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Cool Hand Granger

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“What I’m saying is, there’s a technique to doing it standing up. I’m guessing most of these girls aren’t getting off.”

Hermione slipped her hands into her robe pockets as they turned the corner into the Transfiguration corridor. There was a draft located somewhere in the vicinity of the third window on the right, and the tips of her fingers were already cold.

It hadn’t taken them much more than their first two weeks of rounds as Head Girl and Head Boy to learn one another’s more obvious tells. Draco now sniffed, which meant he disagreed, but felt above the argument.

But it was Hermione, and as far as she was concerned, he was entirely unable to help himself.

“They certainly sound like they’re getting off,” he muttered.

Hermione laughed outright.

“What?” Draco looked affronted.

“Don’t be obtuse, Malfoy. I know you’re sexually active, you must be aware that girls are socialized to preserve the male ego during intercourse rather than clearly communicate their needs.”

“That’s a rather verbose way of saying that most girls fake it, Granger.”

They passed the open mouth of the stairwell down to the Potions classroom, which generated an outright breeze that sucked the warmth right out of your marrow. Hermione pulled her shoulders up to her ears and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I don’t understand why you don’t cast a warming charm,” Draco remarked. “Or at least wear some stockings. That skirt can’t be doing you any favors.”

Hermione looked at him sidelong. “It’s not doing me any favors, is it?”

Two bright pink patches bloomed on the apples of Draco’s cheeks, and he quickly turned his face away.

“I never said that most girls fake it, Malfoy. Don’t put words into my mouth.”

Draco snorted.

“The larger point is,” Hermione continued, “that standing intercourse is a finicky business. There’s the question of face to face, or rear entry, both of which have their benefits and drawbacks, particularly where there’s a significant height difference. Are you alright? Shall we stop by the hospital wing for a lozenge?”

Draco had begun coughing hard into his fist. “No. I’ve just swallowed wrong.”

For another several minutes, they walked in silence.

“And of course there are the questions of comfort and time,” Hermione began, as though she’d never left off.

“I’m not sure comfort is top of mind in these situations, Granger. These kids are just getting off. They’re not looking for what you can achieve in an hours-long lovemaking session between sheets with a thread count in the quadruple digits.”

As he spoke, they came to the tower stairs.

“Second sweep of the library before we call it a night?” asked Hermione.

Draco tipped his head in agreement, and politely indicated that Hermione make her way to the 3rd floor ahead of him.

“I don’t mean luxury sheets,” Hermione said over her shoulder. “I mean the general sense that you’re in a situation that feels safe and puts you at your ease, which many girls and women need to experience climax. And these young people are always fumbling and in a rush, because they know we know all of their best spots, and are likely to catch them if they’re not quick. Put all of it together—the inexperience, the awkwardness, the inherent stress, and I’m doubtful that there is anything approaching orgasm parity between the sexes at Hogwarts.”

Draco said nothing as they arrived on the third floor.

The door to the library was pulled to and all seemed quiet, but that meant little.

As they entered the library, Hermione’s voice dropped to a whisper out of sheer force of habit.

“I don’t mean to imply that you’re personally not capable of satisfying a woman, Malfoy. You’ve gone rather pink, I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“You haven’t.”

Several corners in the stacks were likely places for trysts, but all of these were unoccupied, silent and waiting for the following day’s bustle. All that remained to survey were a row of private study rooms and an out of service lavatory adjacent to the Restricted Section.

Despite his curt reassurance, Hermione felt that she had, in fact, quite offended him.

“I’m sure your partners enjoyed themselves, Malfoy. You’re nothing if not a thorough study, I’m sure you did what you could at the time.”

He was silent, with his hands clasped behind his back, while they made their way down the row of study rooms.

“Exactly how many times have you had sex outside of the dorms here, Granger?” he asked. His tone was careful and mildly disbelieving.

“Oh, Merlin. I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t think it worth counting. Probably an average number of times?”

“What’s an average number of times?”

They pulled to a stop outside the ancient toilet and Draco turned to face her. His brow was furrowed, and he was moving from pink in the cheeks to outright red in the face.

“I suppose I don’t know. How many times did you do it?” she asked.

He said nothing.

She began to smile, but realizing that his breathing was harder than usual, she frowned and took a half a step back.

“Haven’t you done it, Malfoy? In the halls? At least once, anyway.”

“No. I never did. Alright?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, dropping his head back. His eyes dropped closed, and he sighed.

“That’s shocking, honestly,” Hermione breathed. “Your reputation was—”

“I’m not a virgin, Granger, don’t think that for a minute. It’s just that—” he reached up and scratched the back of his head nervously “—I’m not one for public displays. I’m a private person, and I prefer to conduct myself discreetly, especially in that regard.”

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth. “Lord, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume. Your sexual life is absolutely your business and yours alone.”

She reached out and laid her hand over his forearm. He looked down to where they touched, and then turned his eyes to hers.

“Did you?” he asked.

“Did I what?”

He cleared his throat. “Did you get off?” His voice was as dry as the stacks of ancient parchment behind them.

Hermione dropped her hand from his arm. It was her turn to blush.

“Sometimes.”

Neither of them spoke. The library quieted itself, listening.

He began to reach out, pulled back slightly as though he thought better of it, paused, then quickly brought his hand to her hip.

“Come here,” he whispered.

She tilted her head. “What for?”

“You know what for.” He pulled at her hip.

“Do I?” While the words left her, she was already forming herself to him like she was meant for nothing else.

He was taller than her by a head, and bent down to brush his lips lightly across hers.

“For this,” he murmured, and kissed her.

It was, for the first two and three quarter minutes, gentle.

But then Hermione grasped Draco’s left hand and brought it to her right breast.

Suddenly they were each biting, sucking, pressing their tongues past the line of one another’s teeth and both groaning openly as their hands went on blind, thoughtless missions in search of bare skin.

He first pulled haphazardly at her tie and then the top two buttons of her shirt, then abandoned that quest to pull at the hem of her skirt until it was up around her waist. He jammed his hands down the band of her plain white knickers and pulled at the flesh of her arse like it was the solution to every form of hunger he’d ever felt.

Fuck, Hermione,” he moaned as he pulled her belly against him. Hermione smiled against his mouth as she felt how hard he was, and began to pull at his belt buckle.

“Do you want this?” he asked. “I’ve wanted it for ages, but I didn’t know.” He dropped his head to her shoulder. “I didn’t know if you did.”

“Yes,” she breathed, slipping the leather through the trouser loops. “You’re ridiculous. You never let me have the last word. Your hair drives me mad. And when you’re in your Quidditch uniform I want to climb you like a tree.”

“You hate Quidditch.”

“I hate it so much.” She had the belt free and began undoing the buttons on his trousers. “Is this alright? Do you want to go somewhere more private?”

“It’s fine. Do you—” he looked around “—it’s a lav, but I think there’s just ivy growing in the loo—”

Hermione grasped the half-buttoned trouser placket and dragged him into the abandoned water closet.

It was a strangely serene space, low-lit by a pair of candles in sconces on either side of a hazy mirror, with a cracked white porcelain pedestal sink that hadn’t run in fifty years, and a single Victorian style high-tank loo bursting with a mix of ivy and what looked like clematis.

“Oh, fuck,” Draco shouted. She had finished the last two buttons and wrapped her hand around his cock. “Fuck! Fuck!

It wasn’t the good sort of “Fuck!” She swiftly pulled her hand out of his pants. “What is it?”

“Your hands are fucking freezing,” he said, laughing. “Give them here.” He cast a warming charm over them, and a quick lubricant spell, and guided her hand back down to him.

Hermione resumed pulling at him in long, languid strokes, and he leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes. “Fuck.” It was the right sort this time. “That’s fucking incredible. How are you so perfect at that, too?”

“I’m a hussy who has had sexual intercourse an average number of times in the school corridors, remember?”

He smiled lazily with his eyes still closed.

After a moment, he drew her hand away again, and looked at her heavily. “Do you want—”

“From behind,” she said quickly. “I think with our height difference, and so that it’s easier to use my—”

Before she finished speaking, he grasped her around the waist and pressed his mouth hard against hers, kissing her with a desperation she hadn’t felt since she was—well, she couldn’t say that she’d ever been kissed quite like that before.

He pushed them both across the short distance between the door and the opposite wall, and when her shoulders crashed against it, he spun her around so hard she had to put up her hands to catch herself.

“Don’t fake it,” he panted as he pushed her knickers down her legs.

“I won’t.”

She rose onto her toes and tilted her hips up and back, and as he slid his cock through the moisture at her cunt, she reached back to grasp his hip and pull him slowly inside.

“Hermione,” he breathed. “Hermione, what do I do to make you come?”

“I like it hard,” she said as her breath picked up. He obliged. “Yes, oh, gods, like that, and if you angle up — unh! ” She slammed her eyes closed as he dropped his lips to the back of her neck and mouthed at her skin.

“Like that?” he asked.

“Yes, gods, yes, just like that.”

She dropped her hand from his hip and brought it to her clit. When he folded his hand over hers, she opened her eyes in surprise.

“So I know what you like,” he said. “For next time.”

For another three and five eighths of a minute, the low-lit abandoned lavatory of the Hogwarts Library’s Restricted Section was filled with nothing but soft sighs and whines and the steady, repetitious sounds of heated bodies reaching for an end.

Fuck, Hermione, I can feel you tightening up. Are you close?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come inside you?”

“Yes, please do.” She dropped her head back against his shoulder and worked fast with her hand.

When she came, she began to moan incautiously, and reached back to grab his hip again, pulling him into her hard. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes dropped closed.

“Oh, gods, yes, fuck, if that’s fake I’m the fucking Minister,” he groaned, just as he was overcome himself. As his hips jerked against her arse, he grasped her tie and brought his mouth back to her neck and bit down gently.

She pushed back against him until his cock finished pulsing inside her, then dragged his hand around her middle.

“How was your first time, Malfoy?”

He laughed against the back of her neck.

“Fuck you, Granger.”

“I believe you just did.”

“Touche.” He nuzzled his nose into her hair, and kissed the back of her head. “It was excellent. I felt very comfortable and was able to climax, even under the time constraints.”

“Good. As I said before, there’s a technique to doing it standing up—”

He spun her around mid-sentence and stopped her with a kiss.

It was true; he never let her have the last word.