush spreading across her cheekbones like she wanted nothing better than get shagged right here, right now, damn all these people, she could have sprung directly from the centrefold of the Wizard’s mags they’d all pretended not to read during their school days.

Draco’s mouth had run dry, so he licked his lips.

Sex on legs, that’s what Granger was.

Then again, Granger was always sex on legs, be it in tedious Ministry meetings or at the annual Halloween Ball. Tonight, she was merely a version of herself drenched in Nightshade Elixir; exaggerated in every way imaginable.

Granger leaned towards him, her hardened nipples brushing against his torso, and hot and cold flushes ran down Draco’s spine. ‘You look a little feverish,’ she said in a raspy voice, and his cock throbbed a little more. ‘Nervous?’

‘Not at all,’ Draco responded, and as he leaned in to talk to her, he grazed her left breast with his arm. To his delight, he realised that Granger wasn’t quite as unaffected as she pretended to be: she sucked in a breath.

‘Then why don’t you drink?’ she asked.

He mustered the vial in his hand. As soon as he downed its contents, his perception of the evening would be skewed. Amortentia wasn’t an Imperio, but he’d be at her mercy all the same, and there was no guarantee he’d have a proper memory of their evening together.

A stroke of genius, that. But he supposed, it was fair. She likely didn’t trust him, and what better way to ensure that he’d not abuse the opportunity she’d given him. After all, it was his own fault for granting her a blanket offer in return.

‘Can I have one dance, at least?’ he asked.

Granger nodded, and Draco wasted no time to pull her close, feeling the swell of her enormous tits rubbing against his pectorals. His dick throbbed inside his boxers, his balls were aching too, and Draco had trouble thinking about anything else than burying himself into a tight heat—he didn’t care whether her tits or her cunt. He’d been hard as a racing broom for nearly an hour, and that was bound to take its toll.

His hand skirted around her backside and grabbed her glorious arse, his fingers gravitating lower and lower, dipping beneath her dress, closer to her naked and exposed centre.

She was sodding wet. Her juices had smeared between her legs, making everything sticky, highlighting that Granger wasn’t at all as unaffected by what they were doing as she let on.

That minx.

Whoever had asserted Granger couldn’t lie was a bloody idiot. Then again, he was undoubtedly the bigger fool for believing it.

Draco couldn’t help but push further, dipping his fingertips into the tight, wet heat of her pussy, and her walls immediately contracted around his fingers.

She wanted it. She wanted it bad; possibly as much as he did.

Granger’s breath came in heavy pants. ‘Draco,’ she said, and her voice was low and needy. ‘You agreed—’

‘Fuck,’ Draco growled. ‘Fuck. Yes, I did,’ he said and mournfully extracted his fingers. He uncorked the tiny vial he’d been clutching in his other hand and downed the five drops of love potion that would incapacitate him for a little over an hour.

As soon as he’d done so, Granger dropped to her knees, paying no mind to the faceless crowd around them. The last clear thought shooting through Draco’s mind was, thank Merlin for whoever invented anonymity spells.

After that—all was a haze.

What he did remember was the sensation of his heart almost leaping out of his chest as Granger yanked her wonderful, beautiful gorgeous breasts out of her dress. Granger, who was smart and beautiful and far better than any witch he could ever hope to land, was kneeling in front of him, enveloping his cock in her perfect, round, soft tits.

Draco came in an instant.

But his angel Granger didn’t even care. As she smiled her brightest smile, Draco thought he might come again, but she went on to rub his seed all over her breasts and her nipples and made it all nice and slippery. Draco couldn’t remember ever becoming so hard so quickly. The memory of his second orgasm was even hazier than the first as his brain was struggling to make sense of all the stimulants—Granger’s luminous smile, her gentle touches, her soft moans as he touched her in return, the feel of her delicate skin beneath his tongue, her sweet whimpers as he told her that he loved her, that he’d always loved her, as she finally let him have his way with her, completely, fully, while he held her tight and kissed her…

 

Draco awoke the next morning in his bed feeling oddly relaxed. As he turned, he found that he was without company but with a clear mind. On the bedside table sat a card and next to it, a small phial. He picked it up and held it against the light. In it swirled the hazy white substance of a memory.

The card was simple, and there was only a short message, written in an elegant but tiny hand he immediately recognised:

‘To my one and only bosom buddy:

A memory is only as good as it is worth reliving.’

Chapter Text

“Morning, Robards,” Hermione said as she walked into the Auror offices, her high-heels clicking over the marble floor.

“Granger,” the Head Auror said, acknowledging her with a nod.

“Malfoy in?” she asked with a wayward glance across the office space that was, due to the lunch hour, largely deserted.

Robards nodded. “Yeah, should be.”

Hermione smiled in thanks, tightened her grip around the stack of papers she held pressed to her front, and marched to Draco’s office, ignoring the grimace Robards gave her. No doubt, he was suspecting one of his best men to receive a dressing down. Three sharp raps to the door later, a muffled “come in” welcomed her to enter.

“Malfoy,” Hermione said by way of greeting as she swung the door open, almost immediately closing and silencing it behind her.

The man himself was sitting at his desk, feet perched upon a stack of books, reading an almost comically long parchment. The second his eyes fell upon her, he smirked—but he didn’t move. If anything, his grin broadened as Hermione pointedly stared at his dragonhide-heels resting on the books.

Hermione narrowed her eyes but didn’t comment on it further. She thrust up the stack of papers she’d tucked under her arms. “Got the review you asked for. Time for you to finally do some work.” She let the stack fall onto his desk with a resolute thump and put her hands on her hips.

“The—” Malfoy frowned, finally assuming a proper seating position. He edged the chair closer to the desk.

“The forms,” Hermione said seriously and jumped up to perch on his desk. “About the improper uses of magic.”

“Improper—” he started, but his eyes had gone straight to her backside the second she’d shifted her position on the edge of the desk.

Hermione was wearing a particularly tight-fitting skirt today. Not only did it make her bum look amazing, it was also a particularly nice shade of dark blue that perfectly set off her cream-coloured blouse. That blouse was another one of her favourites. It fitted her in a way that might have been considered improper, weren’t it for the strategically places ruffles effectively hiding her impressing chest, plus the fact that it was buttoned-up to her throat. Dressing to hide her tits tended to be its own challenge—and even more so since a certain someone had taken to vanishing her favourite pieces.

“Sorry, what?” Draco repeated.

“Improper use of magic,” Hermione enunciated sharply and crossed her legs, doing her best to keep a straight face. Obviously, there were no forms to be filled in—though Draco didn’t know that yet. As expected, Draco’s gaze wandered from her hips to her legs—where it lingered.

She was wearing seamed stockings today. And beneath those stockings—

“You’re playing with fire, Granger,” Draco said, standing up to walk round the desk and face her. “It’s working hours.”

“Oh? I am?” she asked innocently and batted her lashes up at him.

He was towering over her, his own crisp-white shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, and she could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Never mind his prickly personality, nobody could say that Draco Malfoy wasn’t aesthetically pleasing. Tall and broad, his form was certainly an asset in his line of work. And his strong arms and legs offered additional if less professional perks…

He stepped closer, placing his left hand close to her crossed legs, and the breath hitched in her throat. It was time to play.

“You are, indeed,” he murmured. He leaned closer, his nose brushing her jaw, and he inhaled deeply.

A delicious shudder ran down Hermione’s spine, setting her nerve endings ablaze.

Leaning ever closer, he whispered into her ear, his lips brushing her ear-shells, “Don’t even pretend you’re ignorant of what you’re doing.” And then he took her hand and pressed it firmly against the front of trousers where his thick, hard cock was straining against the fabric.

A gasp escaped her, her heart stuttering inside her chest.

Draco used her hands to rub his cock over the cloth and Hermione’s body was set aflame with desire.

“D’you feel that, Granger?”

“Yes,” Hermione half-moaned as she felt his cock twitch at her touch.

“That’s because you’re such a naughty, naughty girl.” While his left held her hand in place, his other skirted along her leg, caressing her. “You’re not really here for business are you?”

“No,” she exhaled.

“So this—” His hand started tracing the seam of her stockings up to the curve of her arse. “Is it a map? Leading me to treasures concealed beneath?”

“Are you a pirate then?” she returned with a smile—but gasped when his dexterous fingers slipped beneath her skirt following the line the seam was drawing upwards.

He hummed, his lips kissing along the tendrils of her neck. “Depends. Only if you want to be ravaged.” His fingers halted as they reached the end of her stockings. “What’s this?” he asked intrigued, and his fingertips felt around the tops of her thighs.

Hermione concentrated on calm, steady breaths to conceal the fact that she was actually a quivering, nervous mess. “Why don’t you find out?”

While his dexterous fingers kept exploring, he kissed his way up to her lips. Finally, he was facing her; his eyes reflected that hunger Hermione was intimately familiar with. It was a craving they shared—had been sharing, for a couple of months.

So she waited with bated breath for his next step.

Draco performed a sudden, swift movement of his head—and her skirt disappeared, revealing black garters and matching lace knickers beneath.

“Hey! I liked that skirt!”

“You’ll get it back, angel, don’t worry,” he said as he pushed her to lie back on his desk. In another impressive show of wandless, nonverbal magic, the various stacks of paper, parchments and books flew to the side of the room, giving her ample space, while Draco took a step back to admire her.

“Ravishing, indeed,” Draco said, now with a gleam to his eyes. His hands skirted up and down her thighs, toying with the delicate fabric. With the lightest of touches, he pressed his fingertips against her centre, and Hermione sucked in a breath, feeling her own want sliding slick against the material.

“Rather unfortunate this is in the way.” Increasing the pressure against her knickers, he dragged up his index finger and the material parted underneath.

“What are you doing?” Hermione protested, making to sit up again—but Draco pinned her down with one broad hand, while his other kept exploring her sex.

“Beautiful.” His face reflected total adulation. “What a beautiful cunt you have, Granger. It’s almost—” He didn’t finish the sentence as he seemed to have gotten lost in the way he was dragging his finger up and down her slit, collecting her moisture and spreading it all over her flushed and engorged lips.

Hot lust spiked through her, and it grew hotter and hotter as she became more impatient for him to give her more. At every contact, her want increased. When she thought she might go mad from building desire, he whispered a spell she couldn’t identify. To the stroking sensation of his fingers came a light vibration, its buzzing gradually increasing in intensity.

“Oh,” Hermione gasped. She stared at Draco who was watching her closely for a reaction as he kept stimulating her with one finger against her sex, while his other hand caressed the naked skin above her stockings.

“You’re so bloody sexy, Granger,” he purred as he added a second finger to tease her slit and increased both the pressure and the vibrations in a way that Hermione thought she might go mad.

He kept the stimulation going while he stroked her body above her blouse. Beneath layers of cloth, her nipples were erect and begging for attention.

“What I would give to drag you right to the Floo and shag you for the rest of the day,” he pressed out between gritted teeth as he played first with one nipple and then the other.

Hermione whimpered.

“You want it, too, don’t you?” he asked her as he—finally—slid two vibrating fingers home.

“Ohgodyesplease,” she gasped between desperate moans, and he increased the pace of his thrusts. At the same time, his other hand must have spelt her blouse open, because the soft material of her shirt peeled away and Draco pulled down the cups of her bra.

Hermione was so lost in all the sensation that she hardly realised what was happening; mind and body were totally fixated on the pleasure sizzling in her core, intensifying with every touch of his hand, every drag of his finger against her walls, and amplified by the buzz of the magic he used so expertly.

Hermione climbed and climbed, and Draco pushed and pushed her—until she couldn’t help but combust.

White stars exploded behind her eyelids, and her body thrummed with pleasure.

But that explosion of desire didn’t abate; instead, as she was gasping for air, clutching Draco close, she suddenly felt his cock at her centre.

With a swift snap of his hips, he was seated within her, and Hermione utterly lost her mind as his thick, wonderful cock pushed her to new heights; set her body on fire yet again.

The vibration charm has disappeared but hardly noticed because Draco was now atop her, holding her in his arms, his eyes wide and alert as he stared into hers. She realised he was whispering something. The manic, incoherent stammering of a brain preoccupied with its base functions.

“Beautiful—fuck—angel—so gorgeous—don’t deserve you—”

Hermione moaned and Draco’s lips descended on her.

As he kissed her with desperation, he angled her in a way that he hit her deepest spots just right, while her sliced knickers dragged against her clit in the best and most unexpected way possible.

The second orgasm ripped through Hermione with unparalleled force: like a supernova, it rippled through her body as though it was lighting up every single atom at once.

 

When Hermione came to, she realised her legs were still shaking. Draco was caressing her again, his hands stroking her naked sweaty skin uncovered by the garter and stockings

Draco kissed her softly and pushed a sweaty curl from her forehead. “So. Improper use of magic, eh?” He smirked, and Hermione laughed sheepishly.

His index skirted along the seam of her pussy lips, pushing back his cum that was starting to leak out. He looked deep into her eyes, his fingers slowly pumping when the dripping sensation stopped.

He’d used a Stasis charm, she realised, her heart skipping a beat.

His eyes shone as his hand crept over to her sliced-through knickers. Still, every touch to her puffy and aroused cunt sparked through her body that was still quaking from orgasmic aftershocks. With another nonverbal spell, the fabric stretched and pulled, mending itself, thusly keeping everything underneath securely in place.

“There,” he said, brimming with immense self-satisfaction. “Now everything’s right and proper again.”

 

Chapter Text

The heavy footfalls pounding against the hard forest floor behind her echoed the thumps of her heart slamming violently against her chest.

Hermione was wheezing, her breath coming short and desperate, as she sprinted through the thicket and towards the clearing.

Her legs were burning, her lungs were, too, and she knew she couldn’t keep going much longer. Judging by the steps of her pursuer which came closer and closer, her chances at getting away were slimming anyway. She’d have to do—

“Arresto Momentum,” the man shouted and Hermione immediately felt as though having run into a wall of water. She struggled forwards with a racing heart, her body battling against its impotence.

“Incarcerous!”

The second the spell hit her, ropes wound around her torso like tiny snakes, her arms, and her legs, making her fall to the ground in slow motion. But before she hit the grass, she heard him approaching.

Her heartbeat so violently as though it might leap out of her any moment. She was panting.

“Got you.” Strong hands grabbed her and twisted her around.

Against the summer-bright canopy of the ancient oaks and elms, a hooded figure was staring down on her, his wand in hand.

“Let me go!” she shouted.

“Silencio,” he snarled, and Hermione was rendered mute. She struggled against the confines, and he laughed.

“It’s useless. You’re in my power now.” Though his face was still hidden, she could see that he was tall and muscular—much too powerful to take on without a wand.

Hermione desperately wiggled against her bonds. The material chafed unpleasantly against her skin. If she’d been able to, she would have whimpered.

“Stop struggling, and it will stop hurting.”

She did.

“Good girl,” he said, purring dangerously. “Now let’s see if you can be good all the way.”

With a flick of his hand, his robes fell to the ground and a handsome blond stranger appeared. Her eyes widened as she spotted the ugly mark on his forearm. “Frightened yet?” he asked, his voice deep and threatening.

Hermione jutted out her chin as though to say, “try me.”

He laughed. “Oh, this will be fun.”

Kneeling at her feet, he tapped the ropes with his wand and they transfigured into silk, giving just enough way that he was able to spread her legs. With nimble fingers, her captor lifted the skirt of her dress and started exploring her legs, his broad hands skirting upward.

Hermione’s heart was still violently beating away inside her chest, and her ears were ringing.

What would he do?

Would he dare do that?

Indeed, he did.

He kept his grey eyes trained on her, as his fingers dipped ever lower, reaching for her centre. When they made contact, Hermione gasped soundlessly.

“Oh, dear. Someone seems not at all averse,” he said, and his eyes glinted dangerously. “I think you want this, don’t you?”

Hermione shook her head no, but he didn’t care. He yanked down her knickers and lifted her skirt, pulling her legs wide and up as he knelt before her. She stared transfixed at his trousers where an impressive bulge was clearly visible.

He leaned down and hissed. Hermione frowned, but then he did again. He was staring at her lying there, his eyes sweeping over her form that was totally at his mercy, over her sex that was vulnerable and exposed, and then, he opened his mouth angry and hissing sounds escaped.

A shiver ran down her spine. He was speaking Parseltongue.

And then, it all happened quickly. He opened his trousers and released his massive cock. It jutted heavy against her cunt and twitched.

He was desperate for it—for her. He took himself in hand and placed his head against her centre, rubbing himself against her clit, drenching himself in her juices.

She was soaked.

Hermione hated how good it felt.

“You love it, don’t you,” he sneered.

Again, Hermione shook her head no. And yet, she loved every second of it.

“You’re such a slut, aren’t you?” He stared at her with a hard expression, and Hermione glared back, putting every ounce of hatred she had ever felt for anybody into it. He blinked, but then, he went on, “Look at you. Lying on the ground, dirty and wanton—I bet that’s how you want to be taken, isn’t it? On the muddy ground. Like a—like an animal.”

His right eye twitched and Hermione wanted to smack him.

That would’ve been the opportunity.

But she was immediately distracted since he took his cock in hand, rubbing it up and down her slit. He smacked his fat cockhead against her clit — once, twice, thrice, and Hermione was simultaneously so surprised and aroused that she almost came, just like that.

“Hungry for it, aren’t you? Desperate. You prissy little stuck-up bitch. Don’t get fucked enough, do you? But I’ll show you,” he snarled, and finally, he pushed in.

He did it with such force that he bottomed out immediately, his heavy balls slapping against her pussy lips, and if she’d been able to, Hermione had cried out loud.

“Oh, f—fuck,” he moaned. His eyes were full of bewilderment as he pulled out slowly, his shaft adorned with the creamy evidence of her arousal. Eager to move, Hermione struggled against her confines

“Look at that,” he said, ignoring her. “You do want it, don’t you?” His voice has lost its former edge. If anything, he sounded awed as he stared down at where they were both intimately joined.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

Why was he breaking character?

As soon as he caught her stare, his evil demeanour returned. “You slut,” he sneered and rammed his prick home again. “Desperate little slut.”

Hermione moaned soundlessly, as Draco started hammering into her.

His thighs kept her legs spread as wide as possible and had her totally at his mercy. The way his balls hit her pussy in that position, the way he totally used her pushed her adrenaline-spiked body into unknown heights. The utter powerlessness, the fact that she was completely at his mercy did something to her mind she had never experienced before. She felt weightless. She wasn’t thinking at all. She was totally focused on her body and what he did to it.

Draco’s expression, too, was something else entirely. Behind his evil facade, she easily spotted the man who always treated her with care, who always made sure she came at least twice before he did. So even now, as he was chasing his own orgasms, as he was hurling half-arsed insults at her, Hermione recognised the familiar tightening in her belly taking over and incapacitating her limbs sooner than usual.

He was still keeping a punishing pace, thrusting his cock as forcefully into her as he could, as her legs started shaking. Draco’s eyes widened, but the quaking didn’t stop. With a mere jerk of his head, the ropes wound tightly around her arms, legs and torso loosened and fell to the ground. He grabbed her right leg and stretched it up to her head, leaving her cunt open and exposed. He deepened his thrusts, and now, every slam of his cock hit her just right. His bollocks smashed against her swollen cunt, teasing her clit and making her whimper. Apparently, the silencing had been lifted as well.

In this position, Hermione was able to see how he sunk into her; how the lips of her cunt shifted to accommodate his girth, how she swallowed him and how her juices spread not only over his length but spilt out of her and down her legs.

All this fuelled her arousal.

But his as well.

Draco, too, was watching transfixed as he fucked her. With every thrust, he muttered something. But now, Hermione was able to understand him, and every dirty thing made her impossibly wetter.

“You dirty little slut.”

Thrust.

“You want it.”

Thrust.

“You’re just a cunt.”

Thrust.

“A cunt to be used.”

Thrust.

“Made to be fucked.”

Thrust.

“Made for my cock.”

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

At his last words, Hermione tightened around him, her orgasm catching her unawares. It rippled through her like waves and exposed as she was, with her leg up and her pussy on display, her juices sprayed out of her, splashing against them both.

“Ohhhhhhhh fuckkk,” she moaned, her entire body shivering from the force of her release.

Panting, Draco continued a few more punishing thrusts until he burrowed into her, grabbing her tight and painting her insides with his own release. With a long groan, he collapsed atop her.

As they were both catching their breaths, Hermione shifted a little, trying to get rid of a stick that was poking unpleasantly into her back.

He regarded her with worried eyes. “I didn’t go too far, did I?”

Hermione lifted her hands to stroke his hair and snorted delicately. “Too far? You missed a perfect opportunity to call me Mu—”

“Don’t!” he said quickly, his voice sharp. “I said I’d do everything but that.”

Hermione grimaced. “Alright, alright. But you have to admit, you enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

The evidence of how much he had enjoyed himself was currently dripping out of her, painting both their bodies white.

He looked away, grumbling something. “Perhaps…”

Hermione laughed and pulled him down to kiss him. “So maybe next time, instead of the Forest of Dean, we could do it in the Man—”

“No,” he said. “That remains a hard limit.”

Chapter Text

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea to follow Granger to the seaside. Draco thought he could stay hidden, submerged in the water and safely transfigured. That way, he could check if she was honestly spending the day alone, or if there was someone else after all. Someone he’d have to worry about.

To stay incognito, he’d picked the form of a shark. A large blue shark, which wasn’t too conspicuous, even in Cornwall. It was the best way, he figured, to keep an eye on her, even in one of the remote beaches tucked away between caves Muggles couldn’t reach.

Draco spent two glorious hours in the shallow waters, watching a lonely Granger reading a book in her one-piece bathing suit. The outfit was somehow totally appropriate while simultaneously enhancing her fantastic assets in the best, most inappropriate way possible. The fact that Draco was a shark oddly didn’t prevent him from getting was aroused. His two dicks were hard and standing to attention as he floated in the water, watching her completely inconspicuously.

Or so he thought.

At some point, Granger put down her book waded into the water—to swim, he thought. Instead, she ended up directing her wand at him and attacked him with a spell.

Draco was utterly helpless to find himself transformed back into his human form—wholly naked, but still very much aroused.

“Aha,” Granger said as though she was commenting on the weather. “I thought something was fishy. Care to explain?”

“Well,” Draco began, but Granger then crossed her arms which only enhanced her voluptuous breasts, pushing them up and together, and he inevitably lost his train of thought.

“Well?” she repeated.

“I—was making sure you were—alright.” Lucky the beach was deserted as he was completely starkers. And his stiffy didn’t abate under her glare. On the contrary.

As Granger narrowed her eyes, her knowing gaze sweeping over him, his balls ached. “Right. So you’re only concerned for my health and safety?”

“Precisely.”

Granger let her arms fall to her side and her tits jiggled. Beneath the surface, his cock twitched.

Of course, Granger noticed.

“I see,” she said, her lips curving into a smirk. “But why do it as a shark? I’d have loved for you to—” She closed the distance between them, the waves splashing against her thighs, adorning her beautiful skin with shining drops of water. Then, she leaned in to whisper in his ear, “join me on the beach.”

Draco sucked in a breath. His cock jerked eagerly, thinking of all the ways he could have been shagging her on the seaside. But then, a couple of plops echoed through the hidden cove, followed by the excited chatter of a group of witches and wizards.

“Shit!”

Draco, still naked, transfigured his bottom half back into a shark, and, grabbing Granger round the waist, dove into the deeper waters, making for one of the hidden caves which couldn’t be accessed from the beach.

Away from prying eyes, it sunk in that Granger and her glorious boobs were pushed up against his chest. Draco also noted that his arousal had not abated—despite being a shark from the hips down. But now, he had two—cocks? Two—phalli poking into Granger’s stomach.

“My, my,” Granger purred. She had her arms slung around his neck and Draco thought he might lose his mind as she started rubbing herself against—all of him. “For the longest time, I’ve wondered how a sharkman might’ve looked if he’d transfigured the… other half.”

“Other half..?” Draco’s brain was working terribly slow and it took a few moments to grasp what she was hinting at. “Oh. The Triwizard tournament.”

Granger's eyes lit up as she pulled him in for a kiss. She continued to rub herself, giving both of them some much-needed friction.

Her bathing suit made everything better and worse at the same time. Her nipples were hard and erect, and Draco pinched them through the fabric. Granger moaned and ground down harder. Not willing to wait any longer, Draco lifted her up, pushing her against a lone rock. Smoothed by millennia of waves polishing its surface, Granger was able to comfortably recline and offer her centre to him.

With eager fingers, he pulled her swimsuit to the side and dove in.

After months of shagging, Draco knew Granger’s body inside and out, and so it didn’t take him long to make her come. She let out a long, desperate moan, her legs quaking as she squirted her juice all over him.

“Delicious,” Draco said, licking his lips. Granger was still shaking, her entire body trembling from the aftershocks of her release. He knew though she needed more preparation for what he had in mind.

“Can you take one more, do you think?”

“Yes,” she moaned.

Draco covered her cunt with his mouth once more, adding two fingers to reach that spongy spot. He angled his fingers just right, pumping and sucking in tandem, and within a minute, Granger exploded again, showering him in her juices.

“Do you really want to?” he asked. He spread her release around her cunt, one finger playing with her sodden perineum, slipping lower to her sphincter.

If he still had balls, they’d be ready to explode. An orgasm, that’s what he needed, preferably right this second. But he wouldn’t do it if—

“Of course, I do, you silly man,” Granger said, though the needy desperation in her voice severely undercut her words.

Draco lifted her up, positioning her against the stone, and angled her pelvis. Slowly, he pushed her down, her cunt slowly encompassing his first cock. But when her bum sank onto his other, he thought he’d lose his mind.

He could feel her, both her walls, tight, wet, and hot—oh, so bloody hot—enveloping him, almost choking the life out of him. He could also feel his other dick rubbing himself through the thin walls.

It was—too much.

“Fu—” was all Draco was able to get out.

Panting heavily, he held Granger in place, his fingers digging into her bum.

Eyes wide, her nipples pebbling beneath her swimsuit and a blush creeping up her neck and blooming on her cheeks, she seemed just as overwhelmed by the sensation.

Slowly, Draco started moving her. His hands firm on her hips, he slid her up and down his lengths. Not too much and very slowly for fear they’d lose their connection. After a while, Granger helped by thrusting down on him, using the rock against her back for leverage.

The water swayed around them, adding more stimulation to their fucking, splashing as their movement grew wilder and more erratic. Granger’s moans echoed around the cave, creating the illusion he was fucking more than one Granger on his two cocks.

Fuck.

It was too good.

But also too much.

His arms strained under the exertion of both holding her and grinding her down on him. Thankfully, sensitive as she was, it didn’t take too long until he felt her walls quiver and tighten in that similar but completely novel way.

Granger buried her head into his neck, stammering incomprehensibly, begging for less, for more, for all at once. She clung on for dear life as he thrust up into her with as much force as he could, using his tail to stay balanced in the sea—and then her channels tightened, her muscles contracting around him, and Draco thought he’d combust right now. Another flood of her arousal hit him wetly as she squeezed him in the best way possible, and his own release, starting low at his spine, raced up and down his body and erupted out of him.

Draco groaned as though he was about to die, pushing himself deeper into her. He wanted to be buried inside her. Crawl into her and stay there forever, but before that, he needed all his sperm to shoot as deep into her as possible.

Clinging to each other, they both slid down the rock and into the water. And that’s how they stayed for a long time, letting themselves be carried by the tide that was rocking softly through the cave.

After a while, Granger lifted her head from where she was resting on Draco’s chest, smiling at him. “So. Who did you think I’d meet here?”

“Uhhh,” Draco said. His tail twitched. “Nobody,” he answered, but he glanced away. He didn’t need Granger and her knowing eyes gather the truth from him despite his talent for Occlumency, and also despite how inconceivable it was. “But there were a couple of shark sightings recently and I thought I’d better make sure.”

Granger’s laughter rang through their hiding place and Draco was convinced it was the loveliest sound he’d ever heard.

Chapter Text

If Draco was being completely honest, shagging Granger was an absolute dream. He still couldn’t believe she let him do half the things he did to her. He could scarce believe she would let him touch her at all, all things considering. And every time she returned—every time she let him love her, he struggled against the urge to pinch himself.

That's why he cherished every moment he got with her. He greedily took in her form. She lay there as though ready to be immortalised in a painting. Gloriously naked, breathing deeply in her sleep, her wild hair fanned out across his pillows, framing her face like a halo, she rather resembled a goddess, and not the brightest, most capable witch of their generation; someone who’d be Minster for Magic in a decade or even less.

Her face seemed eternally glowing—probably due to the perspiration, perhaps also because the last rays of the daylight hit her just right. But in Draco’s eyes, especially when she was reclining like this, his seed dripping out of her, nothing and nobody could compare. She was beautiful.

His eyes dragged over her centre. She was blushing there—in fact, her whole body was. Patterns of red spun from her cheeks down her ample and heaving chest like delicate cobwebs; across her stomach where he loved to rest his head, down to her beautiful cunt.

Granger’s cunt. If he could, he’d die there, he was certain. He’d happily spend the rest of his days between her legs if she let him.

His spunk was leaking out of her, and something akin to pride expanded in his chest. Like a warming charm, it burst through his body, and he had to suppress the oddest reflex to laugh.

Granger sighed and moved into another position. Heavy white drops spilt out of her, making a mess of the bedding below, and that second, the burning desire to give her more overcame him. More of him.

With two fingers, he pushed his seed back into her. She moaned, her walls fluttering around his fingers, and Draco felt himself hardening again. His desire for her was truly endless. But the image of her leaking with his cum, totally overflowing and possibly growing with his child, now dominated his mind with an unprecedented intensity. It sent him into a new and unknown state of desire.

His balls ached to be emptied.

*

Hermione was having the most pleasant dream. She was weightlessly drifting through water. It was warm and welcoming, and she smiled at the sunny sky as she floated around feeling completely at ease. In the distance, she could see the towers of Hogwarts, and she realised she was swimming in the Black Lake. All of a sudden, she felt another presence—another person or creature close to her.

There was a light pressure against her vulva. Curious, she lifted her head to see what was Draco was doing, but instead of Draco, she spotted a long, purple tentacle playing with her clit.

Draco? she asked into the quiet.

Yes, it’s me, Draco, said the presence, and I want you again. Hermione sighed, no longer questioning that Draco had become the Great Squid. After all, they’d done it transfigured before. As she relaxed, the appendix started gently toying with her lower lips. The heat of desire spiked through her as the pressure increased, leaving her aching for more.

More, she gasped.

And then, slowly, so slowly, the tentacle entered her.

Arousal spiked through her, making her quiver, as she felt the girth of the member increasing. The deeper it went, it stretched her wider, but somehow, it still left her wanting more. If she hadn’t been preoccupied with keeping herself afloat, she’d have played with herself. As though reading her mind, two further tentacles burst out of the water and wrapped themselves around her torso, holding her up. Their ends twisted and jerked, teasing her skin and finally wrapping snugly around her nipples.

Another low moan escaped her. They didn’t feel cold or wet as she’d have expected, but warm and soft. They lifted her out of the water, holding her almost like an offering suspended in mid-air. With bated breath, she watched Draco tease her, her entire body humming with the pleasure of being touch everywhere simultaneously at once. To the two arms teasing her tits and the one now gently fucking her came two others that started caressing her all over.

Overcome with stimulation, she moaned, again and again, deeper and longer, her voice sounding almost desperate. To her surprise, the tentacles changed colour. The inky purple of the ones wrapped around her breasts lightened and faded, as though it was blushing, turning into a deep magenta. They also increased their pace. The appendix fucking her was joined by another. It began playing with her sphincter, lightly dipping in and out. Hermione was a mess. She desperately wanted to kiss Draco. Again, as though he was reading her mind, another tentacle now bright red lifted out of the water and descended onto her. It played with her lips and she eagerly opened her mouth, and it entered her there too. Hermione sucked it greedily. At the same time, Draco pushed into her backdoor. If she hadn’t been completely filled with a tentacle in every one of her orifices, she’d have screamed from the desire dominating her senses.

Her skin buzzed. Everything buzzed. She was totally percolated by pleasure; it penetrated her entire being.

This was the best.

No, it was better than the best. Getting touched everywhere, getting shagged in every hole at once was utterly glorious. Utterly fucking glorious. So good it was almost too good to be—

*

Granger’s body seized, her walls contracting around his cock as he came again, fucking his seed deep into her. Teasing her breasts with his vibrating fingers, he kissed her passionately, deeply. It was a primal urge to be connected to her everywhere at once, and though Draco had to make do with a Multiplication Charm this time to simultaneously take her bum and her cunt, he couldn’t wait to fuck her again with two cocks.

He continued kissing her softly, until Granger opened her eyes. She smiled as she recognised his face, sighing.

“Oh, Draco. I just had the loveliest dream…”

Chapter Text

From his very first day at the Ministry, Hermione daydreamed about humiliating Malfoy. This, she knew well, was by no means professional—but it kept her from murdering him. And murder was constantly on her mind since Malfoy was the opposite of professional.

His assignments he handed in late, and not only were they late, they were also full of errors, which meant she spent countless hours fixing his mistakes, which then led to her having to lecture him about his performance. On the one hand, Hermione was at a loss what else she could do to teach him. On the other, she secretly relished every opportunity to shout at him. Having a pure-blooded, arrogant arse like Malfoy cower in front of her, his smart mouth zipped shut, swallowing all the snarky comebacks he usually levelled at anyone, anywhere was so very satisfying.

But why wouldn’t he improve?

That was a true conundrum.

Even Harry—Harry!—described him as a bright and diligent colleague. And yet, every week Malfoy sat in her office with glassy eyes as she harangued him, sometimes for close to an hour. Merely a few days later: the exact same procedure.

It took her about two months until it dawned on her that Malfoy loved it.

All the rows, being corrected, berated, and sometimes even shouted at—all of that, for some ominous reason, zoomed his broom.

So, what happened next was as much an accident as it was inevitable.

One day, she was so fed up with his antics—because why would anyone neglect to include the profiles of half the witnesses involved?—that she slipped into his mind.

She had to know what was going on.

It was surprisingly easy.

Too easy, in fact.

Everyone knew Malfoy had a knack for Occlumency, and Hermione was fully prepared to fail at the strength of his mental protections.

So she was surprised to find herself seamlessly slipping inside where she found herself immersed in Malfoy’s version of current events.

She was still berating him about Ministry guidelines, and Malfoy was still sitting in her office, taking it like a good little boy. But for some reason, he was trussed up in her visitor’s chair, while she was, well, she was still walking up and down in front of him, but instead of her dress and blouse, she was wearing a tight-fitting scarlet-red dragon-hide suit that both concealed and emphasised her natural assets. Hermione liked her breasts, but she’d obviously never noticed how they looked when she was furiously prowling through her office. They were jiggling, which severely undercut her serious demeanour, especially when the recipient of the verbal thrashing was staring at them with greedy eyes.

Annoyed that Malfoy was not actually listening to her, Hermione performed a slight change to the scenery. She had fantasy-Hermione whip out her wand and vanish Malfoy’s clothes. It revealed Malfoy’s cock standing to attention, hard and throbbing.

But oh, what a cock it was.

Hermione swallowed, feeling the blood hotly flooding her cheeks.

The male anatomy was a means to an end, or so she usually thought. She wasn’t normally fussed about shapes or aesthetics because in her experience, it was the dedication and the effort rather than the physical attributes that brought a witch to satisfaction.

But—Merlin.

That cock.

Why did Malfoy have to have the most glorious, thick, beautifully curved cock in the world?

But of course he did.

Because life was cruel and unfair.

As though Malfoy could hear her internal lusting, his irritatingly beautiful cock throbbed, and Hermione felt her cunt clench.

She was getting wet. Shit.

Lucky for her, fantasy-Hermione remained completely unfazed. Without interrupting her lecture on proper procedure and attention to detail even once, she approached to stand right in front of him. Then, she sank onto his lap, his stiffy jutting out between her legs. She proceeded to take him between her leather-covered thighs and started quizzing Malfoy on the mandatory steps of filing a report. For every correct answer—and, to her great surprise, Malfoy responded swiftly and correctly, every single time—she rocked back and forth, rubbing his length between her legs.

Hermione was fascinated to see that Malfoy’s responses were perfect. She made fantasy-Hermione ask even more difficult ones, but he never faltered. The only thing that changed was his tone—his voice became rather rough and throaty. The quizzing continued for several more minutes until Malfoy exhaled a long, tortured moan and his come shot over his stomach, painting fantasy-Hermione’s trousers with thick streaks of white.

“So you’re not stupid, after all,” Hermione said, her face still warm, as she leaned against her desk.

Malfoy blinked one, twice, three times as though he had trouble grasping what was happening. “Um,” he said, a dark blush spreading over his sharp cheekbones.

“Excuse me?” Hermione asked sharply.

“No, Ma’am,” Malfoy responded immediately.

“Good. I hope you learned your lesson this time, Auror Malfoy.”

He blinked, the blush darkening.

“Yes, thank you, Ma’am.”

Hermione nodded and dismissed him. As he stood, she spotted a large wet patch soiling his crotch.

She turned her head to the side, hiding her smirk. When she faced him again, his trousers were magicked clean.

Malfoy stood and walked to the door.

She held it open for him. As he went through, she leaned in, whispering, “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Malfoy turned to face her, his face still flushed but his grey eyes alight with excitement. “Only if you insist, Ma’am.”

Chapter Text

“I’ve been thinking, Granger, and I think I can agree to you fucking someone else.”

“Oh, you think you can agree? As far as I’m aware, this—” She gestures at the both of them. “—is just sex. Nothing serious.”

Draco knows she’s right, and he hates it. It’s never been about just sex for him, but he can’t tell her that. You can’t tie Hermione Granger down with the promise of a bigoted family whose legacy revolves around despising her very existence.

“All right,” he concedes, attempting a lighter tone. “I’ve found a spell you might be interested to try out.”

“Go on,” she says, and he knows that, at the very least, she will be intrigued.

*

What they’re trying isn’t exactly illegal, and he halfway expects her to refuse his idea. But the fascination of novel magic has a unique hold on Hermione Granger, one she can’t easily refuse.

They’re naked, kneeling on a large stone altar hidden away in an ancient elm boscage, deep in the Manor woods. Warming charms are the only thing warding them against the damp cold on this Samhain night, and the only light comes from the long candles floating around them. They assure each other with a last kiss, then, they begin the ritual. Time has worked in their favour; Granger has her monthlies. He’s gentle when he takes her for the first time, rocking into her with shallow, measured thrusts. As Granger starts mewling beneath him, the walls of her cunt starting to flutter, he staves off his own release by kissing her reverently, his lips drawing the contours of her body. Not yet, he reminds himself. The Incantation has to occur simultaneously with her first orgasm, not his.

When her cunt convulses around him, her alluring body writhing beneath him in ways that makes it so much harder to concentrate, he cuts into his left forearm, decapitating the hideous tattooed snake crawling out of a skull. It’s not been bothering him for almost a full decade, but he’s been hesitant about this part nonetheless.

But there’s no curse; no shadow of the Dark Lord bursting out of his skin to haunt him.

Instead, as his blood drips onto Granger’s swollen cunt, mixing with her own blood and bodily fluids, a blue light rises, its rays enveloping them. It’s clear and bright as it expands around them, growing brighter and brighter, the rays multiplying and knitting into a polygon cage until it’s so luminous they have to pinch their eyes closed.

The brightness suddenly fades, and he opens his eyes again to find Granger’s still lying beneath him, staring around them with wide eyes. He’s still kneeling between her legs, his cock just as erect as before. But on the other side of her, there’s also another man. He’s just as naked as them. He wears an all too familiar haughty expression and an ugly tattoo that defaces his right forearm.

“I don’t believe it,” Granger whispers, and the other Draco levels his gaze at her. Draco instantly dislikes the way he’s looking at her. There’s something dark and hungry about it, oddly predatory, and he’s immediately worried the man won’t disappear when the hour’s over.

“Look at you,” growls the other Draco, his eyes shining eagerly. “I’ve always dreamed about this. Always wanted to fuck you.”

A tiny gasp slips out between her lips. And then Draco watches as he, this person that is him, but also not, ravishes his Granger.

He does it with extreme care. Draco doesn’t know why, but he’s surprised. His dangerous appearance notwithstanding, mirror-Draco takes his sweet time with her. He instinctively seems to know which touch will make her moan and which tilt of his hips makes her explode in waves of pleasure. Draco's heart clenches at the thought that he's made himself obsolete. So when it’s finally his turn, his heart jumps in relief when Granger’s smiling at him. As he slides home, her hot cunt slick with the juices of sex and nature, and also Draco’s—his—cum, a long, desperate groan escapes him. Granger shuts him up as she kisses him.

“Thank you, Draco,” she whispers between licks of her tongue. “I love—” His hips stutter, and it coaxes a low moan from her, her body convulsing beneath him. “I love this so much.”

She kisses him again, pouring all her passion into the way they’re connected at all ends, and even though his heart aches a little bit for the sentence she will never say, she has never tasted sweeter.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter pondered the past as little as possible. Escaping death so many times rendered things that had already happened significantly less worrisome than all the things that could possibly go wrong in the future. It was one of many reasons why Harry still took his Invisibility Cloak with him wherever he went. It got him out of some tight spots in the field, and it became invaluable in navigating the landmines that were Wizarding politics.

It also came in handy whenever one needed a quick escape from nosy reporters or Ministry functions—like now.

Those events were tedious affairs as a general rule, but especially when Hermione was nowhere to be found.

He clutched the cloak tightly around himself, quelling the guilt of leaving his friend behind without saying goodbye. His boots made no sound as he approached his office, hoping to steal away through the Auror Floo—when a noise that belonged decidedly inside the bedroom and not the Ministry of Magic froze him mid-step.

The sound of two people—moaning, accompanied by the sound of bodies thudding against furniture. Sweat broke out along his forehead, and there was an odd ringing in his ears.

“Fuck, Merlin, you’re so tight.”

“Sh! Don’t make so much noise.”

The blood froze in his veins as he recognised the voices.

“Go ahead and cast a silencing spell, then,” Malfoy said, and Harry virtually heard his smirk.

“Shut up,” hissed Hermione, the rhythmic sounds of two bodies grinding against each other never letting up.

“Tut, tut,” said Malfoy, sounding breathless. “Admit it. Admit this gets you off. Being shagged in the open. Where anyone can see you.”

There was a thump, then a crash, and Harry jumped towards the door leading to the deserted Auror offices, his heart lurching at the firm conviction that Hermione had finally attacked him.

As he took a peek inside, he spotted Malfoy lying on the floor, wearing the expression of a man who was very much not averse to his current position. His shirt was unbuttoned and his trousers shoved to his ankles as Hermione straddled him. She was still wearing her skirt, thank Merlin, as it spared him an explicit view of her riding Malfoy for all she was worth. It looked wild, almost violent, and not at all like something Hermione would do—except, Harry had apparently no idea what Hermione did or didn’t do.

And neither did he have a clue about Malfoy, who was lying there, watching Hermione with an expression of rapt attention as she used his body for her own pleasure. His hands crept up her shirt which was also only buttoned open.

Embarrassment flooded his cheeks, and Harry shook his head, retreating back into the corridor.

Perhaps he should go back to the function—but he really didn’t want to. He’d just about managed to shake Skeeter off. He also couldn’t risk leaving for worry that someone else might detect them.

Harry rapidly warded the corridor with an array of wordless spells against intruders and eavesdroppers. He debated blocking all sound drifting out of the other room, but then the noises changed, becoming more frantic and urgent, suggesting a nearing end.

The both of them had apparently stopped worrying about anyone but themselves as they were shamelessly moaning. Harry tried concentrating on the fact that Hermione had looked happy—rather than on the fact that she was begging Malfoy to take her deeper, faster, harder.

Summoning his Occlumency lessons, Harry emptied his mind and isolated the part that was preoccupied with the present. He breathed deeply, conjuring happy, untainted memories, like riding his broom, or Sundays at the Burrow.

A loud, throaty groan jerked him back into reality.

“Granger… oh, Granger…”

A long female sigh joined Malfoy’s moan, making it clear that they were both… finishing.

The thumping noises stopped and were replaced by sounds of kissing. There was whispering. Then, a giggle.

Curious, Harry peered round the corner. Hermione and Malfoy grinned at each other as they dressed each other. Hermione buttoned Malfoy’s shirt. She did it by hand and with great care. As she was done, she kissed him tenderly, her hands threading through his hair. He then did the same—except he took a lot longer since he also kissed his way up her torso.

Harry moved back into his hiding place, his cheeks burning. This didn’t look like a fling. It looked as if…? Were they…?

Just then, Hermione and Malfoy rounded the corner, and Harry took a startled step back. As impeccably dressed in formal wear as they were now, they were still smiling at each other. But they’d stopped touching. Harry watched them walked to the end of the corridor, he realised it didn’t matter. It was clear to him now.

Even if they didn’t show it, it was obvious that this was neither something casual nor the first time it had happened.

“Huh,” he said. And with lead-heavy limbs, he dragged himself into the Floo, feeling a lot less bad about leaving Hermione behind.

Chapter Text

The way she wields her wand, wild hair flying, eyes flashing like the spells that are shooting from her wand one after another after another—that power, it resonates in his core. But it also does in his cock. Draco hardens so rapidly, it leaves his head spinning and deprived of oxygen, or, perhaps more realistically, suffering from a lack of perfusion.

Potter is shouting orders at him, garnished with the obligatory exchange of expletives. Draco acquiesces, but not without retaliating in kind. He darts across the training hall, his third leg very much in the way, and ducks behind one of the make-shift obstacles.

He observes the opposing team.

The other half of Aurors take Granger in their midst. She’s role-playing as the Principle, as his target. Once again, Draco’s struck by the ridiculousness of the exercise as Granger shoots three rapid stunning spells at Potter and his group sprinting towards his hiding place. Two bounce off quickly conjured shields, but the third hits its mark, the stunned wizard groaning as though he’s cracked his marbles and not like he’s monumentally cocked up.

Granger smirks in triumph.

Draco’s dick throbs. It’s ridiculous how desirable she is to him.

Potter appears at his side, sweaty and grim, barking out another array of commands. They regroup and approach her anew.

Safely encircled by the opposing group, Granger’s face is radiant. She catches his gaze, her lips twitching into that smile again, and Draco’s cock aches for release.

He can’t comprehend how she does it to him, but he has no time to ponder it because the familiar dance of the duels starts anew with spells and curses flying left and right, making the training ground near impassable. They are edging forward, ever so slowly, and without managing to penetrate the safe zone.

Safely out of reach, Granger joins her security detail, exhibiting her superior spell-work from a secure distance. She’s enveloped by an aureole of light as she shoots one well-aimed spell after another, severely decimating his team.

They need a diversion, Draco thinks, and he breaks their line, jolting forward while Potter’s explodes behind him with curses, verbal and magical.

But Draco ignores him, his eyes set on the prize. He outruns rapid-fire spells crossing his path, barely evades a well-aimed Knock-back jinx by sliding across the floor. Every part of his body vibrates with excitement and arousal as he has her in his line of sight, her glorious, curvaceous body lithe and ready to pounce.

For a moment, surprise glows in her eyes, almost instantly shifting into that ruthlessness he finds so damn alluring.

She’s a lioness, untamed and dangerous.

He’s so hard it hurts.

“Stupor,” Granger explodes, and a red light bursts from the tip of her wand. As it strikes him square in the chest just the way he planned, his ball sack contracts, shooting tingles of pleasure up and down his spine, racing down his fingertips until white pleasure bursts in thick waves from his cock.

He thumps to the floor stiff like his cock just moments ago as Granger approaches him, her wand levelled at his chest.

“Got you,” she says, the sweetness of victory glittering in her eyes. They widen as they drift lower, sweeping over the large, wet spot staining his crotch.

Their lock eyes again, and time freezes.

She blushes as an understanding passing between them. Raising her wand again, she just about manages to erase the mess he’s made of himself. Half a second later, she’s hit by an Expelliarmus, followed by an Incarcerous.

She drops to his side, her head turned towards him, surprise and wonder reflected in her expression.

“You could’ve just told me that floats your boat,” she whispers and winks at him conspiratorially just as Potter appears at their side.

Draco’s almost glad he’s unable to respond, frozen as he is, and it’s possibly due to the lack of distraction that he notices Potter’s gaze flickering between him and Granger for the briefest of moments—before the cunt pulls her to her feet and starts barraging Draco for going against the plan, completely disregarding that he’d achieved precisely what he’d set out to do.

Chapter Text

Since taking up a position in the Ministry, Hermione had made a couple of crucial discoveries: first, ignorance ruled supreme, even in the topmost positions of power; second, the Aurors did whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, rules and regulations be damned; and the Unspeakables sat on a treasure of magical artefacts.

The general incompetence was both a blessing and a curse. A curse, because Hermione was forced to clean up lots of messes (for example whenever the Aurors went completely against protocol, which was approximately once a week). A blessing as her famous competence soon enabled her too, to do whatever she damned well pleased without her motifs being questioned.

Hermione snook into the empty room unnoticed, her silenced heels moving smoothly over the ancient marble. It was late and the Department of Mysteries deserted, as she’d made sure of, but in case someone stumbled into the deepest bowels of the ministry, she drew up several walls guarding her and her privacy against curious eyes or ears. She turned towards the objects that had led her to disregard seventeen regulations.

A large, ancient mirror dominated the centre of the room. Though Hermione had never actually seen it, she recognised the clawed feet and the inscription in an instant:

I show not your face but your heart’s desire.”

Excitement spiked, flooding her body at the crescendo of her heartbeat.

In a moment, she’d know. She’d discover what she really, truly wanted; finally.

Recently, Hermione had found herself floating. Though she devoted the same kind of dedication to her work as ever, she no longer went above and beyond. She was increasingly inattentive in meetings, her interest derailed by the slightest distraction. There were even times when she was glad to be leaving her office at five o’clock. And she cut corners or avoided commitments just to shag Malfoy wherever and whenever she pleased.

Perhaps she no longer cared?

The very thought tortured her.

Hermione closed her eyes, deep breaths calming her.

This was it.

Opening her eyes, she stepped in front of the mirror.

At first, she only saw her reflection: starched blouse, wide-cut pants, midnight-blue robes, nude Louboutins. Brown curls and eyes. Her boring old self.

After a few heartbeats, the image shifted. It was still her, standing there in her professional attire, though she looked a little older, and she wore a different set of robes. They were emerald green, her favourite colour, but they didn’t connect to any existing department. Hermione frowned, worry and curiosity battling inside her chest as she watched herself walking through a Ministry corridor. She instantly recognised the marbled walls, and her breath hitched in anticipation. Her other self passed an assistant’s desk and opened a door labelled “Hermione J. Granger. Minister for Magic”.

Relief burst in her chest, making way for joy flooding through her veins. Hermione sighed, feeling a weight the size of Mount Everest slipping from her shoulders.

But the vision didn’t stop there.

The scenery shifted again, and Hermione found herself bound to a chair, wearing nothing but emerald-coloured lingerie. A blond stranger in a mask and dark trousers was standing close, circling her like a panther on the prowl. He bowed down to her, whispering something into her ear. Hermione saw herself grow aroused. There was the tell-tale pebbling of nipples emphasised by a heaving chest that was pushed forward, aching to be touched and teased.

It turned her on as well.

At the flick of the stranger’s wand, her chair disappeared and she was lifted into the air. Another swish and flick, and her legs were spread wide open, revealing a dark spot in her centre, growing larger.

Hermione gasped, desire coiling low in her belly, and her mirror image did the same.

The stranger smirked. It was the final clue to her growing suspicion. It was him.

She’d have to tell Malfoy about that fantasy again. Perhaps he’d be more amenable knowing how desperately she wanted it.

Fantasy Malfoy conjured a cat o nine tails and started flicking away at her, peppering her body with licks of the instrument.

Arousal took hold of Hermione’s body, spreading through her limbs like a potent draught, as she watched her counterpart being flogged. Judging from the stain on her knickers that grew larger and larger, she obviously enjoyed every second of it.

And so was Malfoy, his tight-fitting leather trousers doing little to hide his erection. Hermione’s mouth watered, her nipples tingling. As soon as she got home, she needed to floo him about a late-night shag. Perhaps she could convince him to stay for a before-work one, too.

The scene shifted once more, and they were joined by four other men, all wearing Death Eater masks. Draco was presenting her to them like a gift. Slashing his wand through the air, he left her completely starkers, her centre exposed like an overripe fruit, her bean shining like a pearl ready to be polished. The other men were quick to disrobe as well, though they kept their masks on.

Hermione watched greedily as they took her, one after another, sometimes two at once, even three at once, while Draco stood behind her, whispering things into her ear she couldn’t hear.

How she longed to see what he said.

She squinted, trying not to get distracted by the utterly alluring view of her being worshipped by four men at once, her entire body seizing from orgasm after orgasm, almost every inch of her adorned with the evidence of their lust.

She moved closer, eyes trained on Draco’s lips. He was gripping her chin and twisting her head to face him, his lips mere inches from her own.

Now, Hermione thought. Now, she’d understand.

His lips moved, and Hermione’s muscles seized, a violent shudder racing down her spine and shaking to her core.

No.

That can’t be it.

His lips moved again, and her mirror image shuddered much in the way she just had, her eyes shining with total adoration.

I love you, too, mouthed mirror-Hermione.

And Hermione’s vision went black.

Chapter Text

She imagined this many, many times before, but never quite like this. She thought he’d fuck her on the floor of that room, with the chandelier sparkling above her head—if, indeed, he ever agreed.

Agree, he did, but it went nothing like she expected.

They’d been going at it for hours—as they were wont to do. But instead of hate-fucking their way from the east wing to the west, from room to room, Draco took good care to defile the most significant spaces of the Manor.

He undressed her in the library, where he took her slow and sweet. He splayed her across his father’s desk and made her squirt all over his face and Lucius’s desk chair. He shagged her pressed up against the breakfast room windows, exhibiting her to the neatly trimmed rose bushes. And he let her dominate him in the drawing-room, begging her for mercy as she spanked his buttocks raw.

Their coup de grâce, however, was the defilement of the portrait hall.

“Look at her,” Draco growled as he pounded her from behind, his hands digging into her hips. “Look at who’s about to carry the next Malfoy heir.”

Through the tremors of her orgasm-wrecked body, Hermione caught a glance at Armand’s portrait. Vitriol glittered in his dark eyes, his ancient lips pressed thin in apparent displeasure. It was his only option to voice his disagreement, unable as he was to speak or to leave.

Hermione moaned as the weight of what they were doing—what he was doing—sunk in. Her heart expanded from the overwhelming sensation of—something. That something she’d been carrying around for some time. The thing clawing at her chest she wasn’t prepared to address quite yet.

“You hateful old fucker will NEVER insult her again. Do you hear me?”

Draco tilted his hips and nudged her legs wider with his knees, fucking into her deeper, slower. At every snap of his hips, his bollocks slapped against her vulva, sending shocks of arousal from her centre up her spine to her head, making her dizzy.

A desperate moan slipped through her lips.

“Do you hear me?! You will not insult my gorgeous witch, you wrinkly old knob.”

Hermione gave another moan. Draco was coming awfully close to exposing that secret buried away in her heart. He’d made a space for himself in there, and he’d done it without her noticing; while she was shagged stupid, begging him for more.

Her arousal was dripping out of her, trailing down her shaking legs. She felt it coming; that tell-tale tingle that first appeared low in her abdomen.

“Draco,” she gasped, begging him for more—or perhaps less, or maybe both at the same time.

“Soon, my darling,” he cooed into her ear, steadily pumping away, his cock stoking that tension coiling tighter and tighter. “Soon.” His hand bracketed her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh to keep her trembling limbs steady. His touches grew urgent, drawing ever-tightening circles up her torso to her breasts. When teased her nipples in time with his cock and balls grinding against her cunt, Hermione whimpered, overwhelmed by the sensation.

“Fuuuuck,” he moaned under his breath as her walls fluttered, squeezing his length. With a louder voice, he announced, “Watch closely, Armand. Watch as I offer this witch my precious Malfoy seed.”

He kept his pace going, fucking up into her as he played with her tits. Every touch pushed Hermione closer to the precipice; and every one of her reactions had him groaning in return.

“Are you going to come,” he groaned into her neck. “Are you going to take my come like the good little witch you are?”

Hermione could only moan in response, her insides quaking, and Draco hissed, snapping his hips. He thrust deeper, pushing himself as far as he could go, pushing her where he wanted her to go, his left hand sneaking round the curve of her to tease her bean.

Her legs stiffened as the pleasure coiling low and deep in her core tightened. Draco gave a few more strokes, his breath coming rapid and harsh, his fingers twisting her nipples just right—and the dam burst.

Her legs shook, her torso too, and she couldn’t hold herself anymore because she’d forgotten what her limbs were supposed to do with the rapid-fire of sensations setting her nerve endings aflame. She collapsed, but Draco held her up, continuously thrusting into her with her juices spraying out of her. He was moaning uncontrollably as her walls contracted around him, squeezing him for all he was worth.

“Fuck, Granger, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…”

The rhythm of his pumping hips faltered, growing erratic. He pulled her against his bare chest, presenting her body still shuddering from the aftershocks of her climax to Armand’s furious face—and then Draco came, too.

Streak after streak of his come shot into her, and it didn’t seem to let up. He was clutching her close, twisting her head to press his lips against hers, devouring her mouth to stay connected at all ends. All the while he kept pumping into her, his seed overflowing and dripping down their legs where it formed a puddle at their feet.

Moments—or even minutes—later, when they regained their presence of mind again, they realised the mess they’ve made of themselves. Their sexes and legs was a sodding mess, not to speak of the Persian rug covering the wooden floors, which were drenched in her juices and his cum.

“We’ve made a right mess of things, haven’t we?” Hermione said, her voice hoarse, smiling.

Draco grinned, a devious glint to his eyes. “And it’s still not messy enough.”

He summoned his wand and, without a second thought, cut his hand. Drops of bright red blood drip onto the floor, mixing with their bodily fluids.

A pretty shade of pink, Hermione thought, though it looked rather unappealing.

Nevertheless, her heartbeat accelerated. Blood in the bedroom had never been her thing, but the potency of the metaphor wasn’t lost on her. So she offered her left hand.

Carefully, Draco drew a delicate pattern into her skin, just deep enough that three drops escaped before he sealed the wound shut again. Hermione didn’t look which colour their ridiculous concoction of bodily fluids turned out, as she kept her eyes trained on Armand, who looked sick to his stomach.

“What do you say now, you sick old fuck? Excited for your half-blood grandchildren?” Draco sneered at his ancestor, and Armand shook his fist at them.

Hermione laughed, which enraged him even more, but she was soon distracted by Draco who turned her head towards him to snog away any semblance of rationality.

Later, as they relaxed in Draco’s massive bathtub, floating in a tight embrace, she mused, “I wonder how long until he realises there won’t be any grandkids.”

Draco smirked. “Doesn’t really matter. We can just keep pretending. That’ll teach him, too.”

Chapter Text

He’s agreed to her demand—of course, he has. At this point, he knows full well he won’t refuse her a bloody thing; he simply isn’t able to. Good thing Draco has his own fantasies tucked away in the recesses of his mind, so he manages a bargain, at least.

Granger complies. She’ll even indulge him first.

She only protests when they arrive at the stadium and she discovers where they are actually going to do it—that his Private Box is not only next to the press boxes, and but more precisely, The Prophet’s. In the end, she goes ahead with it anyway, and Draco knows why he’s skipped an Unbreakable: he trusts her for a reason. She’s also as pervy as they come.

Granger’s truly bored by Quidditch when it involves none of her dastardly Gryffindors, so she doesn’t mind terribly to suck him off. No, actually, she loves sucking him off, naughty girl. Her mouth is talented, everyone knows that, but what they don’t know is that Granger, prissy, put-together tidy little Granger, gives sloppy head like no other.

Draco is utterly fascinated by the drool running down her lips, spit frothing at her mouth, the totally debauched sounds she makes as she gobbles him up as though she’s expecting an O; licks his length with a passion and dedication like it’s a bloody Sugar Quill, that he completely misses the first two scores, occurring in quick succession. When his eyes snag back to the game due to the sounds of a roaring stadium, sweeping from one end of the field to the other to understand what’s going on, he notes her devious smirk out of the corner of his eye. The minx knows what she’s doing.

He gets his revenge by picking her up and vanishing her knickers (she’s wearing a delightful Muggle dress today that gives him easy access to her breasts). Carrying her on his arms with her back to his chest, he spreads her legs wide by wrapping his arms round her thighs. Spreads her so wide for the viewing pleasure of the entire stadium—or that’s who would have been their audience, hadn’t the glass been charmed impervious.

“You’re not distracting me again,” he whispers into her ear, wary of the fact that they have agreed not to use a Silencing Charm, and thrusts home.

Fuck, Granger’s cunt.

She’s hot and she’s wet, her juices already leaking out of her and running down his length. Draco stifles a groan as her honey, thick and creamy, tingles down his bollocks. Her cunt tightens in response, that’s how much she loves being shagged like that, dirty and exposed to all.

“Knew you’d love it, you pervy little witch,” he murmurs into her ear as he thrusts up into her at a languid pace.

Granger’s a very good girl.

She’s not saying a peep, not distracting him further either, and Draco manages to halfway concentrate on the game. It’s a quite boring match, to be honest, as was to be expected (as ever, Puddlemere’s set to flatten the Prides, and they’re so far matching the predictions scoring 90:10). That way, Draco can set the bigger part of his mind on how to break her.

He wants her gagging for it.

He wants to hear her moan.

He wants to make it so good that she forgets The Prophet might take note of the ruckus going on next door.

Obviously, he’d never actually risk ruining the name of his witch—even if she’s not actually his witch—so he’s cast a Silencio almost as soon they got started. What he’d give to properly fuck Granger as loud as he bloody fucking pleases because everyone knows she’s his anyway… Then again, the way Granger breathes heavily, the way she’s squirms in his arms that he has to cast a spell to stabilise her up despite his Auror-strengthened arms—it’s perfection.

Draco tightens his grip and slows his thrust, grinding as he goes and his bits slap against her just right, making pleasure explode in his pounding blood. Her walls tighten around him, her legs growing stiff, and heat shots up his neck and down his front again, tensing up his balls.

“What a sensational attempt! Not every day you get to see—” the voice of the stadium speaker booms, but Draco has given up following the match. He tilts his hips and pushes Granger down as he fucks up, almost using her, though he knows the way they’re grinding makes everything better for her.

The tiniest moan slips through her lips. Draco has to bite his own lip to not do the same in response. He focuses on the fact that Granger’s panting hard.

She reaches up to cradle his head with her arms and it creates the perfect vantage point for a peek down that Muggle number wrapped around her body. Her gorgeous tits are heaving in time with the snap, snap, snap of his hips. He increases the force of the movement and his cock jerks as her jubblies jiggle. He repeats it, again and again, and the sight has his cock throbbing and his bollocks tightening, and there’s that tingling in his spine telling Draco he has to do something now.

He lifts her off his cock, and though he immediately throbs for her tight, wet heat, he pushes Granger against the windowpane. His witch is so surprised she gives a little gasp. Draco would love nothing better than to see her tits squashed up against the glass, how her voluptuous curves are enhanced by being pushed together like that, he nipples hard against the coldness of the material, but he has other things to do. He kneels, lifts her skirt and marvels.

Her cunt is a vision; the juiciest red with globs of white arousal dripping out of her. Draco can’t resist and he dives in, licking eagerly. Granger moans in surprise and arches her back, pushing Draco’s tongue deeper. He grabs the tops of her thighs to keep her steady as he licks away. Soon, he can hear her breathing grow more erratic. She’s fighting against not making a peep, but at the same time, she’s so needy, and he and his aching cock desperately want her to break, so he releases her left leg and uses two fingers to fuck her as he keeps devouring her lips.

Draco continues this. He recognises the way her legs start to quiver as they always do when she’s close. They evolve into a shiver if he keeps doing it right until they shake uncontrollably and Granger’s walls contract around his fingers. A stream of her release hits his lips and he greedily swallows his all, his cock is throbbing, eager to be buried within her again. Above him, Granger is cursing him as her body is overwhelmed with the power of her orgasm.

Finally, he can’t take it any longer. He twists her away from the window and pushes her onto the sofa. They’re face to face now. Her lips are an even deeper red than the lips of her cunt telling him how very hard she’s been trying not to utter a sound.

He bows low and kisses her greedily, effectively muting a desperate groan as he anchors himself deep within her again. She’s still hot and tight, but even wetter than before and her walls are still quivering from her orgasm, and fuck. Through the haze of his brain pushing him to just fuck himself to completion, Draco sets his mind on giving her one more before he has to shoot, so he thrusts away, his eyes and his mind fixed on the way her lovely cunt looks he drags his cock in and out of her. How her nub looks just as swollen and ripe as a cherry atop his favourite pudding. It’s a fascinating sight, her lips shifting around him, accommodating his length, the way she stretched around his considerable girth. It occurs to him, that they’re a perfect fit. Truly, a sight to behold.

A long whimper pulls him back to reality. Granger seems to have forgotten about where they are. Her eyes roll back as she moans, muttering streams of nonsense. The heat of victory rolls through him, making his chest lighter and gives him the needed strength for his finale. Draco puts his entire weight into fucking her. His bits hit her just right, the sounds they’re making reverberate around the room, and as Granger’s moan increase in volume, Draco thanks Merlin’s left ball sack that he doesn’t have to worry about keeping quiet anymore. He simply has to tell her how she’s such a good girl for keeping quiet for so long, for taking his cock so well, for showing everyone what a brilliant shag she is, but that he’s not going to share her if he can help it, even though he has to, at least once. That’s when she comes again, spraying the trousers pulled down to his ankles with a fresh stream of her release and Draco know he can’t keep this up.

His cock throbs. His balls feel enormous and are aching to be emptied. Luckily, Granger’s a goner as well. Her eyes are closed, her mouth is hanging slack, whimpering, and because her legs are shaking so hard, her hands barely have a hold on Draco. She’s gone cock drunk.

Through her cunt quivering and clenching around him, Draco sets a punishing pace, no longer staving off the tingle collecting at his spine and spreading in his balls until it shoots up to his head and light explodes within his eyeballs or inside his brain, he doesn’t know, except the need to bury himself as deep as possible taking hold of his body.

*

When they come to, they realise the match is long over, though they have no clue how long for. The stands are deserted, and Draco sees in the way Granger's shoulders relax that she's a tiny bit relieved. Perhaps it’s because she’s sore. After all, they made the deal to shag for as long as the game’s going (which, Granger doesn’t realise, was bound to be a day at most, considering). They take their sweet time cleaning up, and by the time they exit Draco’s box, they’re certain, they’re the last ones out and about, until—

“Hermione!” comes an unfamiliar but surprised voice from their left.

A young woman about their age with flaming red hair and a dragonhide satchel is just closing the door to one of the press boxes.

“Hi,” returns Granger in a pitch too high to be considered casual. “Ginny.”

Ah, the youngest Weasley. Or Potter, rather. Last he’s seen her, she was round as a quaffle with long hair. As a general rule, Draco doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about Granger’s Gryffindors, though it occurs to him now that he probably should.

He extends his hand for her to shake. “Draco Malfoy,” he says as the other witch shakes it, regarding him with a curious expression. “Nice to meet you again.”

“Ginny Potter,” she answers. Her eyes jump between him and Granger before they settle on him. “Daily Prophet.” Her lips twist into a smirk not unfamiliar to him, and for the first time, he’s worried about the dependability of his Charmwork.

Chapter Text

If Draco isn’t careful, he still dreams about the worst year of his life. Usually, it’s much of the same: nightmares of Mother dying, or him being Crucio’ed by Lord Snakeface, or the crushing certainty that he’s been set up to fail.

All around, nothing new.

However, every now and again his mind offers him a bit of respite and brings back one of his fonder memories from the year spent on that dastardly seventh-floor, tucked away between the rubbish of centuries.

It was a Monday if Draco remembers correctly, or at least it has to have been as it was the pinnacle of terrible.

He’d just survived the Potter fan club (aka Double Potions with Sluggy and the Gryffindors), followed by Charms, again, with the Gryffindors, which was essentially the Granger Show. Flitwick, beside himself at Granger’s “outstanding charmwork”, awarded her an unreasonable amount of house-points. On any given day, Draco wouldn’t have cared a Knut—except, they were doing linking charms, and it was precisely what he’d been having trouble with in regards to—that thing. Before Charms, he thought he’d been doing pretty well on that front—until Granger, at a flick of her wrist, managed what he’d been merely attempting to do for weeks.

Dirty little Mudblood.

His blood boiling and head pounding from frustration, there was only one thing to improve his mood. After class, he waited for the chit to be alone. As she strutted down the corridor like the arrogant bint she was, he vanished the buttons of her blouse. Granger shrieked as her tits were revealed. Draco chuckled into his hand—not for long though, as he was faced with the fact of the matter that her tits were not only rather impressive—extremely impressive—but that they were looking especially delicious, emphasised as they were by a black lacy brassiere.

Fuck.

Blood shot up, first into Draco’s head, and then rapidly down again into his cock, which swelled and stiffened inside his pants so fast, he almost doubled over.

“Shit,” he muttered and raced away as fast as his stiffy allowed, leaving behind Granger, busy with making herself decent again.

Draco didn’t stop until he was safe inside the Room of Hidden Things. Only then did it occur to him that it wasn’t his brightest idea to speed off with the image of Granger’s tits still imprinted on his retina. His last memory of her should have been of the hideous witch in her normal, decidedly unerotic glory she actually was.

Draco swore again.

Now facing two problems—bested by Granger at something that actually mattered to him, and a hard and achy cock in his pants—he desperately wished for help to take off the edge.

A chaise lounge appeared next to him out of nowhere, alongside a vial of Lubrication Potion.

Already familiar with the magic of the room, Draco didn’t waste another second wondering. He undressed and made himself comfortable, the room quickly attuning the temperature to his liking. Using the potion, he started massaging his cock, his slippery hand sliding up and down his length. He was so pent up that it didn’t take much, a few swirls with his hands around his cock head, a slight tug at his bollix, and he shot a massive load all over his stomach. As Draco lay there, panting, his brain no longer addled by desire, he realised he’d tossed one off fantasising about Granger.

He exhaled shakily.

Pinching his eyes closed, his cum drying on his stomach because he was too lazy to vanish it, he reasoned to banish her out of his mind in a different way. Instead of being ashamed of fantasising about her—besides, who wouldn’t, considering a rack like that?—he could change the scenario and make it embarrassing for her. For example: what if he made her use her tits to rubs his cock—or even better: what if she took his cum and rubbed it all over her jubblies and then used her slippery flesh to get him off, again?

Draco groaned as his John Thomas stirred for the second time. He fisted himself to proper hardness, imagining Granger kneeling at his feet, looking up at him with her deep brown eyes as she worshipped him with her tits; her soft, marvellous, enormous tits which, for some reason, were swelling.

“Of course, I’m going to take care of you,” purred the Granger inside his head. Her blouse was opened at the front, her lace bra pulled down so her breasts were hanging free, which had doubled in size.

Draco gave a desperate moan as his length disappeared in her cleavage. Granger pushed her tits together, rubbing him, up and down, up and down.

“You’re doing so well, Draco,” she cooed. “You’re so bright, so smart, so ingenious… That’s even better than your huge, delicious cock.”

Draco came again.

This time, his load was even more massive than the previous one, and it took his body forever to stop twitching as he exhaled in a long, stuttering groan, “Graaaaaanger.”

*

Draco feels something soft and wet before he realises that it’s soft and wet around his cock.

He blinks, rubbing the sleep out of his tired eyes. It’s still pitch-dark outside, but the faint glow of the streetlights reveals Granger crouching at the foot of the bed, her lips wrapped around his dick. When she notices that he’s awake, she releases his stiffness with a pop.

“You were moaning,” she says and licks her lips. She’s naked as they always are, but her nipples are hard despite the warmth of the summer night.

He realises she’s ready to go again, which is brilliant because so is he.

“Oh?” he asks and folds his arms behind his head to get a better view. “Moaning?”

Granger nods and eyes his cock again with greedy eyes. “Like you were about to die. Like you were in danger.” Her voice is full of reverence, and he almost laughs. Count on Granger to cream her knickers at him almost dying because he’s done something risky and reckless on the job. On the other hand, she isn’t a Gryffindor for nothing…

In any case, Draco’s certain he won’t be going to sleep again any time soon, so he indulges her. It’s just an added bonus that he’s just had the loveliest dream which warrants a continuation anyway.

“So now you’re going to make me feel better, are you, Miss Granger?”

“It’s Healer Granger—and naturally. I do have to take care of my patients, Auror Malfoy.”

Granger leans over, her elegantly curved lips enveloping his cockhead like they belong there and nowhere else. After a few extremely satisfying sucks, the pressure just right and precisely underneath where he wants it, she releases him again. He’s helpless against the groan slipping out.

“Is that—are you taking care of all your patients like that?” he manages, panting heavily as she continues stroking him with one hand.

Granger lifts her head and smirks. “Oh, no. It’s only because you’ve been such a brave Auror. Because you’ve risked your life to save so many Muggles. Because you’re a good man.”

Draco’s entire body reacts to the way she’s included his last case into their scene. It’s the last coherent exchange they have for a while.

Chapter Text


The second Hermione steps out of the Floo, she just knows something’s amiss.

Draco is waiting for her as usual, but his expression is closed-off as he proffers his arm to accompany her to the dining hall. Just like every Saturday, they share a pleasant meal, but the conversation doesn’t flow as well it usually does. When they retire to the library (where their weekend shagathon usually commences), and Draco still hadn’t said a thing, Hermione confronts him about the Erumpent in the room.

“My parents are coming back.” He sinks into the sofa which gives a moaning sound as the ancient, worn leather almost swallows him. He leans back, exhaling heavily, his neck lolling against the backrest.

Hermione joins him, stretching her legs across his lap to make herself comfortable, and he starts stroking her naked skin with an easy, familiar touch.

“Both of my parents are coming back.”

“Oh.” The breath catches in her throat as dread settles like lead in her stomach.

“Yeah.” His tone is resigned.

She knows that after Lucius’s release, his parents have “fucked off to France” (as Draco puts it) because they struggled to adapt to the new world order that only sees their “unfortunate past”.

“And now you’re worried about me,” she says, summoning her calm and collected demeanour as she marshals on. She’s had this conversation before—she didn’t see it coming this time, but on second thought, she probably should have. She and he were as close to star-crossed lovers as one gets in modern Britain. Even the average witch and wizard wouldn’t take lightly to them going out, but they’re hiding their relationship anyway, even if Ginny’s been a right pain about their recent run-in.

She catches her overheating brain to note that Draco displays shock. He stares at her with wide eyes as though he’s seen an Inferi.

“Worried about you?” he rasps. His hand creeps higher, pressing into her flesh as though he wants his fingerprints to leave permanent marks.

Desire spikes low in her belly, and Hermione realises how she’s come to rely on his touches.

What they’ve been doing, this craving for him that’s been going on for months, it’s developed into an attachment. Nevertheless, she’s been conflicted about the depth of her feelings for him. What the Mirror of Erised has shown her… she still ponders if it was the desire for an abstract idea, or a concrete reality of love.

Now though, with her throat tightening at the very thought of… this ending, the cold, unfettered truth of the matter sinks into her pores like the clammy cold of January rain.

This is real.

“Granger, I’ve fucked you in front of every bloody portrait of every single one of my batty ancestors. Of course, I’m not scared about us getting out!”

She shivers at the way he says “us”, and all of a sudden her breath comes short. Her heartbeat remains accelerated, racing through her veins with a speed that makes her dizzy, but it’s suddenly perfectly synchronised with his clever fingers exploring the skin underneath her dress.

“I don’t want my parents back here,” he murmurs and he leans down to kiss her, his other arm pulling her closer. “They tend to ruin everything,” he whispers against her lips.

For some reason, this declaration resonates in her core, inflaming the lust for him that’s constantly simmering beneath the surface anyway.

His kiss is greedy, his mouth hungry and eager like their first time when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, impatient to devour as much of the other as quickly and intensely as possible.

Hermione’s left gasping for air, that pleasant heat spreading from cell to cell, and she already mourns the time when they won’t be able to do this any longer: defile these noble halls of the ancient house of Malfoy.

“Bloody shame, it is, too. Am a far better Lord of the Manor than the old bastard ever was.” He has a hard look on his face, as though he expects to be contradicted.

“I absolutely agree,” she says, and it’s endearing that he’s preening under her words. “You’re a far better Lord than your father will ever be. I know this, and the house-elves know it, too.”

Draco captures her chin with his right hand, staring into her eyes with an intensity he saves for their nights together. “Say that again, Granger,” he whispers in a low voice.

“You are,” she starts and shifts to straddle his hips, “a far better Lord than your father will ever be—” Her breath hangs in the air between them, and Draco’s eyes are glued to her lips. He’s inhaling every syllable dropping from her lips, and Hermione doesn’t really know where it comes from, she just knows he needs this when she adds, “—daddy.”

A moan so loud it fills the library bursts out of Draco. His entire body reacts to this one little word. His hands shoot to her hips and he pushes her against his groin, grinding his stiffened length against her centre as he captures her lips in another passionate kiss. Hermione’s dazed with the arousal spiking her body. It’s overwhelming and so quick, she hardly knows where it comes from. She just keeps moaning, “daddy… oh, yes, daddy… daddy, please.”

It’s a vicious circle, the intensity of his reaction to her carelessly uttered words, and the way her own desire intensifies as he loses his mind because of her. It’s obviously something he’s craved, and Hermione is only too eager to encourage him because he, in turn, keeps whispering naughty things as he slips down her body, worshipping every inch of her. Every time she calls him that—daddy—Draco grows more assertive, becomes rough and aggressive, just the way she craves it sometimes. She starts begging, for kisses, for touches, for his cock, and that’s when Draco goes completely mad. He pushes her down, ripping the dress straight down the middle. Hermione gasps. She’s always imagined this happening to her. She’s told him to do it before, but it’s so much better when he does it unexpectedly.

“Baby, I’m gonna fuck your sweet little cunt so good, you won’t be able to walk a straight line tomorrow.”

Hermione shudders, a desperate moan escaping her lips. He doesn’t bother with foreplay, that’s how wild she’s made him.

He simply pushes his cock inside.

Usually, Hermione would scold him, and usually, Draco would take pride in making her squirt at least once before he fucks her. But this Draco, her daddy, he’s rough, he’s wanton, he takes what he wants and Hermione loves it. Her pussy loves it, too. She’s dripping—sopping wet, and Hermione’s whimpering. Draco’s slack-jawed as he hammers into her, murmuring about his naughty little girl, how his dirty baby is so greedy, and Hermione begs her daddy to go faster, to fuck her harder.

He sets a punishing pace, every careless drag of his cock somehow hitting her just right, Hermione’s helpless against the boiling in her blood; the adrenaline rush that pushes everything over the edge. She comes suddenly, brutally. It explodes out of her. Her limbs are shaking as her orgasm sweeps through her like a tsunami, wrecking her mind and body in its wake, and that’s when Draco comes, too. He moans, shouts almost, as he empties himself into her. Perhaps it’s because of Hermione’s addled mind, but it seems like he can’t seem to stop cumming either. His cock keeps pumping his seed deep into her.

Finally, he collapses atop her.

Hermione sighs, feeling his seed spill out of her, dripping down her legs and onto the sofa.

She’s happy like that, with her bones like jelly and Draco’s comforting weight blanketing her. She could stay like this forever, even here, in the Manor.

“Mhhhhmm, daddy,” she purrs, and Draco gives a desperate groan as his cock twitches.

They spend the weekend, once again, defiling the Manor. Draco takes care to ruin at least one of Narcissa’s favourite Flutterby bushes, and Hermione takes even better care to persuade her daddy that he’s the best and greatest Lord of the Manor there ever was.

Chapter Text

After their Quidditch Rendez-vous, Granger grants him a two-week respite. He uses the time, not to pick the other wizards, but to come up with a plan on how to deal with the scene.

It’s become increasingly clearer to him that he’d much rather not share his witch, thank you very much. He just doesn’t know how to go about convincing her of it.

Draco knows Granger loves cock. Draco also wants her happy. And if it takes four other dicks to accomplish it, he’ll do it. Not that he has a choice. After all, he’s agreed, and he’s a wizard of his word.


As the day arrives, Draco thinks he might lose his dinner. Nevertheless, he’s the perfect host as he welcomes his mates to his Belgravia flat. They’re not doing it at the Manor; that place is reserved for just them. Draco explains the rules for the evening, and they all agree. Everything’s sealed with an Unbreakable Vow since Draco doesn’t want to take any chances. Only then does he lead Blaise, Theo, and Greg into the room where Granger’s waiting for them.

His heart skips a beat as he spots her. She’s standing in front of the chaise lounge, a silken robe wrapped around her lovely body. It’s not just any old robe, either: its patterns of deep blue and white, seemingly random, are reminiscent of their famous shark shag in Cornwall. Reminiscent because he’s bought it for her in Truro, later that day, for the express purpose of keeping the memory alive.

Granger lets her gaze sweep over all of them. Her eyes linger on him as she carefully opens the belt and lets the garment collect to her feet. She’s standing there like Aphrodite jumping forth out of the waves of the sea as she presents herself to them, not in the nude like the goddess she surely is, but adorned by one of her sexy Muggle numbers.

It’s a burgundy lingerie set with black seamed stockings held up with a suspender belt framing her thigh and her midriff. All of this is complemented by his favourite pair of shoes. The black ones with the red soles.

She looks like a gift just waiting to be unwrapped.

His mouth waters—and judging from the appreciative noises his boys make, he’s not the only one.

Draco’s heartbeat accelerates. They know to wait, but even if they’d agreed to something different, Draco wouldn’t have cared. The urge to fuck his witch, to show the others how well he can make her cum, takes hold of his mind and body like an Imperius. Soon, he’s at her side, worshipping at her centre—sloppily kissing her lips, her bean, already read and swollen underneath her naughty knickers he’s pulled to the side. He doesn’t let up until Granger showers him with proof of how well he knows her body. Behind him, sounds of astonishment fill the room, and Draco grins. He hasn’t told them she can do that.

But he has no capacity to ponder what his friends are thinking. He rips off her knickers and quickly directs her to sit on his lap, her back to him. Granger moans with abandon—and so does he—as he spreads her legs wide and pushes her down onto his cock, demonstrating to his mates just how well they fit.

They’ve pulled out their cocks, those horny fuckers, and Draco gets a sordid sort of delight from it. He knows they imagine themselves in his position, thrusting up into Granger’s tight, hot cunt, her lovely lips shifting as she accommodates his girth, her engorged clit protruding. He can see Theo’s greedy eyes lingering on his dick as he pistons in and out of her. He always knew he was bent, not that he cared. In fact, it might come in handy later on, who knows. Blaise certainly enjoys the show as well. His body language doesn’t give away much—bar from the fact that his cock is hard and leaking as he strokes himself almost casually—but his eyes shine with eagerness.

Soon, Granger’s walls are quivering around him in her second release, and it triggers his own orgasm. He presses his cock as deep as he can go, as though the presence of his cum, the first to paint her channel, can stake a claim on her from the inside. And his vision goes blinding white as he plants his load deep within her.

They’re catching their breaths—but only for a second. As his softened dick slips from her, Greg appears at his side, eager to take his space, and Draco releases his witch.

When his mate slides home, fucking Draco’s cum deeper into Granger with wet, sloppy sounds, Draco is surprised to find he doesn’t mind too much. Still, he doesn’t want to lose contact with her, so he rounds the sofa and feeds Granger his cock.

Her expression is that of unadulterated bliss. Draco knows that Greg isn’t as long as he is, but he’s thick and curved in a way that even Pansy invited him back for seconds and thirds. He’s also surprisingly coordinated. He manages to wrangle Granger out of her bra and suck her tits as he shags her rotten. Still, she has the presence of mind to suck Draco back to hardness in a matter of minutes.

In the meantime, Blaise and Theo have completely disrobed as well. They’re still pumping their cocks lazily, watching Greg shag Granger like there’s no tomorrow. He’s grunting from the exertion, and there’s something feral about the way he consumes her body, like fiendfire almost. Granger doesn’t mind he’s being rather rough with her, though. Her eyes roll into the back of her head, and he increases the speed and intensity of his thrusts, groaning uncontrollably and unintelligibly. The force of their movements push her around quite a bit, and Draco’s cock eventually slips from her lips.

Instead of feeding it back to her, Draco takes a step back, spreading her spit and the remnants of their shared juices around his cockhead, massaging himself as Granger loses herself for a third time.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck… so hot,” Greg pants as Granger squirts all over his dick, shouting and babbling incoherently.

His face is beet-red and he looks a little worse for wear, but he’s got ample time to recover because Blaise is next, picking up Granger with almost as much ease as Draco himself does. He sits, sinking low into the furniture and arranges her to straddle him in a way that her bum sticks out. He and Theo share a conspiratorial glance and as Blaise slides into Granger’s sopping cunt, Theo steps behind Granger and kneels.

Draco doesn’t have a good look at what’s going on, but Blaise who’s whispering dirty things into Granger’s ear, provides some commentary. “Are you wet enough, you naughty witch? Wet enough that Theo can stick his finger up your bum?”

Granger moans as Theo evidently prepares her for being taken in both holes at once. Meanwhile, Blaise takes his sweet time with her, grinding into her with precision, rubbing her clit as he does, and Granger finally manages to catch her breath.

A deep blush spreads from her lovely cheeks, down her neck and over her delicately decorated bosom

“I think our angel needs a little more prep,” says Theo from the floor. He’s obviously grinning, probably having the best time watching Blaise’s cock swallowed by her beautiful cunt.

“Don’t call her that,” Draco growls reflexively. In instant, he feels rather than sees the three others first freezing, and then staring at him. “Just—call her Granger,” he amends. He’s floundering, now that he’s almost slipped. Nobody knows that he—well. Nobody knows.

Draco takes a breath and luckily, they let it go. Theo’s preoccupied anyway. He’s conjured a buttplug, and he’s letting Granger suck it. He smirks as he watches her devouring the toy, applying almost as much care as she does when she sucks cock, and Draco would love to know what that sneaky little twat is up to.

“That’s enough—pet,” Theo says finally, and Granger releases the toy with a wet pop.

Blaise halts his movements as Theo slides the plug in. Both Granger and Blaise groan.

When Blaise starts moving again, Granger gives a shudder and turns her head, searching for Draco. He moves back around the chaise longue and sits down next to her and Blaise. He twists her head to face him, and her large, deep eyes stare at him with a hungry, desperate expression.

“Do you like this?” he asks her as Blaise tilts his hips and Granger moans. “Do you like being filled to the brim?”

“Yes, Draco,” she gasps. “I love it so much.” And she leans forward to kiss him. Tongues and lips slide against each other in a hungry sort of dance. To Draco, this kiss is far more erotic than all the sex, and the realisation catches him unawares. He moves back to watch her again—really watch her—and it occurs to him once more what a beautiful witch she is. The lingerie sets off all her assets in the best way, framing her like a work of art.

He doesn’t get to revel in it, as Theo wants his fair share of the shag as well. They rearrange themselves. Still straddling Blaise who’s leaning back so much he’s almost lying down, Hermione presses up against his chest. Theo lets his cock slide against the sodden lips of Granger’s cunt, coating himself in her slick and their cum, before he gradually, inch by careful inch, eases into Granger’s back passage.

As soon as both men are seated within her, all the timidness disappears. Blaise and Theo start shagging her as though there’s no tomorrow. It’s clear they both have done this before because their bodies move in perfect harmony. It looks almost effortless as they fuck up— or down— into her simultaneously, but Draco can see the perspiration dripping down Blaise’s temple; the drops of glistening sweat collecting on Theo’s upper lip. Draco knows they don’t want to blow it. He’s also painfully aware how hard is it because Granger loves it so much, she’s lost it, only rambling incoherent nonsense. She’s gone completely cock drunk, and Draco knows what her cunt does when she’s like this.

Between her barely decipherable moans of “more” and “deeper” and “oh yes” and “right there”, rare flickers of a presence of mind appear. Whenever she catches his gaze, her glazed-over eyes clear up a little bit and she smiles.

Draco’s heart is pounding hard. He’s glad he’s done this for her. She loves cock, and he won’t deprive her. But he also knows this: he has to convince her to give him something in return. If he has to share her in the bedroom, he might be able to stake a claim someplace else…

He has a plan, but does it work? Draco has to think about it some more.

Later though, because now, he needs to make sure that even compared with four other wizards, she still picks his dick to shag her silly.

Chapter Text

Granger looks a beautiful mess, her body glistening with sweat and dried semen; underneath, her face, neck, and chest is coloured in various shades of her blush. Almost like one of these Muggle paintings she’s so fond of.

And she’s still not sated.

 

After Blaise and Theo, Greg and Theo took their turns fucking both of her ends while Blaise and himself painted her body with smatterings of white.

She welcomed it all.

Every splash of semen hitting her and dripping down her body just made her wilder.

It’s like there’s a succubus possessing her; like only a steady stream of orgasms animates her body.

She becomes greedy. Next, she demands two cocks in her cunt.

Draco picks her up, sits her on his lap and kisses her greedily, while one of the others—he doesn’t see who, and he hardly cares anyway—shoves his cock in next to his.

It’s—bloody amazing. But also almost too much, even for Granger. She wails as Draco’s cock slides against the other dick, rubs her just right, pushes up against that spongy part of her centre that makes her explode. Draco can barely believe it—but he feels it, the way her walls quiver around him, seizing and releasing as tiny orgasm after tiny orgasm spreads through her body like waves crashing against a lone rock rising out of the sea. Tiny streams of her juice trickle out of her, running down his cock and dripping onto the other bloke, probably making a mess of the sofa. He grunts from the exertion—Draco recognises it’s Greg—and shoots his load, swearing loudly. Draco keeps kissing Granger though; fixes his mind on the erotic dance of their lips, the little sighs she expels, anything that helps him not be distracted by the way the added fluids make everything hotter, softer—better. It feels like his dick’s being sucked into Granger’s hungry pussy.

“You like that, don’t you,” he husks and grabs her chin.

She’s got her eyes closed and her face is concentrated like she can barely stand the stimulation.

“Yeeees,” she exhales, giving a long drawn-out moan.

“You love getting stuffed like that, don’t you?”

“I—I doooo.”

Theo slides his cock in next to Draco, and Granger whimpers, but so does Theo.

He clenches his jaw, focusing on not shooting and pressing out, “You want to be used like a whore.”

Granger’s only response is a gasp.

Theo thrusts forward, and Granger whimpers as her body sways under the movement. She buries her head against Draco’s shoulder, nuzzling against his neck, her fingers digging into his biceps.

“Dracooo,” she moans.

“I’m here,” he responds in a whisper.

His bollocks are so full, they’re killing him. His cock aches. He doesn’t even move anymore; he keeps her wrapped in his arms while Theo does all the work. That’s enough anyway. The fluttering walls of her cunt… the fluids spilling down their legs… Theo’s dick rubbing that spot underneath his cock head where he’s most sensitive…

The only reason he’s not come yet is probably that his body is not able to anymore.

But as long as she’s willing, so is he.

“I want—” she gasps as Theo thrusts away, his groans louder and louder.

“What do you want, tell me.”

Her breath hitches as she lifts her head to look him in the eyes. “More,” she whispers. Her voice is shaking. “I want you to—use me.”

She doesn’t specify, and she doesn’t go where he feared she would. Good, because that’s the only request he would have rejected. Draco will never call her—that, again. He’ll never permit anyone else to call her that, either. He’d rather cut off his tainted left arm than let that happen. But he can give her something else; some semblance of the powerlessness she craves.

“Good,” he says and gives his voice a stern lilt. “Boys!”

Greg lowers the water glass he’s been drinking from, and Blaise turns his head to face Draco. Even Theo slows his thrusts, sweat dripping down his nose, his expression pinched from concentration.

“How many cocks can our precious little slut take, what do you think?”

“Five,” comes Greg’s immediate answer.

Blaise snorts. “We’re only four, you complete idiot.”

“Um… not if we use another toy,” Greg shoots back, grinning.

“I say three,” Blaise says calmly. “And Draco said cocks, so we can’t use a toy.”

Greg shrugs but doesn’t amend his guess.

Theo breathes heavily through the snaps of his hips. He attempts a steady rhythm, though it’s faltering. “Two,” he wheezes.

Draco grins.

“I think our lovely slut can take four,” he says and strokes Hermione's cheek. She nuzzles into his hand.

“What’s our wager?” asks Blaise, his clever eyes lingering on Draco’s face.

Draco doesn’t react. His Occlumency serves him well.

“Winner gets the last shag,” he responds casually.

Blaise smirks. “All right.”

Panting heavily, Theo pulls out of Granger, and they rearrange.

Draco directs Greg to sit on the sofa and Granger climbs onto his lap. All the juices have made her so wet, all the orgasms so swollen, he slides into her back passage with ease. Still, she moans like it’s the best thing ever when his thick length settles within her.

One.

Next is Blaise. He’s not only tall but also long and therefore perfect for what Draco has in mind. He’s the first to slide into Granger’s pussy, standing up.

Two.

A shiver travels down Granger’s body, leaving her nipples hard and the blush on her chest turning a darker shade of pink. Her breathing comes shaky and laboured, but controlled. Draco knows she has a hard time not exploding.

“How does that feel, angel?” he says and strokes her chin, lifting her head.

“P—perfect,” she says and whimpers as Blaise shifts, pulling her thighs up and forward to get him—them—settled.

Next is Theo. Fisting his cock, he climbs onto the chaise and leans against the backrest—the perfect height to feed Granger his cock. She sucks it greedily, while Blaise grips her thighs tightly so they don’t topple.

Three.

Now, Draco knows, comes his coup de grâce. He’s certain it’ll work, but it will be, well, a tight fit.

Moving onto the chaise on her other side, Draco stands and, holding onto the backrest, slowly positions himself over her. He then lowers himself into a squatting position, his hands caressing Granger as he does, from her neck down her tits to her stomach.

Even like this, three dicks full, she’s a stunner. He has no idea how she does it. The strips of black lace framing her thighs and her midriff, as well as her stockings, give her the air of innocence. It’s ridiculous, he knows that. Dried cum has painted patterns on her skin, and it’s discoloured her garments. And yet, whenever Draco looks at her, there’s something angelic about her.

“Are you ready for my cock, angel,” he husks. “Are you ready to be stuffed completely full and used for your masters’ pleasure?”

A shudder quakes from her shoulders to her toes as she responds, “Yes, Master Malfoy.”

Chapter Text

Four.

Hermione manages to keep four cocks inside of her.

She can see their outline as they’re moving inside her. Or perhaps that’s her mind playing tricks on her. Because it’s all so intense, her brain short circuits, rendering her memory a haze.

She distinctly remembers the sensation of her body seizing and shuddering and bursting all at once. One orgasm after another rattling through her body, rendering her a quaking mess. She’s had brilliant orgasms before. But this—it’s different. It’s like the tiniest explosions detonating under her skin; destroying a dam that was holding back a secret pleasure tethered to the scraps of control she was clinging to. But when she let go, the dam bursts, and the purest pleasure drowns her mind and body in a never-ending stream that feels like it’s going on for hours.

Or perhaps minutes. She can’t tell.

The only thought that remains sharp and present is this:

Draco did this for you.

Her heart swells at the very thought.

The way he touches her, the way he holds her, the way he kisses her—it’s pure reverence.

She’s always sort of known. It was a suspicion sitting at the back of her head, held back by her constant insistence that “this is just sex”.

But it’s not.

It’s love. At least for her, it is, and she’s had time to come to terms with it.

Now she needs to know what it is for him, and in that regard, today provided conclusive evidence.

Yes, Hermione loves being shagged silly. She’s enjoyed being slave to four cocks at once. The real reason behind her request, however, was to observe Draco. Does he treat her differently when there are others? Do his touches feel—distinct? He keeps his cards always so close to his chest that she needs him to show his hand.

And show he did.

Hermione’s skin is buzzing from the way he made her look at him, only him, when she is being shagged. No matter the other three, he dominates her. He inserts himself. He possesses her mouth and her mind while the others only have her body.

As her skin tingles from the cum drying on her skin, her limbs aching, and her sinus throbbing from being handled and used, all her attention is directed at Draco.

Draco who lets a grinning Goyle push the magical dildo into her cunt so all that cream doesn’t leak out, distending her stomach. Let’s Blaise take a long look at her lying on the chaise, looking a used and complete mess, no doubt for the pleasure of his Pensieve later. He even permits Theo to make some crude jokes about her preference for pure-blood cocks.

She notices a slight curl of his lip, but otherwise, Draco remains the perfect host. He serves them drinks and petits fours and offers the services of his house-elves to get rid of those pesky stains on their trousers. They joke and guffaw, and Draco does, too, and as they settle in the sitting area on the other side of the room, and Draco stands to fetch the Firewhisky, it happens.

He hits them with four rapid stunning spells.

Draco lets them lie there, incapacitated and mum, and walks over to her. He caresses her all over, kisses her softly, and looks deep into her eyes as he says, “I gave you what you wanted, but I’m not letting them retain their memory.”

Warmth bursts from her heart and floods her body. Hermione’s never felt so light. Though she can barely feel some parts of her body, her stomach flutters so wildly it makes her want to jump up and dance through the room.

Draco considers her with a worried expression.

He doesn’t have to be—and neither does she.

She pulls his face down for another tender kiss, pouring all her bottled-up feelings into it. When they separate, Draco’s face is wonderfully flushed.

“You’re not cross with me, then?” he asks, his eyes searching her face eagerly.

Hermione exhales, the lightness in her body giving her the power to do unthinkable things.

Accio Veritaserum,” she whispers into the quiet of the room.

Draco’s eyes widen as a tiny bottle with a silvery liquid zooms out of Draco’s bedroom where she’s hidden it.

“I’m not,” she says. “But it’s time we stopped lying to ourselves.”

Hermione tries to breathe calmly, as she uncorks the vial, imbibes a few drops and then offers it to him.

Draco blinks. Then, his eyes gradually light up in understanding. “It’s not just sex, is it?” He eagerly grabs the vial and downs the rest of its contents, enough to last a full 24 hours.

Lightness bursts in her chest like a supernova, and she has to kiss him again.

Chapter Text

Hermione didn’t think that more sex with Draco was possible—since that day though, they can’t seem to stop.

A conspiratorial glance exchanged in the lift, a secret smirk as he passes her office, an irrationally impractical dragonhide uniform—it’s all enough to get her wet and dizzy with desire.

Today, Draco has managed all of the above. For her own sanity, Hermione has to hunt him down and drag him into a broom closet next to courtroom six.

He grins like the cat that got the cream as she slides down his body, her hands greedily skirting his torso, lingering on his firm stomach, pressing lower. His bulge is impressive and ridiculously alluring wrapped into all that dragonskin.

Draco in dragonhide pants—for some reason, the very idea drives her mad. It’s nothing like him at all, and yet… and yet.

Her mouth waters.

Perhaps it was careless to admit to that fantasy of hers. But that’s Veritaserum for you. At least, she managed to retain a handful of Draco’s secrets in return.

She unbuttons his trousers with nimble fingers and wrangles his cock out of his pants. She glances up at him to see him watching her with breathless attention.

Good.

“You’re such a naughty girl, Granger,” he whispers, even though they’ve applied several charms to their hiding-place. “My naughty girl.” He strokes her hair, caresses her cheek, and Hermione is tempted to give in to his touches. She catches herself just in time. Right now, she needs to ruin him.

How dare he distract her from work.

If he wants to play dirty, so can she.

In one swift movement, she pulls down her top and her bra, her tits bouncing free.

Above her, Draco exhales sharply. Hermione smiles, pleased to exploit his weaknesses just as he does hers. She starts by sucking him slowly, her tongue tracing the length of him, the way he’s sculpted, maps his ridges and crevices, lingers on the spot beneath his head that makes his breath come short and laboured. Her nipples pebble in the draughty air and because she, too, is buzzing with lust. When he’s nice and slick, she lets him slip from her lips. He bounces heavily against his leather-clad stomach. Hermione admires the view; his twitching cock against the material. Her cunt clenches around nothing, and for a moment, she considers a simple shag to pacify her throbbing core.

But that won’t do.

She pushes her tits together and goes to work, eager to get his cream. Draco’s pants fill the room as Hermione uses all her tricks, doing it hard, doing it soft, licking him while she’s fucking him with her breasts, slow and quick, nice and messy… but it’s only when she looks up at him, his thick length sliding between her pushed together flesh, his ravenous expression lingering on her face that he tips over the edge.

Hermione manages to catch most of his cum with her mouth. Not all though. A few heavy spurts leak onto her breasts, running down to her nipples.

Before Hermione can wipe it away, Draco hauls her to her feet and kisses her deeply. He spins her around and pushes her back against the wall of the tiny room, his cock hanging soft between them, his hands sliding up her torso and over her tits like they can’t get enough. When his fingertips find her nipples, he rubs them in circles, tweaking them, spreading his cum all over her exposed flesh.

“Draco!” Hermione chastises him, breathless.

“Hermione.” He says it so much reverence, she finds it hard to stay cross.

She sighs at his childish behaviour. “I’m not your property, you know.”

“Not yet, you aren’t,” he retorts and smirks at her.

Her well-placed stinging hex causes him a swelling of a kind that is much less pleasurable than the one before.

Secretly though, when Draco’s busy righting his appearance, Hermione takes care to not wipe his semen away. With her buttoned-up blouse and unwrinkled skirt, she’s restored her picture-perfect image of professionalism. Nobody has an inkling that, underneath those layers, the proper Junior Minister Hermione Granger is Auror Malfoy’s naughty, naughty girl.

Chapter Text

Fridays are for friends, and Hermione lives by that religiously, even though it’s got a bit trickier to maintain recently—what with Draco occupying virtually all her available hours. He voices his displeasure in a way that’s purely Draco: by shagging her so hard each time before she leaves that his seed is lodged deep within her when she sips her elven wine, chatting with Ginny—a spillage restricted by a mere Stasis Charm.

Today, Friday, Hermione is finally ready to leave for the pub (Draco’s had his way with her already). She asks him to join her, as she does every week. His response is pure sarcasm: only if she returns to their Saturday dinner at the Manor. Hermione hasn’t been since his parents have settled back in England. She knows how they despise her, so she laughs.

Draco Accio’s his cigarette case. It’s silver, engraved with his initials, and Hermione hates it because smoking kills. She can’t understand why he’s taken it up again.

“Alright,” he says and shrugs. “I’ll see you later then, I suppose.”

The quick peck on the cheek escalates into a full snog, and Hermione arrives 5 minutes late.

Halfway into her fourth glass of wine, Ron explodes, “Oi! Isn’t that Malfoy?”

Indeed, the blond bloke dressed in all black dragonhide over at the bar, smoking a fag, and looking just like the wizarding reincarnation of Billy Idol is Draco.

“Ah!” says Ginny and waggles her eyebrows at Harry. “Fancy that.”

Harry squints at him. “What in the world is he wearing?”

“Dragon leather,” Ron says, frowning. “He almost reminds me of—” he takes a sip from his pint, his face scrunched up in thinking. “Nah,” he says finally and shakes his head, disputing himself.

“No, you’re right,” says Harry. “That’s exactly who he looks like.”

“Who?” asks Hermione impatiently, not getting the reference.

“Sirius,” say Ron and Harry in unison.

Hermione blinks, taking another glance at him.

A certain similarity can’t be denied, they are cousins, after all—but in her mind, Draco looks nothing like Sirius. Draco is blond and refined. Sirius was somehow... raw and perpetually on edge. “I don’t see it.”

“Hm... That’s odd,” says Ginny.

There’s something in her tone that sets Hermione on edge. Her expression is that of a sphinx: dangerous and knowing. Hermione’s stomach twists.

“Perhaps you need a closer look? What do you say, Hermione?”

“No, Ginny, I—”

“Oi! Malfoy!” Ginny shouts through the entire pub that even the noisy weekend crowd notices. “Why don’t you come join us.”

And despite his weekly protestations, Draco does.

He pulls out the chair next to Hermione.

“Cheers,” he says and toasts them with his firewhisky. “I hope you don’t mind that I smoke?”

Before Hermione can get a word in, Ron says, “Not at all.” He’s already eagerly eyeing Draco’s stash.

“Fantastic. Not allowed to smoke at home, you see,” he explains without looking at Hermione.

She doesn’t see why he wouldn’t smoke at the Manor if he’s so bothered by her rules.

“It does kill,” she replies.

“Oh, let the poor bloke live,” Ginny says. “I bet Malfoy has enough rules to live by at home.”

“Cheers,” says Draco, pretending as though he's not allowed to do whatever he bloody likes in Wiltshire.

Hermione purses her lips, rather disappointed that her friends are undermining her rules.

“Oh, lighten up, Granger,” Malfoy says. It's the first time he’s addressed her. He twists to face her, looking her over.

Hermione feels his gaze hot on her body, and she blinks, trying to convey to him that he ought to stop because he’s being transparent. He’s wearing a curious expression, as though he’s waiting for her to say something.

Perhaps she’s being too transparent, too. Everyone who knows her is aware of her no-smoking rule. Making Draco stop right now would give away how well they know each other.

“Alright,” she says, biting her lip.

Surprised, Draco blinks once, twice. Then, he catches himself and smirks. “It seems, the Junior Minister can let her hair down, after all?”

And then he breathes a lung-full of smoke into Hermione’s face.

She’s so shocked, she seems to have swallowed her tongue.

Draco smirks and sips his drink, watching her, while she sits there, thunder-struck. A million ideas on how to retaliate shoot through her mind—but they’re all derailed by the simple, incredible, undeniable fact that she’s so bloody wet.

It’s pathetic.

It’s Pavlovian. There’s just something about his bad-boy persona, the way he’s clearly here to taunt her into doing something—though she’s not entirely clear what—is infuriatingly arousing.

Hermione is still caught in an internal debate whether to hex him or drag him into the toilets for a quick shag—when Harry gives an awkward cough. She realises she’s been staring at Draco, and he at her, and they have at them.

“Do that again,” Hermione presses out between clenched teeth in a tone that completely masks her desire, “and I will smack you like in third year.”

Draco smirks. “I’d like to see you try, Granger.”

Chapter Text

Hermione awoke from her own screams.

Her body, her face, everything was drenched.

And she felt cold.

So, so cold.

A pair of strong, familiar arms wrapped around her, and that’s when she noted she was shaking like a leaf.

Draco was cradling her, his hands stroking her back, his voice soft and soothing as he made shushing noises.

As her heartbeat slowed from a frantic gallop to a measured thump-thump, thump-thump, Hermione realised, she was sobbing.

It was always the same dream: Bellatrix towering over her, a manic glint in her eyes, the knife pressed to her throat, digging into her skin, slowly etching down her larynx, digging deeper, threatening to protrude into the space where blood and oxygen were keeping her alive…

Draco held her close while she wept silently into his shoulder. His presence was soothing like a blanket, his hands rubbing circles over her back, humming. Even though Hermione was so exhausted she was barely able to feel anything else, she was flooded with gratitude that he didn’t make her talk.

She just wanted to stay like this and feel safe.

With thoughts of Draco and how good his presence felt, safe and secure, she fell asleep.

*

“I want to try something, Granger.”

“Oh?”

Hermione twists towards Draco who’s lying in the bed next to her. He’s put down the copy of Venus In Furs he’s been reading. He looks thoughtful and a little hesitant.

“I want to you to—” He licks his lips; he’s nervous. “—to cut me.”

“Cut you?” she repeats, having trouble following his line of thought.

“With a knife. For pleasure.”

“Pleasure?” This time she echoes his words even though she’s understood him perfectly; that’s how absurd it is. “But—why?”

She searches his face for answers because this idea seems to go a little far for his taste.

It’s not that she’s against it. It’s certainly not more… disturbing than what she’d approached him with. It’s just… considering what they went through…

“Is it about the pain?” she asks now worried. He has self-worth issues she’s wary of amplifying. “Do you want to be hurt?”

Draco takes her hand and looks deep into her eyes. “I want you to draw blood,” he says, and his voice is clear and deadly serious. “And I want you to do it while you fuck me.”

All thought vacates her mind, which leaves her rather dizzy.

When she doesn’t say a single thing for a few long moments, he adds with emphasis, “I want to do this. For you.”

“That’s—” Hermione has trouble finding the right words because she’s rather speechless. “Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

“No,” he says simply. “I want—I need you to draw blood. I want you to etch your name into my body while you fuck me. The worst people have left their marks. Now, I want you to be the one to alter me forever.”

“Forever,” Hermione repeats, her breath coming short.

“Yes,” he says, and his gaze is as grey as steel. “I want you to leave a mark, Granger.”

Chapter Text

Draco watches her dance through the crowd of high-ranking Ministry officials. It’s the waltz of Wizarding politics: shaking hands here, exchanging a word there.

He has no idea how she does it, but Granger manages to charm even the most boring bureaucrat into a decent conversation.

And what a vision she is as she does.

The dark Muggle-style dress she wears showcasing her heritage (and also her elegant back) is a true sight to behold. She glitters light a starry night.

He has half a mind to whisk her away and shag her in his office—if he wasn’t awfully cross with her.

Granger hasn’t spoken to him for five days together. It’s the longest they’ve gone without talking in—Draco has a hard time recalling when they’d last gone more than three days without at least an owl exchanged. His last undercover mission perhaps, when he got injured. But that was only three days plus half a day in hospital.

Initially, Draco didn’t think much of it. They are both busy and important, and he’s also aware that Granger’s part of the committee in charge of tonight’s function. He can’t help but think, however, that just a while ago, he’s all but proposed to her. She knows he’s serious about them, and she has yet to respond in kind.

He continues watching her with eagle eyes. Like he always does; from afar and without anyone the wiser, while she never even spares him a glance.

The irritating timbre of discontent starts whispering nasty things into his ear.

She doesn’t want you.

You’re not worth it.

No.

Swiftly disillusioning himself, Draco moves out of the crowd. From the other side of the room, he does what he does best. He’s an Auror. He’s trained to find out the truth, so he observes her, ignoring the pain of rejection poisoning his blood.

After a while, he notes that Granger’s circling the room. She completes two laps before she starts craning her neck in the middle of her conversations, becoming more and more distracted.

So she is looking for him.

But why ignore him, then?

He remains where he is for another twenty minutes during which Granger grows increasingly more nervous.

Rejection is mixing with annoyance. Why is she avoiding him if she’s clearly eager to know him near?

Another ten minutes pass in which her calm and collected facade all but crumbled before she abruptly turns on her heels and marches out of the room.

Draco follows her all the way to his office where he hears her calling for him.

“I’m here,” he answers, cancelling the Invisibility Charm. His voice is hard, laced with hurt and even a bit of anger. He can’t help it, and he wants her to know.

Her eyes flow wide. The briefest expression of relief is almost immediately chased away by a deep frown.

“Oh.” She exhales. “I thought you’d—”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Gone,” she finishes in a small voice.

She’s wringing her hands. She’s nervous.

Something coils in his stomach. It’s something ugly and horrid. Like a terrible snake gnawing at his intestines.

“Out with it,” he says. He hardly recognises his voice, hard and cutting as it is. He’s preparing himself for the inevitable blow, so he fixes his gaze on her shoes.

Her fucking glorious shoes. It’s the black ones with the red soles.

Fuck.

He’ll never survive this.

He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes.

She, too, inhales deeply.

The snake within him rears its head, preparing to strike.

“I know I’ve been distant these past few days,” she begins. Her voice is tiny and fragile and the terribleness within him withers despite himself. “But something’s happened that forced me to face some hard truths.”

She sounds desperately sad.

He snaps his head up, fixing her with a stare. “What’s happened.”

He closes the distance between them so quickly, he has no chance of not doing it. And now, he’s gripping her shoulders tightly, searching her eyes. “Granger. Are you alright?”

She pinches her eyes close. “Yes, I am but— for a few days, I thought…”

The voice catches in her throat and another shudder of a breath rattles through her. Draco thinks his heart might gallop straight out of his chest.

“I thought I was pregnant.”

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

With child.

The word hits him like a Bludger. Stars dance before his eyes, and through the haze in his brain, he sees a small blond boy with tiny curls zooming on his toy broom in zigzags between mother’s rose bushes. Granger’s standing there as well, her trill of laughter filling the air like music.

“But I’m not.”

Abruptly, the happy ringing in his head stops.

It’s like a cold shower has jerked him back into the cold, brutal reality.

Granger is not pregnant.

She’s not carrying his child.

But—he wants her to be.

Fuck.

He wants her to carry his heir.

And she—doesn’t?

She’s unhappy?

Despite the hollowness expanding in his chest, Draco wraps her into his arms, holding her tight. His heart thumps back into action when she, too, folds her arms around him.

“Are you okay?”

“I am.” She’s still whispering. “But I realised I’m not ready to have children.”

Draco swallows.

No ready for children. Not yet.

Not yet doesn’t mean never.

He can live with that.

But he can’t live with—

“And you were ignoring me because..?”

“Well…” She steps out of his embrace and addresses the desk closest to them, wringing her hands again. “I needed to make up my own mind, didn’t I? I needed to be sure.”

“Sure about what? A spell confirms a pregnancy in half a minute or less!”

“Whether I’d be ready to keep it, obviously!”

“Shouldn’t you talk to me about that sort of thing?” Draco retorts, getting angry.

“No!” she fires back at him, her eyes flaming with passion. “This is my body, and I’m the one who gets to decide what happens with it!”

“Well, obviously!” Draco shouts back, the bottled-up emotions finally exploding out of him. “But I told you ‘forever’. I want to go out with you, Granger! That means I want to be part of your life. Not just a convenient shag! Forever’s supposed to mean that I’m there for you when you’re—oh, I don’t know… in a difficult situation. I want to be your partner, for Merlin’s sake! Not the dirty little secret you keep hidden from your friends! ”

Granger stares at him in complete shock as he tries to get his breathing back under control.

Then, everything goes very quickly. Their lips collide in a fierce, dangerous kiss. Draco sucks her tongue as she drags his robes from his body. He takes her dress in both hands and rips it in half, peeling her beautiful body out of it. Soon, he has her splayed on someone’s desk in the far corner of the room. Granger wards the office against intruders and noise before as he plunges two fingers into her cunt.

She’s soft, hot, and dripping.

“Merlin, I’ve missed this.” It’s the prayer he says over and over again as he fucks her with his hand, drags his fingertips against her walls, Granger twisting her own nipples as she’s writhing on a punch of parchments, moaning.

“I’m still fucking angry with you,” he hisses and she whimpers.

Her desire runs in thick globs down to his knuckles, making everything sticky, and he loves it.

“Promise me not to run away again,” he presses out between clenched teeth, pumping his finger in and out at every syllable.

“Promise me that you let me help you.”

The walls of her cunt flutter around his fingers as she whimpers, “I promise.”

“Promise me you’ll tell your friends about us,” he chants and increases the pace.

“Oh, dear god, yeeees!” she shouts, and Draco feels her walls seizing around him.

He yanks out his fingers, and Granger whimpers at the loss.

“No, I need you, Draco!”

He pushed his fingers slick with her cream into her mouth. Granger moans like the beautiful slut that she is as she sucks her own juices, her tongue caressing his fingers.

His cock twitches eagerly.

“Yeah, you bloody well need me!”

He shoves his tailored trousers to his knees and whips out his cock. He’s hard, he’s throbbing, and he’s desperate to show her what she’s been missing.

Her eyes are wide and greedy as she watches him give a few strokes. Pushing his glans against her puffy lips, almost as red and swollen as her painted and well-snogged lips, she gives another mewl.

“Please, Draco.”

A shuddering breath escapes him, and he almost gives in. He catches himself at the last second.

“Promise me, Granger. Look into my eyes, and promise me you’ll take us seriously.”

Her eyes snap up from where they were fixed on his length hovering at her entrance, to his face.

She licks her lips, and Draco can see that she wants it badly. But he needs this; needs to hear her say it loud and clear.

Granger blinks a few times as if to clear her mind. Then, she says, “Draco Malfoy, will you accompany me to the Leaky on Friday? As my boyfriend.”

Granger’s breath catches in her throat while Draco can’t help but stare at her, luxuriating in the words he’s been aching to hear.

He closes his eyes and licks his lips. When he opens them again, he concentrates hard—watching her face as he does—and slowly, so slowly, he pushes in.

“Yeees!” he moans, and Granger does, too.

Chapter Text

It’s been days since the function, and still, Draco can’t stop thinking about Granger, pregnant. Can’t stop thinking about her swollen with his child, naked in his bed. About her heavy, beautiful tits bursting with milk.

He starts salivating.

His cock grows and stiffens beneath his blanket, and he’s throbbing.

He twists and turns in his bed, but the image of Granger riding his cock, pushing her breasts against his face won’t leave him in peace.

His hand sneaks underneath the covers and relieves the pressure with a few pumps. There’s some moisture, a little bit of precum, and he spreads it around his cockhead with his thumb.

In his mind, Granger’s playing with her nipples as she grinds on his cock, holding with her other hand onto one of the columns of his four-poster for balance. He can see how much she wants it. She always wants it, but pregnant Granger is a greedy witch ready to go at any given moment. Her cunt is rose-red and glistening in the candlelight as she rotates her hips on him, her juices, thick and creamy, running down his length and dripping onto his bollocks.

She’s a goddess.

It’s nothing new. But pregnant Granger has the glow of life-force; of elemental magic. Her face is radiant with the knowledge of the secret of life. He wants to worship her; touch every inch of her sacred body and show her the depth of his adulation. He pulls her close and buries his face into her ample breast. Lust spikes through his body as she smothers him with her flesh, muffling his moans. Draco licks her skin, touches her everywhere while searching for her nipples.

There they are, stiff and ripe, and his eager lips close around them and suck. His cock throbs as he does and Granger moans, her head falling back because she can’t help but shudder as a stream of sweet liquid pours into his waiting mouth.

Draco sucks greedily, his tongue toying with her hardened nubs as he does, and Granger loses her mind. She ruts against him, the rhythm of her hips faltering because, like him, she’s drowning in the sensation that they were made for each other. This primal dance, it’s theirs, and it can’t be stopped. Her movements grow erratic and volatile as she loses control; loses control of her voice, too, because she’s moaning complete nonsense in his ear, while Draco can’t help but keep sucking.

Her cunt flutters around his cock, and Draco groans around her nipple, a desperate noise so he won’t embarrass himself by coming too early.

He wants her to keep fucking her.

He wants to keep sucking her.

He wants this never to stop.

But as he keeps doing what he’s doing, the more her pussy clenches around him; tight like a vice, she’s gripping him—until a long, desperate shudder escapes her; a shudder that runs through the length of body and bursts out in an orgasm. It erupts wet and sticky against his balls.

Draco licks his dry lips. He can almost taste the sweetness of her milk on his tongue as he gives himself a few last pumps with sticky, cum-stained fingers, luxuriating in the fleeting vestiges of a fantasy that’s still far, too far away.

Chapter Text

Granger’s period arrives a week late. Still, he’s never seen her so happy. Draco’s less enthused, though he will admit that wanting Granger pregnant isn’t as much of a thrill when she’s totally miserable at the mere thought of it.

At least, it’s Friday. While he’s not exactly giddy about spending time with Weasley and Potter in any shape or form, it’s the symbolism that counts. He’s Granger’s… boyfriend now, and that’s certainly something to be excited about, even if that means more time spent with insufferable Gryffindors.

To his surprise, the evening’s not a complete disaster. When he and Granger return to her flat, she’s happier than he’s seen her in a long time.

“That wasn’t half terrible, was it?” he asks, secretly anxious for her judgement.

“It was alright,” she responds and smiles at him.

Draco helps her out of her coat and hangs it alongside his into the cupboard under the stairs. It’s one of the tiny routines they’ve built. He then follows Granger into the sitting room. It’s not too small with a large bay window that lets in lots of light during the day. At night, Granger prefers to close the curtains because “she doesn’t want the neighbours watching.”

Not tonight though.

Tonight Granger’s standing at the window, looking outside where the yellow glow of the streetlamps illuminate the inky darkness of the night.

At the sound of his footfalls, she turns around to face him. “Cat’s out of the bag now.”

Draco swallows, unsure what will happen next. You never know with her.

So he just nods.

“Looking back, I’m wondering why we ever kept this a secret to begin with.”

Slowly, she walks toward him, shedding her cardigan as she does, revealing the simple olive-coloured neck halter dress she wore tonight. It’s an excellent dress, delineating her curves and shaping her contours in a way that leaves him desperate to rip it right off and see what’s underneath.

Even though he’s the one attracted to her; she’s the huntress. She’s a tigress on the prowl. Dangerous and sexy. And if he isn’t careful, she’ll go in for the kill.

“It’s—” Draco swallows again because he has trouble thinking straight with all the blood rushing down to his awakened cock.

“Yes?” she husks, putting her arms around his neck, her fingers sliding through his hair.

“—because you asked me to,” he manages, before his mind-power focuses on the way her other hand is sliding purposefully down his body, her fingers building a delightful pressure that stokes this need for her that’s become almost second nature.

“Ahhh,” Granger says. Her hand has reached his belly, and still, it travels lower until she’s there. “Yes, you’re right, I did make you promise, didn’t I?” And she squeezes his erection through his trousers. “But only because you’re so cocky.”

Draco can barely muffle his moan, but it gets harder and harder to hold back as Granger starts properly wanking him through his trousers. He kisses her to keep some semblance of control. He also needs a distraction. The way he tastes her greedily, lips her lips, her tongue, sucks her own gasps out of her is the only way he can keep himself from betraying that he’s completely whipped.

Granger doesn’t let up though. She’s far too good at this, even with their clothes still on and the curtains undrawn. When she gives him a particularly great squeeze that would usually tell Draco to rip off all her clothes and shag her against the next available surface, Draco barely manages to stifle another moan—when it dawns on him that he doesn’t have to keep this hidden any longer.

At the realisation held-back desire burst throughout his body, shredding every last instance of self-control he's built.

He grabs her by the shoulders and spins her around so she’s facing the windows. He pulls her closer, her hips connecting with his groin. Granger gasps, half from surprise, half from arousal, but as soon as she realises what he’s doing, she’s giving in to it, twisting her hands into his hair, pulling his face down to her neck. Draco sucks at her nape, placing open-mouthed kisses against her skin as he pulls her even tighter against his front because he’s desperate to get as much of her as he can. Granger does the same. She grinds her bum against his cock, eager to repay the favour or perhaps to egg him on to go further. Draco’s moans grow desperate, not only from the way her delicious arse rubs against him, which is all kinds of wonderful. Also because she does it in full view of the street. His left hand snakes underneath her dress to find her nipple hard and waiting to be teased. He starts with light, gentle touches which never fail to drive her mad, while rubbing almost soothing circles into her buttocks, her hips, her thighs.

“Don’t be a prat,” Granger breathes and impatiently rocks against his cock in a way that makes Draco want to vanish her knickers and pull her onto his hard, throbbing cock, neighbours be damned. “You know what I want.”

He twists Granger’s nipple a little harder, and she lets out a needy gasp. “Don’t tempt me, witch.”

“Why not,” she husks and leans forward thereby pushing her pert, delicious bum against him that has tiny fireworks explode inside his brain.

“You’re playing with fire, angel. You’re being very naughty. And you know what I do when you’re being naughty.”

“And what is that?” asks Granger under her breath. She pushes her bum further back, gyrating her hips to rub his cock in a way that leaves him aching for more and makes him think of nothing else than more, harder, yes. Right that second, he thanks Merlin that his trousers are tailored from cloth so delicate, it’s almost as thin as Granger’s dress; a dress, which leaves him in no doubt about her state of arousal. Their clothes make for a thin barrier, barely keeping his throbbing cock away from her soaking wet cunt. But it’s still a barrier. And then there’s the fact that she’s bleeding…

“Are you in any pain?” he asks through the desire-addled haze fogging his brain. “Can I…” He breathes deeply because he doesn’t think he can not—

“Yes! Pleeease!” Granger gasps desperately.

In the blink of an eye, he’s hiked up her dress to yank down her knickers. They catch between her thighs, forcing her into an awkward position. Before she can struggle out of them, he vanishes them with a wave of his hand.

Granger’s protests drown in a gasp as he unbuttons his trousers just enough to pull out his cock. He rubs himself against the exposed flesh of her buttocks.

She sighs, increasing their friction, sliding back and forth to give him more, but never quite enough. Draco breaths heavily as he lines himself up with her.

Fuck.

She’s dripping. He’s so used to her body, he can feel it’s not all blood; the stickiness of her slick is clinging to his glans that’s rubbing back and forth between her pussy lips.

“Oh, god,” Granger exhales. “Please, Draco. I want you. ”

Her breath comes short and laboured, and Draco knows it’s not just because he’s about to shag her silly.

They’re on display. In their brightly lit sitting-room, they’re like actors on a stage, about to put on a show for all those in the dark outside, watching.

His hands slide around her body and under her dress to find her nipples still hard and waiting to be teased. Splaying his hands against her chest, he pulls her flush against himself.

Then, he finally slides home.

A gasp bursts forth between her lips, followed by a deep, needy moan. They never let up. Her sighs are joined by his, accompanied by the sounds of their sexes slapping against each other, only slightly muffled from the clothing still in the way. Draco feels drunk from the way Granger’s cunt feels hot and wet and impossibly tight around his cock; from the way he’s shagging her whilst dressed; but also from the possibility of being watched.

They’re no longer a secret. Her friends know that he and Granger are shagging, and soon enough everyone will know. Certainly, the neighbours now know, and he feels giddy with joy that Granger has stopped caring if they do. After months of secret shags, of sneaking around and hiding in the shadow of the night, the freedom of no longer looking over one’s shoulders when all he wants is to share his luck with everyone feels like the best thing in the world.

Draco pulls Granger tighter against his front, his fingers digging into her thighs, his hips grinding up and into her the way he likes, and Granger’s tone shifts. Her moans grow low, deep, more desperate, and the walls of her cunt start fluttering around him. He feels it coming, the impending explosion and as her cunt starts seizing, desire vibrates up his spine and shoot down again. He explodes into her with a shout, and as his orgasm rattles through him, from his head to his toes, he burrows into her, deeper the only thing on his mind.

Something is dripping onto Draco’s half-opened trousers. It might be cum, it might be her juices; perhaps even blood. He can’t be arsed enough to care. With a wave of his hand, he closes the curtains. It’s time to get his witch naked and cleaned up for round two.

Show’s over.