If anyone who knew him caught a glimpse of him that morning, they’d have thought he was bewitched; Draco Malfoy had a skip in his step as he made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast that morning, and a grin kept making its way onto his face each time he tried to suppress it with his trademark scowl. After weeks of doing rounds with Granger, the Head Boy and Girl had finally succumbed to the tension that was brewing between them, and were gleefully making up for lost time over the past few nights in the dark and empty corners of Hogwarts.
Yes, he was tired from their patrol the night before, but he was somehow bright and alert that morning. Well, not so much patrol as shagging each other senseless in the library til dawn. His cock stirred at the memory of her wild curls spread out on the desk beneath him as he thrust into her over and over, drawing out sweet little moans that filled the air of the deserted library.
Tired, but happy; that is, until he walks into the Great Hall.
Normally, he’d be delighted to be greeted by the sight of Granger bent over a table, but unfortunately, these aren’t the desired circumstances. Hermione’s back was towards the entrance, and she was leaning over the Gryffindor table, chatting with some of the younger students while they ate their breakfast. And while, yes, she does in fact have all of her clothes on, the edge of her skirt is dangerously close to the curve of her arse. It doesn’t help when it inches up even higher as she bends over further to listen to them more intently.
Almost as if she senses him, Hermione casually looks over her shoulder towards the entrance and her gaze lands on Draco. His stomach twists in knots as she cheerily waves at him, oblivious to the effect she’s having on him right now. Which he should probably try to stop since the entire school can see him. He forces himself to nod at her before continuing to the Slytherin table and sitting down, eyes glued to the goblet of pumpkin juice in front of him while he tries to calm down.
It’s only eight o clock in the sodding morning, he thinks while he methodically butters some toast, breathing in and out through his nose, she was just innocently leaning over to talk to someone. Definitely not trying to turn him on this early in the morning where the whole school can see.
Try as he might, he can’t keep his eyes off her as she makes her way down the Gryffindor table. If only she’d bend over again, he thinks wistfully. So many damn students vye for her attention, it takes her ages to leave the hall and head to class. When he thinks he finally has a handle on himself, he finds his thoughts drifting to her a few nights before when she was bent over the sink in the prefect’s bathroom, their combined breath and the steam from the bath fogging the mirror in front of them.
He finds himself smashing his toast into a pancake with his butter knife as he tries to suppress that memory.
Even three hours later, when he’s halfway through charms class, he still can’t get the image of her too-short skirt beckoning to him and it’s driving him to distraction. Instead of getting the glass goblets in front of him to play chiming musical notes, he ends up shattering them all and is made to sweep up the remains the muggle way with a dustpan and broom. Even sitting through Flitwick’s indignant squeaking doesn’t divert him from some rather sinful thoughts of Granger.
They both have a free period right now, and the moment he’s out the door, Draco grabs the first Gryffindor he sees. There’s a twinge of remorse in the back of his mind as he towers over a terrified third-year boy, but it quickly flits away at the memory of Granger’s perfect arse.
After he barks orders to find Granger immediately and to tell her to report to the third floor corridor, he doesn’t even bother to look back at the poor kid as he turns on his heel and stalks off towards his destination.
After what feels like an eternity of pacing up and down the rows of abandoned classrooms, she comes around the corner and marches down the hall towards him.
“What’s going on? Mackenzie said you needed me to help investigate something up here. And really Draco, you didn’t have to yell at him like that, he was-”
Her sentence ended with a sharp squeak as he grabbed her hips and yanked her into an empty classroom, viciously kicking the door shut.
In an instant, his lips are on hers, hungry and desperate. Even though she was caught off guard, she soon responds in kind. Hermione’s hands card through his hair, tugging on it when he bites her bottom lip, and his own hands start tugging up the hem of her shirt from where it’s tucked into her skirt.
“Do you know,” he said, hissing through his teeth when his fingers make contact with her bare skin, “that you have been driving me mad all day?”
She gasps against his mouth, and he hurriedly unbuttons his trousers, jabbing his wand at the door and locking it. He tosses in a silencing charm for good measure, before continuing the war path from her lips down the column of her throat, nipping little bruises into her skin. He more so feels rather than hears her say, “What do you mean?” as his lips close down around her pulsepoint. The way her breath quickens as he gently sinks his teeth into her flesh almost undoes him right then and there, but he’s on a mission and nothing will distract him from it.
He removes his lips from her neck just a fraction before he continues, his hands moving from her waist and beginning to roam towards the hem of her skirt. “I mean,” he punctuates the pause with a kiss, “seeing you first thing in the morning in the Great Hall, bent over the table talking to some bloody first year when the whole school could have seen your kni-”
He freezes; his hands which were inching up her thighs under her skirt only a moment ago are now trembling against her. When he moves his hand towards the heat coming from between her legs, he still doesn’t find what he had expected to.
Hermione arches an eyebrow at him, an expression of false innocence on her face.
“Bloody hell,” he said, groaning as his fingers trail through her already wet entrance, “you’ll be the death of me.”
“I’m surprised it took you this long,” she says, pulling away from him. She saunters over to the wall, pressing her hands against the cold stone. Then, with her eyes never leaving his, she pushes her robes to the side and bends over, invitingly tilting her hips up towards him.
Draco finds that he’s suddenly lost the ability to speak as she bends over further, her skirt inching ever higher, but never quite revealing what he wants.
“I thought you were going to make me wait until rounds tonight.” She finally bends over far enough to fully display the rosy pink line of her pussy, glossy and wet with her arousal.
In a flash, he’s behind her, one hand snaking around her front while the other guides his cock through her folds, rubbing her clit with the tip.
“So you’ve been making me wait on purpose, have you?”
When he lines himself up with her entrance, she turns to look at him from the corner of her eye, and he can see that her pupils are fully blown open. However, she just gives him a haughty shrug, appearing to be nonplussed by his accusation.
With a grunt, he sharply thrusts himself into her, tearing a low moan from her throat.
He has enough sense left to not give her what she wants just yet, and he deliciously drags his cock out of her before slowly pushing back in.
“You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you, Granger?”
The only reply he gets is a keening noise, a note of begging in her whine.
“Making me lose my mind all day, trying to see how long I could go without coming inside of you again.” His free hand moves towards her breast, tweaking her nipple through the fabric.
He’s going tortuously slow, swirling his hips occasionally to break up the steady rhythm he’s building. Despite the fact that he’s trying to tease her, he’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up. Plus, her damn skirt keeps slipping down, trying to creep down her perfect backside and he finds his rhythm faltering. With an annoyed growl, he grasps handfuls of the fabric and hikes it up, revealing the thing that had been driving him to insanity.
“So,” she gasps, “Are you still planning on making me wait all day to come? Or are you going to get on with it?”
He can only laugh at her boldness, managing to press a shaky kiss to her cheek as his hips begin to piston into her at a punishing pace, “You little devil, you.”
As their movements get rougher, his hand slips from her breast, but he manages to grab her tie before he loses his grip entirely. However, her grip on him never falters, her cunt clenching tighter and tighter around him as he snaps his hips into hers.
Her hand desperately reaches for him, gripping the back of his thigh to pull him deeper inside of her. The feeling of her around him is overwhelming, and he buries his head in the crook of her neck.
“Fuck, Hermione,” he breathes, “you’re so tight, so bloody tight for me.”
She’s babbling nonsense now, and he can feel her trembling in his arms as she gets closer.
“I’m going to make you come right now,” he pants, “and I’m going to make you come every we’re night on patrol, and every other fucking time we’re together, you hear me, Granger?”
That seems to push her over the edge, and she hoarsely shouts out his name, her walls fluttering around his cock while she comes.
His hips jerk frantically into the cushion of her perfect arse and he follows soon after, spilling into her as she gently rocks against him, riding out her orgasm.
The blood pounding in his ears slowly gives way to the silence of the room as their breathing evens out, their bodies stilling in their movements. Hermione lets out a little moan when he slips out of her, but he keeps his arms around her, holding her tight against him.
After what feels like several minutes of silence, she’s the first to speak, “I need to wind you up like this more often.”
He lets out a shaky laugh and manages to mutter into the back of her neck, “and who says Gryffindors can’t be cunning?”