One for sorrow, two for mirth

'Why do you always carry your bag around? ' Draco asks instead of a greeting, when she enters their favourite library nook after classes. For two weeks since her confession, this has been their dating spot of sorts. 'What do you mean? I’m just back from classes, and all my stuff is there…' Proving her words, she sets her desk with parchment, quills, and books from the satchel. 'No, I get why you have it now, ' he starts defensively. 'It’s simply a thing I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while. You have it with you at all times. You- You came to the portrait with it. And you never even enchant it to be weightless, it’s just… I thought there was something to it.' Hermione flops on her chair and looks him in the eye. Draco is absolutely right. There is a certain reason. 'I-' She averts her eyes. The courage to tell him leaves her as swiftly as it appeared in the first place. 'Ugh. Sorry, Draco. I really need to work on the paper today.' He nods and shifts his attention to the book on his desk. Hermione studies his face, trying to guess if she offended him. And then it dawns on her. Draco has been steadily persistent about this bag matter since the first day they ran into each other in this library nook. He offered to watch after it, carry it for her, he made it weightless that evening at the portrait… Somehow he senses there is not just something to it, but an avalanche of everything she bottles up inside since the war. He tries to be there for her. 'While hunting for Horcruxes,’ she starts in a hoarse voice, and Draco raises his head at once. ‘I’ve always had a handbag on me, which I extended with an undetectable charm. I had everything we could have possibly needed there: clothes, supplies, potions… It has saved our lives many times. And after we won… I noticed that I take it with me everywhere, even to the shower at home. I couldn’t part with it for the whole summer. But right before returning to Hogwarts, I told myself it had to stop. That everything was over and this obsession to be prepared for any peril at any moment was… Ridiculous. So I left the handbag at home. It was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do — and that’s coming from a person who Obliviated her parents — but it had to be done, so that-' 'You Obliviated your parents? ' Draco interrupts, his eyes wide. 'Oh. I- Sorry, I sometimes forget you were- Damn. Sorry. Yes. I was so afraid that through them, Voldemort could try to gain some advantage over me… I worried for them and I wasn’t sure of my own determination, you know? If Voldemort got to them, would I be able to sacrifice them for the cause? They are only Muggles, against Voldemort or any of his stooges, they didn’t stand a chance…' She is not crying, but her voice starts to tremble. 'Granger…' Draco rises from the desk, flies up to her chair, and cradles her in his arms. 'I am so sorry you had to go through such pain.' She nestles against his neck and tries to breathe slowly. 'You know, I probably couldn’t hate you like Ron or at least Harry did, because I understand what you went through. Not only in theory. I can very well see myself giving up just for an illusion that I could save them…' She sobs after all. 'You didn’t. You didn’t, Granger. You’ve won. Because you are brilliant, and brave, and stronger than you know. Please, forget that I’ve ever asked about this sodding bag-' 'Right! The bag.' She perks up and gives a loud sniffle. 'The bag.' 'No, stop, you don’t have to. I think I’ve grasped the idea, you-' 'I want to tell you, Draco.’ He sits down on the floor against her legs and cups her hands in his. 'Sorry. Of course.' 'Well… Where was I? ' She chuckles nervously. 'So, I left my bag at home. But now and then, I would get sudden bouts of anxiety. The only thing that flooded my mind in those moments was an urge to reach for my bag and find there… Find something! So I started to drag this satchel everywhere. It doesn’t give me all the needed security, but it’s better than nothing… Feeling it weighing my shoulder down is reassuring. That is why I don’t make it weightless.' It’s easier to talk when she can squeeze his fingers and look into his eyes. For a person who has wasted years on talking about himself, Draco is a surprisingly good listener. Hermione squints suspiciously: 'How are you this keen to talk about such things now?' Draco scoffs and entwines their fingers tighter. 'Is it a bad thing? ' 'No. If anything, it’s too good of a thing. I’m just a bit shocked.' 'You see… At some point, I realised that the thing that ruined my family wasn’t Voldemort’s uprising or the pure-blood obsession. It was this. Our inability to talk and listen. We love each other — I can’t do anything about that, really, I adore Mother and I still love Father too, even though I am so mad at him — but we live like we don’t. We simply bottle everything up and don’t ever talk, doing everything we suppose would be for the better behind each other’s backs. If any of us would have just asked… Who knows, maybe we wouldn’t have fallen that hard in the end.' Hermione is at a loss for words, so she silently leans her forehead against his. 'I want to never repeat that mistake with you, ' he whispers. 'Let’s always talk, Granger.' She leans in closer and kisses him. 'Well, maybe not just talk.' So they kiss in the Library instead of doing homework. They kiss in a secluded alcove near the Great Hall instead of lunch. They kiss in the Common room when nobody is around. One day, they even manage to kiss right in Herbology class, behind a giant leaf of an Elephant-Ear Epipremnum. As Hermione has called them once, they are ninjas of kissing. But even the sneakiest of ninjas get caught sooner or later… It happens in a deserted corner of the Clock tower. They were initially going to climb all the way to the top to — quoting Draco — snog with a view, but in the end they just couldn’t wait. She is very much preoccupied with Draco’s assertive lips when someone clears their throat dramatically right behind her. They bounce back from one another. She is ready to see Filch, the famous puritan, or even McGonagall, but not… Joshua Pinescrew. 'Damn, Nazi, you’re petty! And a sicko! Forcing yourself on Granger for spilling that Amortentia is-' 'Back off, Pinescrew, and take your goons with you. Nobody is forcing me, so move along!' The lot of them — seven boys from different Houses — doesn’t move an inch, cackling quietly. Hermione gives a weary scoff. How sour this is: the only thing that makes them ditch the old ways and unite is their disgust for Draco… Pinescrew continues: 'I suspected. But I hoped even you wouldn’t stoop as low as knocking her up with Amortentia in retort! Or is it more than that? Did you crave for a hero’s woman that much? Why not hump the Weasley lass then? Too scared of Harry Potter? ' Hermione is so furious she has to clutch her skirt with all her might, otherwise she’d curse them really badly. So, they came to abuse Malfoy and not defend a damsel in distress? Unsurprising. But talking of Ginny, of herself — in her face, at that — as an object, a trophy! Blood is pumping in her ears rapidly. 'You, scumbag, ' Hermione croaks and reaches into her satchel. Her rage is so overpowering that she somehow manages a silent and wandless Accio and shows a small phial for all to see. 'See this? It’s an antidote for Amortentia. Slughorn gave it to me, you can go and ask him later, if you want.' She unstoppers the phial and downs its contents which happen to be so disgusting that her toes curl. 'Now listen to me, you ogres.' Her voice is a bit more high-pitched than she’d like it to be for a threatening speech. 'I could lecture you on how your sickening hatred is the very thing Voldemort played on and Harry fought. But none of you have a single brain cell to understand that, so I’ll save my breath and just say this: Draco Malfoy is a better wizard, a better lover, and an infinitely better person than any of you. And I’m in love with him. Now piss off.' She shoves the empty phial at Pinescrew and tugs Draco by his tie for a very slow, lewd, and ostentatious kiss. The ogres groan, curse, and make vomiting sounds, but eventually they leave. 'You said you love me,' Draco mutters the second she releases his lips. She nods and hides her face on his chest. This part of her outburst was unexpected. She tends to be careful with words, and confessing love after three weeks of dating is anything but careful. But for now… Everything she knows of love is applicable to Draco. 'I wasn’t going to spoil you with a confession this soon, but it’s true. I do.' 'Should I thank those morons then? ' 'Not in a million years! ' she barks, still mad at Pinescrew and others, but then adds with a smile: 'On the other hand, they’d lose it so hard if you do.' The same evening they decide, as if on cue, to occupy their favourite sofa at a notably earlier hour than usual. Everyone was already whispering at dinner, so there is no use in hiding anymore. Hermione nestles next to Draco, her head in his lap, and he is leisurely skimming his hand across her stomach. Both of them are busy reading, but every now and then Hermione glances carefully over her book. Those who are not openly disgusted try to avoid staring at them, but fail. Then comes the moment of truth: Ginny enters the room. Judging by how her eyes lock in on them the moment she bursts inside, someone told her and she ran to make sure of it herself. The look she gives Hermione makes her heart drop. It brims with loathing. Gin flashes her eyes at her and storms off to the bedroom without saying a word. Yes, Hermione should have talked to her first. She meant to talk to her when the time was right, but Pinescrew… Well, he kind of pinescrewed everything. She sighs and turns back to reading. Ginny will come around. She isn’t senseless. Hermione dazedly wakes up when she feels someone take the book from her hands. She must have dosed off at some point, still with her head resting in Draco’s lap. Now she is on a pillow. Someone covers her with a warm cloth. It smells of Draco. Must be his robe… Coated with his warmth and scent, Hermione is tempted to drift off again. She feels his lips planting a light kiss on her forehead. 'Sleep, bright girl,' he whispers, and to her own surprise, all the drowsiness vanishes like it was never there. This 'bright girl' of his makes her fluster profoundly. Afraid that he’ll notice, Hermione slips her arm from under the robe and draws him in for a kiss. Their lips meet. Draco is hesitant for a moment, but then he nips at her lip, finds her tongue with his, and the kiss quickly spirals out of control. He drops onto the sofa while she props herself up. They collide in ragged, hasty kisses, hot breaths brushing against one another’s skin. Hermione feels a knot twisting low in her stomach as Draco runs his hands down her spine. Maybe tonight they… He pulls back, gasping for air. 'We should stop if-' 'No. I want you,' she cuts him off, before he manages to gentleman his way out of this or she gets cold feet. Draco looks bewildered for a moment but then crashes his lips onto hers and pulls her close. A sudden touch of his fingers on her bare skin just above her waistband gives her chills. Maybe this time she finally… He topples her on her back and kisses along her neck as much as her collar lets him. When Hermione feels him hastily unfasten the top button of her blouse, her heart leaps into her throat. All of a sudden, he drops his forehead on her shoulder and freezes. 'No. I’m not stripping you in the middle of a common room, ' he croaks, panting heavily. They both sit up. Hermione dazedly thinks of how close they were to doing it right here. And also how tough love life is for Hogwarts' adolescent students. 'Come here,' Draco whispers, swaddling her in his robe, and before she realises what he is going to do, he sweeps her up from the sofa. 'I haven’t been a pariah for nothing.' Honestly, how could Hermione forget that Draco is the only student in school who lives alone. At the very beginning of the year, he was lodged with fellow ex-Slytherins, which ended as soon as they’d set his bed on fire. Then he was moved to a room with Third-years, but they started to invite Pinescrew with his gang on a regular basis. So, in the end, Draco got his very own bedroom with a tricky lock on the door. Being bullied has given him at least one privilege. Upon muttering a quick spell, he boots the door out of the way and drops her on the bed. Then he hastily kicks off his shoes and practically falls over her. His elbows perch on the pillow to either side of her head. Now there is no way to fall back even if she wants to. But she doesn’t. Her hands run over Draco’s shoulders and down his chest. Draco shivers and leans in, but doesn’t kiss her; he buries his face in her hair and takes a couple of deep breaths. 'Granger, it’s ridiculous, how much I want you, ' he mutters into her ear. She’s immediately dying to know how much. She bends her leg slightly in and presses against him, right between his legs. He is hard. She’s already felt him hard a couple of times when they snogged… with particular enthusiasm, but not like this. She slides her thigh gingerly along his cock and feels him jolt. 'Drat,' he croaks, still nuzzled in her hair. 'Sorry,' she whispers and lays her legs flat at once. He forces a scoff and finally shows his face again, all flustered. 'No. No, nothing is wrong.' He leans in and covers her neck with rushed, hot kisses. 'How- can such- a bright girl- do anything- wrong…' The words sound like a tease, but his thick whisper is so affectionate that Hermione melts. Something sweeps over her, like the first time he called her a bright girl. Something shameful but taunting. She presses her thigh back against his cock. He muffles a moan and props himself up, giving his fingers space to unbutton her blouse. As soon as he sees a new sliver of her naked skin behind each button, he plants a kiss there until he comes down all the way to the edge of her skirt. Then he glides back up to her face the same way. 'Your bra?' he pants, taking the blouse off completely. 'Yes, ' she arches her back to help him fight with the clasp. He opens it with a literal snap of his fingers. Hermione tries not to think just how many women he’s had if he can casually unclasp a bra with only two fingers. The thought crawls into her head against her will. She knows he had a thing with Pansy, but other than that… When his tongue lands on her breast, every thought of Pansy, bra-unclasping techniques, and Death Eater orgies she’s already started to imagine is washed away by arousal. She has enough experience in sex to know her weakest spot, and that’s her nipples. He brushes his tongue against one of them, his mouth wide open, his burning breaths tingling on her skin. It’s insane. She tries to arch her chest towards him. There is no way they’d stop now; she is his. She wants him with every cell of her body. Well, certain cells want him the most, though. Her legs are jittery, and she throws her hips up, trying and failing to press her clit against his cock, his thigh — anything would do! Her hands are all over him, tugging his hair, caressing his neck, running down his shoulder blades. It’s unfair that he is still dressed — she wants him naked against her. But right now she has no strength to undress him, to fight the tie, the buttons or the buckle on the belt. She is just desperate to come. Because he is absolutely tireless, licking, nipping, and fussing her breasts, which drives her mad. 'Draco,' she whimpers under her breath, and he slips his fingers under her skirt. His thumb sweeps between her legs, searching for that one right spot she begs him to find. And when he once again misses it, she loses her patience and guides him with her own hand. After that, it’s really a matter of five strokes. She fidgets, and curls her toes, and bites her lip, her breath caught in her throat, while he continues to caress her nipples and her clit until she goes still and limp under him. When Hermione comes around, he has already gotten rid of her skirt, knickers, and knee-socks. She is absolutely naked while all he lacks are shoes. 'Why are you still dressed?' she asks in a hoarse voice and sits up. It’s unfair, and now she’s finally going to fix this. 'I wasn’t sure how you’d like me to be,' he whispers, kissing her ear and hair while her restless fingers fight the buttons on his chest. She jerks the shirt off of him. 'What do you mean? Why would I want you dressed for sex?' He doesn’t answer, lowering his kisses to her shoulder. 'Draco?' 'Well, people have preferences,' he replies elusively. She squints. 'People?' The image of a Death Eater orgy comes back more vividly than before. 'Oh, Merlin, it was Pansy!' he yelps. 'Pansy liked me fully dressed, when… Gods. Do you really need me to elaborate on that?!' She goggles at him, and he gives a heavy sigh. 'I’ve never had sex undressed. Happy now?' He looks almost humiliated, which totally wasn’t her goal, so she blurts without thinking: 'I’ve never had sex at all!' Draco freezes. He blinks at her and even flaps his mouth. 'What?' Oh, why did she have to say that… Bedding a virgin is an endeavour. He would know if he was Pansy’s first. 'I am a virgin,' she whispers, cursing the stupid feeling of prickling tears in the corners of her eyes. 'Wait, you and Weasley haven’t… But…' 'It was too painful! ' she bursts out. 'We’ve tried, but I just couldn’t bear it! ' she hurries through the words, wishing for this torment to end as soon as possible. 'I know there should be pain, and of course this sounds ridiculous, given I’ve endured the ugliest Crucio session by Bellatrix, but…' she sighs. 'That had been about endurance in the name of all good things in this world. When it comes to two people being in love… I can’t grasp how one of them is supposed to feel pain, how that’s a given.' Draco leans in and kisses her on the forehead. 'We can ditch that ancient practice altogether if you wish,' he whispers in her ear. 'No,' she shakes her head and gingerly looks him in the eye. 'I really want that. I want something as intimate as that with you. Besides, until I conquer this, I’d feel flawed.' He bluntly grabs her by the shoulders and leans his forehead against hers. 'Granger. Listen to me. You are not flawed in any way. And the last thing you should consider a flaw is your delicacy… But if you honestly wish to get this over with, fine. I’ll wait until you’re ready, and we will try as many times as you need. Yes?' He is attentive and understanding, and he caresses her cheek so tenderly that Hermione eases up. 'I am ready now,' she states, but her voice trembles. 'Granger…' 'No, really, I am!' But he only shakes his head. 'Draco, please. Don’t leave me a sore loser.' He clearly wants to protest but then probably sees her pitiful face and kisses her. They collapse on the bed again, while she is fighting with his belt buckle. As soon as it gives in, Draco’s trousers, socks, and briefs are quickly sent to the floor. Hermione stares at his slender frame and lean muscles. He would be a perfect Greek statue if not for dozens of identical long and straight scars all over his arms, chest, and stomach. 'Was it your Father? ' she asks reluctantly, running her fingers along one of them. 'No. Probably Bellatrix…' Draco snorts. 'You honestly don’t know?' She gives him a startled look and then gasps. 'Harry? This, all of this, is left by a single Sectumsempra?' she whispers, aghast, and feels him shiver at the name of the spell. 'Yes. Your friend can be intense sometimes. I’ve almost died.' 'And the scars are…' She reaches and strokes his back to check her guess. 'Everywhere, yes. My back’s all wealed too. And my legs… I don’t know if he missed my face on purpose or not, but thank him for me.' He tries to turn it into a joke, but Hermione sees his eyes glaze over with horror. She cups his face and whispers: 'I am so sorry, Draco… And believe me, Harry is too, he didn’t know how deadly that curse was…' He rolls his eyes. 'It’s true. He was terrified that it could kill you.' 'No, I believe that, it’s just… I feel hugely uncomfortable talking about Potter while having a boner.' Hermione snorts and then bursts into laughter. She is still laughing when Draco starts kissing her shoulders and chest, which makes her gasp instead. They caress each other, and his bare skin feels infinitely more arousing. 'Pansy missed out so much, ' she says under her breath, unable to tear her hands off his hot and tendinous abdomen. This seems to unravel him most of all. He shivers and gasps non-stop, which helps her feel overwhelmingly wanted and because of that, somehow, powerful. All that makes the knot low in her stomach twist again. It’s fine. Draco will be careful. And she wants him. It’ll be fine. Yet, the moment he strokes her thigh, urging her to spread her legs further, every sliver of arousal dies out. All she feels is stiffness and fear. She shuts her eyes and begs herself to relax her muscles. Tensing up is illogical. She hates being illogical. 'You sure you’re ready? ' Draco is audibly worried. She feels him draw away a little and jerks her hand forward in an attempt to stop him, her fingertips landing on his leg. 'I won’t be readier than this anyway.' He catches her hand and… presses her palm to him. 'Maybe it’ll be easier for you if you angle it yourself.' Hermione feels embarrassed from holding his cock, scared of feeling pain again and guilty for being this lousy in bed. After all, Draco is not a virgin, surely he expects some level of… Something! She swallows the lump in her throat. If she hesitates further, he would hit the brakes, no doubt. 'Can you… Kiss me, while I-' She doesn’t get to finish — his lips are all over hers in a split second. And this helps. Her mind is distracted further and further from the ordeal of her deflowering. Busy returning his greedy kisses, she finally tightens her grip — which makes Draco shudder and take a sharp breath — and turns her pelvis upwards. This way she can push his cock inside steadily. Hermione manages to take him in a bit further than the head. It’s surprisingly painless and deep enough for Draco to take the reins back. 'Go on,' she urges him under her breath. He nods, kisses her once more, and then draws back to get a better angle. 'You’re so perfect, Granger,' he blurts out, gazing at her with an embarrassing look of pure awe. 'How can you be this beautiful?' It flusters her again — his praise that she doesn’t feel at all worthy of, yet he definitely isn’t lying. It’s liberating but at the same time… addictive. She wants to be even more perfect for Draco. She wants him to feel sheer pleasure because of her. She is ready and willing to bear pain for this. He starts to push further. Hermione shuts her eyes again. It’s not easy; she feels twinges of pain when he tries to thrust. She thought she was overflowing when he made her come, but apparently, even that hasn’t been wet enough. Finally, it starts to hurt. A sharp pain surges through her — and then nothing. Hermione opens her eyes. Draco isn’t there. It’s as if he’s vanished. She’d think he apparated mid-act if that was possible inside Hogwarts. She jumps up and reflexively covers herself with his robe, still spread underneath her. 'Draco? ' He is on the floor, hugging his knees, the moonlight making his white skin nearly translucent. 'I can’t,' he sobs under his breath. 'The moment you as much as slightly whimpered, my eyes immediately fell on… On your… On the scar my aunt left on you… And the next second — I hear you screaming in my head, I see you squirming with pain under her spell and… I just wish I could cease existing and bringing you pain.' Her heart sinks at the sight of him this broken. 'Draco, no… You’ll never hurt me.' 'I know I will!..' he lashes out, but then collects himself. 'I am not speaking of physical pain, of course. But you are no fool, Granger. You plan everything in your life and sometimes even in the lives of others. I am sure you’ve already thought of what awaits us as a coup- Uh, sodding Salazar! As a couple. My parents would hate you. I am not exaggerating, they’d hate you viciously. Can’t speak for yours, but I am positive they’ve heard a thing or two about an annoying flaxen-haired ferret bullying you at every corner. Potter and Weasley are going to literally detonate at the news — especially Weasley. His sister already looks at you as if you are braindead. Do you want all that? Do you want to lose your heartfelt Christmas feasts and little get-togethers with those dear to you only because a stupid potion has told you that we are meant to be? Ask yourself this. I’m sure you know the right answer already. You are a bright girl.' She wants to be aroused by these two words again, but he says them in such a desperate way that they sound like farewell. A cold ray of light catches tears still welling up in his eyes, nobly grey, almost silvery in a moonlit night. 'I am not losing anything, unless you plan to keep me in a tower like Rapunzel, ' Hermione starts, trying to find the right words. 'Sounds tempting, actually, ' he scoffs, probably trying — and failing — to mask a loud sob. 'And you almost have enough hair…' It’s ridiculous how persistently he tries to hide his feelings while literally crying before her eyes. 'I will visit the Burrow for holidays. I will dine with Harry, or Ron, or Ginny whenever our schedules let us. And I will never drag you there against your wish. As for the parents issue, mine would be delighted simply to know I am happy. And yours… Well, if your father would endeavour to refrain from straight-up insults, I’m willing to give this a try. Your mother seems to be quite doting, so maybe she’ll come to terms with our relationship in time…’ Draco stares past her with an unreadable expression. 'How are you so calm about this? Don’t tell me you’ve already thought all of it through.' She hasn’t. This… Whatever they have with Draco has started so unexpectedly that she kind of goes with the flow. 'I don’t need to think it through. I want us together. This is how it can work out.' He takes a ragged breath, trying very hard to stay composed, but snaps anyway. 'How can you say you want us together?! I haven’t courted you properly yet. We cannot even say yet if we are- You know- Sexually compatible. And you say it like our wedding is tomorrow!' Hermione hasn’t thought of a wedding with Draco Malfoy in any light. But it’s intriguing, now that he mentioned it. 'Oh, is it true that pure-bloods still invoke the handfasting in wedding ceremonies? ' She slides down to the floor next to him, still wrapped in his robe. Of course, they are in the middle of a serious conversation, but the subject of magical handfasting fascinates her. Draco raises his eyebrows in some sort of amusement. 'Yes, we do.' 'Can it be invoked to wed a Muggleborn? ' He is still taken aback by the sudden change of subject. 'Granger, we are not getting married in any near future.' It’s futile. A curious Hermione Granger is unstoppable. 'But if we were, would it-' 'I would make it happen if you wished so,' he interrupts and then smiles mischievously. 'Besides, it would make my Father absolutely furious, and I’d very much like that…' She snickers and caresses his cheek lightly. 'Me too, Draco. But more than that I’d like to make you happy. Come here.' She scoots even closer and wraps them both with the robe. His cool skin brushes against hers — still flushed. 'You’re so hot, ' he murmurs, and he absolutely meant that literally, but both of them blush up to their ears. Hermione chuckles. 'You are not half-bad yourself, ' she counters. Draco snorts and drags her mouth to his. His hands are on both her cheeks, squeezing them slightly. Which is a bit childish, but there is so much tenderness in this gesture that she doesn’t need to hear him say it: he loves her, and it’s palpable. The robe falls on the floor, and cold air runs down her spine in the wake of his touch. She huddles to him, nestled between his legs, but he’s still too far. There must be no air between them, not even a sliver, then it would be close enough for her. She climbs onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist, and it brings out so many sensations at once. His mouth on her throat. His fingers between her shoulder blades. His cock pressed right to her clit. Draco trembles in surprise, but he clearly likes it too. His hips bump up a little, and he slides against her. It’s so good, her breath catches. So good she tries to repeat it herself. She throws her hips up his length, gasps in pleasure and slides back down. She liked his hand against her clit, but his cock, hot, tender, slick with moisture leaking from them both, feels heavenly. She thrusts again. Then once more. And more. Faster, faster — she lets him go to brace her hands on the floor, and it gives her hold to thrust even sharper. Draco leans in and licks all over her breasts, which would drive her mad in any position, yet now, with her having a clear view of him equally lewd and enraptured, it peaks her arousal at dizzying speed. She comes, feeling his tongue on her breasts and the head of his cock against her pulsing clit. Her elbows buckle from the sudden release, and she’d fall if not for Draco’s hands on her back. He draws her in, and she hugs him with trembling arms. 'Granger.' His whisper is strained and ragged. He must be on the verge. 'Do you feel anything?' Hermione feels heaven. She feels they’ve been one, even if technically they have not. Her worries about the lack of conventional sex in her life now seem positively foolish to her. But now that he asks… She actually feels something. 'I’m in, ' he breathes out a ragged laugh and strokes her hair. He really is. It’s a bizarre and alien feeling, a hot, throbbing cock inside her. But it’s not unpleasant, and maybe this ancient practice even has potential. 'Draco, how did you-' she starts, but breaks into a silly chuckle mid-sentence. He just holds her tighter and snickers with her. 'Did it hurt? ' he asks, drawing back and looking her in the eye. It baffles Hermione how they can talk while he is inside her. She can only process this much. 'No. Yes? I don’t know, I was too busy coming from your cock.' She shrugs. His face turns red in a split second. 'Granger, ' he purrs and kisses her all over, wherever his lips can reach. 'This- Is the most- Horny- Thing- I’ve ever- Heard.' His kisses are hot, but at the same time tickly and she laughs. 'Am I not your bright girl anymore? ' she teases. Draco brands her lips with a deep kiss and breathes out: 'Oh, you are the brightest.' He nuzzles against her neck and starts thrusting, his moves hasty and uneven. It still feels alien and odd, peaking Hermione’s curiosity rather than arousal. But Draco — shivering, panting, clutching her and muttering raggedly how he loves her, how she is the most beautiful thing in the whole world, how her skin is divine and her hair is unruly and mesmerising, like herself — he is wickedly arousing. And when he comes, gasping for air, gripping her shoulders as if she might vanish, Hermione feels so happy and light and so in love with him that she could probably die if she wasn’t this determined to live. The rest of the night they spend either talking or fooling around, their hands and lips attempting to master the tricky subject of pleasure. Both of them are keen and capable learners, and even though treating sex as a science may be nerdy as hell, it works just right. So when the dawn comes, they are absolutely exhausted, but still too feverish to sleep. Both naked, they lay sprawled on his bed. A stubborn ray of morning sun bores through the heavy curtains and hits Hermione’s eyes. She turns away, squinting, and sees Draco right beside her. He is planting light tender kisses over the thin, crooked letters on her forearm, as if trying to smear this wretched word with his lips, erase it. She smiles. The most pure-blooded boy one can imagine is kissing a branded Mudblood with such care and adoration. Maybe the Wizarding World is not hopeless after all.