27

Chapter 27

Saturday 08 March 2003: PM

Hermione manages to awkwardly wiggle out of Draco's strong arms once he walks them into the townhouse's lounge room. Her silver kitten heels stutter for purchase on the smooth wooden flooring, but Draco rebalances her before she can fall. She curses her clumsiness as she smiles gratefully at her big blond lover.

The starburst reverberations from her climax in the back of the black cab are finally receding, but the feeling of relaxed bliss remains. Hermione bites her lip as she thinks of how easily (and how eagerly) she came apart under Draco's expert fingers. In semi-public… mercy…

"Granger? Are you OK?" Draco is gently stroking the line of her bare shoulder, instantly renewing her recently-sated lust. Hermione instinctively turns her head to allow him access to the afferent skin of her neck and ear; his fingers readily accept her invitation. She stands as still as a forest fawn as he crowds closer.

"Yes… Malfoy, may I run a bath, please?" Hermione quietly requests. Draco nods unhesitatingly.

"Of course." His hand falls from her neck to twitch restlessly against his lean flank. "Did I… make you feel dirty, in the taxicab?". Anxiety and self-disgust wreath his face.

"No – never!" Hermione rushes to correct him. "I'd like to enjoy a soak in your big tub… with you," she clarifies. "Is that something that might interest you?" she winks, hoping it doesn't look like a facial tic.

Draco's grin is relieved and intrigued. "Of course," he drawls, graphite eyes gleaming in the low lamplight. "But I claim the privilege of washing you first."

"Oh, do you?" Hermione places her hands on either side of Malfoy's lean hips, drawing him closer. Her strident inner voice screeches unpleasantly.

Tell him how you feel. You've procrastinated long enough… wimp.

Walking backwards, Hermione grasps Draco's hands to pull him with her, until their legs have bumped into his pastel-blue sofa. "Would you please sit down, Malfoy? First, I'd like to talk with you… it's important." Hermione seats herself, legs crossed at the ankles as she glances up nervously.

Slowly, Draco lowers himself to the couch. The familiar expression of deliberate impassivity settles on his aristocratic face, eyes slightly hooded as he returns her serious gaze.

"I'm listening." His words are clipped and monotonous as he tugs free his hands to rest them on his side-swivelled knees.

Hermione gropes inside the small bag looped over her wrist, scrambling to find the dratted tickets. "Just give me a minute – I pushed them too far inside earlier – hang on –"

Draco doesn't move a muscle as she scratches about in increasing frustration. The acute tension emanating from his tall form does not help her klutzy progress.

"Aha! Here they are!" Hermione yanks the two slips free at last. She keeps them concealed in her clasped, sticky hands as she braves making eye contact again.

Here goes nothing – except my fragile heart and dumb pride.

"Malfoy, Luna told me some truths last night. About you… about us," Hermione amends, striving not to mumble. Her mouth is dry as a bone. The rich Persian food she'd delighted in a scant few hours ago threatens to make an unwanted return.

For Godric's sake – don't spew on him again! Been there, done that. This also counts as procrastination, you nincompoop.

"Luna said that regardless of our original intent – and the defined parameters of our liaison – well, she reckons that we're actually in a relationship. That you are my boyfriend, and I'm your girlfriend. For all intents and purposes." Hermione is proud of her steady diction, despite noting Draco recoiling against the low side-arm of his lounge at the dreaded 'R' word.

She ploughs on. "The supporting evidence is clear, Malfoy. You've gifted me clothing, food, medicine… you've loaned me your house elf, for goodness sake. You've cooked me meals and eaten at my table; you've taken me on breakfast and dinner dates and escorted me to the ballet; you've cuddled with me and watched Pride and Prejudice on my couch; and you've been my rock throughout this whole horrible roofie drama."

Watching Draco flinch as she enumerates each of his caring actions is hardly encouraging, Hermione thinks despondently. Fuck it. I've come this far.

"Malfoy – you hold my hand, and you cuddle me, and you sleep beside me through the night. You kiss me like… like you have an unquenchable thirst and I'm the last bottle of water on a hot day. And yes, we bicker and squabble and butt heads all the time – mostly because you're wrong and won't admit it, of course – but honestly? Even that just feels like verbal foreplay to me. You excite me, and arouse me… you challenge me positively, and you support me… you get me, like no one ever has. I've never felt as alive, as I have with you for the past three weeks."

Hermione wraps her shaking hands around her middle. Draco is giving her nothing, response-wise. He doesn't appear to even be breathing. Talk about a tough crowd.

"You've not hurt me, Malfoy – not until tonight, when you casually informed me that you intend to take another woman to the Spring Equinox Ball. And then, you 'reassured' me that I'm the witch you want, 'in your bed', anyway."

Deep breath. Finally, a reaction from the cool Slytherin Prince: Draco opens his sternly sensuous mouth to speak, but Hermione doggedly resumes her monologue.

"I haven't finished." She uncovers the tickets and presents them with a flourish. "I went into work today, to pick up two tickets for the Ministry Gala. And I was literally about to ask you to be my date to the event when you told me about your agreement with Blaise. Brilliant timing, wouldn't you say?" she grimaces at the rhetorical question.

If she weren't currently sickened by rampaging nerves and her tempestuous fear of rejection, Hermione might have found grim amusement in the way Draco blanches at her admission.

"If you haven't already guessed what I'm trying to say, Malfoy – here it is. I want to – officially – be your girlfriend. I want to sleep in your bed, and sit at your breakfast bar, and cook you dinner, and snuggle into your arms when you've had a bad day. I want to kiss you whenever I like. I want to watch videos on the couch with you; I want to talk about books and history and art and potions and every subject under the sun that you find fascinating. I want us to go on picnics, and out to fancy restaurants, and eat kebabs at a dodgy caff at 2AM after we've been out dancing, or catching the midnight screening of 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show'. I want to travel with you, to show you my favourite places in the world, and for you to share yours.'

"I want to care for you when you're sick, and hold you through a nightmare. I want to be the first person you contact when you need help, and the last person you see when you close your eyes at night. And of course – I want to keep having spectacular sex with you. No… I want to make love with you, too." She feels her neck and cheeks crimsoning but ignores her abashment.

"I want to walk into that stupid, boring Ball in a fortnight with you by my side, and announce to the world: this is my boyfriend Draco Lucius Malfoy, and I am the luckiest witch in the world. But most of all… it's not just that I want all those things. The plain truth is: I need you in my life. For as long as you'll have me."

Ears burning and voice raw with emotion, Hermione falls silent. She'd kept her eyes on Draco throughout her dramatic little speech, but her courage has deserted her now. Staring fixedly at the tickets gripped tightly in her hands, she struggles to hear Draco's reply over the roar of her wildly rushing blood.

And waits. And waits. Silence seeps into the room like London fog; Hermione can almost see it foaming opaquely at her feet.

Just as she thinks she must scream to disperse it, Draco utters three little words.

"You… need me?". His voice is an uninflected whisper. Hermione isn't certain she even heard it, until he repeats it more firmly.

She nods, eyes still downcast and threatening to spill. Come on, just say it! Say it!

Draco's light touch to her trembling chin startles her into a shocked gasp; he gently tips up her face. He's shifted at some point so that their bodies are almost touching on the lowline settee.

"Look at me. Please," he entreats. "Please. I need… I need your eyes on me when I say this."

Swallowing hard, Hermione accedes. His grey orbs are predominantly pupil and glistering whites.

"Granger… I never thought that I would ever hear you say that to me. Are you… certain? Absolutely?". Draco weaves their hands together to rest on her knee.

Another nod. Hermione does not trust herself to speak. Hope sits up and stretches, yawning. But if Draco stretches out his response much longer, I may just bite him. Hard.

"Malfoy – please, just say your piece. The suspense is destroying my few remaining nerves," Hermione jitterily discloses.

He opens and closes his mouth a few times; Hermione begins to realize that Draco is just as on edge as she is.

Sodding hell… is he trying to let me down gently? Have I grossly miscalculated, and managed to make a complete, desperate fool of myself? Oh, no.

Searing eyes wheeling, Hermione considers making a skittering dash for the Floo fireplace. Her headlong escape is forgotten when Draco expresses himself at last.

"Granger. I… I don't know… I can't believe – fuck, I'm ballsing this up already –" he breaks off, audibly grinding his jaws as Hermione tries to wrench free of his gentle but inexorable handhold. A hot tear rolls off the end of her nose as she shakes her head in distress.

"Let me go! All you had to say was 'no, thanks'. Malfoy – don't!". She thrashes uselessly, arms pinned as Draco fiercely scoops her into a tight embrace.

"Stop it, ma petite – hush, ma trésor. You little goose! Please, just listen to me." Draco tenderly wipes away her panicked tears with a fingertip. Hermione ceases struggling, sitting dully in his lap as she focuses on a patch of wall just behind Draco's right ear.

Her crazy scuffle seems to have crystallized Draco's locution, at least. He speaks firmly and unhesitatingly. Although she can't look him directly in the eye, Hermione feels his unblinking gaze boring into her like twin nickel drills.

"Hermione Jean Granger – woman, don't you know that I want you – that I need you, more than I need my next breath? Didn't you just ruthlessly and succinctly pick apart my pathetic attempts to deny the truth of our relationship? Forgive me my idiotic bumbling; it was simply the result of my astonishment that you could ever feel for me anything like what I feel for you."

He wets his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. "I never imagined that you – that this – would ever be more than a brief, casual diversion for you. A little dalliance with the bad boy; one that you would swiftly move on from with an extra skip in your step and a few steamy memories. I didn't mean to read your desires when I performed the Legilimency session with you – but Merlin, I could not help myself from taking full advantage of your curiosity and suppressed adventurousness.'

"I'm a selfish arsehole – no, don't argue, it's the truth – " Draco correctly interprets Hermione's negatory head shake. "But I managed to delude myself that I was perfectly able to keep my feelings for you from creeping into our affair." He smiles mirthlessly.

"But of course, I couldn't fucking help myself. You lobbed onto my doorstep like my own personal hurricane, and I was delighted to drown in the glory of you. That first night, when you told me you were thinking about going home?".

Hermione nods, quivering from the shock of hearing Draco's frank avowal.

"I bit the inside of my lip hard enough to draw blood, with the effort of not pleading with you to stay. The fact that you came to me willingly – that you seemed to enjoy having sex with me – well, I figured you must find me moderately physically attractive, and I vowed to capitalize on that allure as long as I could. That's why I told you in the café that we should stick to bed sports alone. I knew you'd never want me to be your true partner, and I couldn't stomach hearing you say it."

Draco doesn't let her interrupt his discourse. "No – I haven't finished, ma petite. You'll have your chance for rebuttal at the end of the round," he teases, before his face sobers again.

"Granger, as much as I long to be your boyfriend, or 'partner, significant other, sweetheart, what-have-you', as Bonnie said; there are things about me that you don't know. Things I haven't had the guts to tell you about… I'm too cowardly to reveal them, even now. I don't want you to look at me the way you used to, when we were kids – with scorn, and disapprobation, and disappointment. You were perfectly correct to regard me so, and you would be again – if you knew the worst of me. If you knew the depths to which I've sunk…"

Draco frowns, mouth twisting bitterly as his eyes bedim with painful memories. Hermione cannot stay silent any longer.

"Malfoy, will you answer some questions, please? To enable me to make that decision for myself? Simple, yes or no queries?" Hermione quietly entreats. She hardly waits for his reluctant nod before she rushes in.

"Have you ever killed another human being?".

"No."

"Sexually assaulted anyone?"

"No!".

"Do you still believe in blood purity?"

"Absolutely not."

"Have you engaged in any criminal activities since the War ended?"

"No."

"Do you believe yourself capable of killing another human being?"

A lengthy pause.

"Yes. I would kill to defend you, or my mother." Draco looks troubled, but resolute. He begins to relinquish his tight hold on her smaller body.

"OK. I accept that. And I accept you." Hermione smiles at the beautiful blond's thunderstruck expression.

"Malfoy, I know you're not perfect. Spoiler alert: neither am I. I'm bossy, opinionated, and stubborn as a bull. And you're controlling, peremptory, and snooty as a deposed prince. Perfect for me, in other words."

"You – you really mean that?" Draco stammers.

Hermione rolls her eyes and huffs exaggeratedly.

"No – it's all part of my Master Revenge Plan, of course! Muahahahahaha!". She vents a little of her relieved anxiety and wild elation by tickling at his ribs through his black dress shirt, giggling as he gasps and protests between tormented breaths.

"Is that – stop this madness – is that part of your – seriously, desist! – your 'ten-year plan'?" Draco chokes out as Hermione worms her nimble fingers from his hips to his armpits and back again.

"You mock the plan, but guess what? You're the number one bullet point on it, Mr Malfoy," Hermione admits with a final twist of her snaking hands. She doesn't resist as Draco hugs her tight and brings his mouth within a smidge of hers.

"You are my entire plan, Ms Granger," he affirms gruffly.

Draco's uncommon granite-grey eyes corroborate his words, as he kisses Hermione with an exquisite, worshipful tenderness. She animatedly responds in kind, cherishing each slow lip-lock as Draco advances and retreats. Her fingers creep to his nape, combing the close-cropped hair there. He spans his long fingers across her partially-exposed back like borrowed wings. The heat and purpose of Draco's touch rapidly fuel Hermione's constant craving for him; her moans match his groans as their kisses and strokes intensify.

He breaks away suddenly, much to her chagrin.

"Granger – all those things you said, about what you want from a relationship; about what you want, with me… I want them, too. I want the unqualified right to fuss over you when you're ill or unhappy, and pet your hair on the couch while we watch 'Pride and Prejudice' together, and laugh quietly together over Macdolas's latest shockingly exorbitant outfit. I want to spoil you rotten with books and chocolates and clothing – " he stops, noting her little flinch at the last word.

"Do you worry that I give you apparel because I don't like your own? Never think it – I adore your personal style. Even that disgusting old pink bathrobe is special to me, because you wear it. I'm acting out of a self-serving compulsion to give you physical representations of my feelings for you. Seeing you wearing my scarf or coat helps to settle my raging possessiveness about you. I'm sorry – that's terribly unenlightened of me."

Her instantaneous head shake and shy, happy smile ease his perturbed frown.

"Speaking of clothes… I kept the white t-shirt you slept in, from that first night," Draco looks ashamed. "I couldn't bring myself to wash it… it smelled like you, even though I'd washed you thoroughly with my soaps and shampoo. I put it under my pillow – I had to quickly toss it under the bed when you returned to seduce me." He grins briefly at her indignant chuff at his summation of events. "Do you hear me complaining?".

Sighing in defeat, Hermione motions her hand for him to continue.

Draco asks solemnly, "So now that you know I'm an obsessive, selfish, arrogant arsehole with more skeletons in his closet than bespoke suits – do you still want to take a chance on me, Granger? Truly?". He looks as though he is about to cast up his accounts, hands twitching as he anticipates her verdict.

"Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"Come have a bath with me… boyfriend," Hermione murmurs, voice smoky with exhilaration and desire. She totters upright; her heartbeat rockets as she thinks about the shared intimacies that await them upstairs.

"Lead the way, girlfriend," Draco rumbles.

He nibbles on her smooth neck as she tows him close behind her, their hands steadfastly woven.

"Wait here, please – I want to make sure everything is perfect." Hermione enjoys the headiness of the small power trip as she firmly pushes Draco back onto his huge bed.

He grumbles, "You were just whimpering in my arms – that's perfection. Leave the bath for later and let me 'butter your crumpet' right now, Granger."

"Malfoy! You have such a filthy mouth!" Hermione bites her cheeks in a wasted effort to mask her amusement.

"Yeah – and you love it. Come closer and let me put it to better use," Draco leers. "Laisse-moi embrasser ta douce chatte toute la nuit, ma petite." He begins to shift off the bed.

"Stop! And you needn't think I can be so easily seduced into abandoning my plans with your silky 'Frenchery'… I'm not that weak."

Yes, I am.

"Ah – you scorn the power of the 'Frenchery'? Little lionesses shouldn't tell naughty lies, you know."

Hermione flees into the adjoining bathroom before Draco can further erode her resolve. She peeps around the door for one final admonition.

"Stay here until I call you in," and she slams it closed.

Five minutes later, the navy-tiled bathroom is as ready as Hermione can make it. A hasty rummage in her trusty little bag had miraculously unearthed half a dozen mismatched, semi-burnt candles left over from her time camping rough while hunting Horcruxes. She has magically lit and affixed them to float high enough in the room to hopefully disguise their inconsistent conditions, and minimize the risk of setting fire to Draco's platinum locks.

I want to make him burn – but not quite that literally, Hermione smirks.

The huge white claw-foot tub is half-full of steaming hot water, bubbled and perfumed with Malfoy's top-of-the-line expensive body wash. Hermione takes another appreciative sniff as she carefully unzips the back of her pretty dress. Draco had already drawn down half of its teeth during his concerted ravishment efforts in the bedroom. She folds it carefully and places it atop the wide vanity.

Which leaves her in the matched set of amaranth pink lingerie that Luna had helped pick out earlier today. Satin high-cut knickers and a strapless bra that barely covers her nipples. Luna had insisted on the purchase.

"Draco's brain will fritz as soon as he sees these on you, Hermione. He might even tear them off – but he'd replace them with two or three more sets, I'm sure," her Ravenclaw buddy had nodded sagely. "Really, it's an investment in your lingerie wardrobe, if you take that factor into consideration."

Well, it's time to put Luna's unique logic to the test.

Hermione throws back her bare shoulders and fully opens the door, pipping a little surprised note at Draco looming right in front of her… as naked as the day he was born. He clutches the top of the door jamb for apparent support as his hungry eyes devour her from head to toe.

"Baise… moi…"

Unsure if that was a curse or a plea, Hermione steps to the side as he hurtles through the doorway. Draco growls in frustration.

"Granger, you're unacceptably overdressed for this party," he prowls closer with lascivious intent. Hermione evades his grasping hands by shuffling around the free-standing bathtub. It's a wonder she hasn't banged herself against it; she is having trouble focusing on anything other than Draco's glorious nudity. His rigid phallus is pointing at her like a giant accusing finger, and each stalking step accentuates his powerfully muscular physique. The 'Adonis belt' of his transversus abdominis is nothing short of sensational, and the flickering candlelight seems to lovingly caress his strong, supple, marble-skinned form.

Much as she appreciates how damned fine Draco looks in his tailored suits or the more casual denims and sweaters – Hermione decides that keeping Draco clothed is a spectacular waste of his physical assets. Her core clenches and dampens as she anticipates having his formidable girth inside her willing body. Her erotic musings stall as Draco clamps his wide hands down on her hips and tugs her against his front.

"Take these off – now," he skilfully undoes the hooks on the back of the bra before sliding her glossy, lust-soaked knickers down to her knees, his hot hands inciting spot-flares with every stroked inch of her skin. Draco's big stiff member presses into her silken stomach as he latches his lips and teeth onto her neck, sucking hard. Hermione's head lolls forward of its own accord, overcome by divine sensation.

Continuing to lick and suck mercilessly, Draco lips his way down her body, the better to properly divest her of the scrimpy bra and panties. He places a sole teasing kiss on the skin just above her pubis before lifting each of her feet in turn to step her out of the last garment. He sweeps his arms behind her trembly knees and lowers her into the hot water.

Hermione watches in bemusement as Draco opens one of the vanity cupboards and withdraws a small tissue-wrapped item. He unceremoniously rips off the thin paper to reveal an oblong cake of soap, before pacing back to kneel beside the tub.

"But there's already soap in the dish…" Hermione feels compelled to point out.

Draco shakes her off as he dips the bar in the water and begins to glide it over her feet.

"This soap is for you – it's a combination of rose, bergamot and vanilla that I – I thought you might like better." He purses his lips, concentrating on soaping up every inch of her skin.

"You imported customized soap for me?" Hermione breathes in amazement. "Pinch me, please – I must be dreaming you right now."

Shrugging, Draco obliges, lightly pincering the back of her calf.

He chuckles at her squeaked "Hey!". Hermione settles back and tips her head against the high rim of the old-fashioned tub, feeling like a decadent princess as Draco diligently bathes her. Her legs fall open in avid invitation, as the aromatic soap slides closer to her yearning sex.

Of course, the sly bastard ignores her blatant appeal and winds the bar around her hips instead.

"Malfoy!" she whines, not repenting her neediness one whit. "You missed a very important spot, you devil."

"Indeed? Let me rectify my grave error," Draco switches the soap to his right hand, unerringly finding her aching slit with his left. He pushes his thumb inside her pink folds as his middle finger slowly breaches her entrance. "Is this better?".

Hermione is incapable of speech as Draco pushes his finger in and out, adding a second digit as she nods jerkily. His slate eyes are aglitter as he watches her every shallow breath and blissful reaction. The bar of expensive soap resumes its upward journey, lovingly swirling around her breasts. Draco's coordination is frankly impressive, as he somehow manages to maintain his steady digital thrusts inside her slick channel, while his other hand brushes soap across her nipples. He teases them into hard rosettes with his fingertips as she moans.

"Malfoy – I want to come with your cock deep inside me," Hermione begs, threshing and churning the water as she pulls at his shoulders to encourage him to join her. "Let me ride you? Please?".

Dropping the soap onto the indented shelf beside her head, Draco carefully disengages from her body, lifting her up and forward as he vaults over the side to sit behind her. He swivels her to face him, gently repositioning her to kneel between his legs.

"Put your legs on either side of mine as I draw them together, OK? Guide me into you, and use your other hand to grab the side for support. Lower yourself down when you're ready. I'll hold you steady – trust me," Draco instructs in a passion-roughened rumble.

Nodding mutely, Hermione follows Draco's directions, her lips quirking up as she finds his bulging stem beneath the foamy surface of the bath water. She rubs a questing thumb over the sensitive mushroom tip as Draco hisses.

"Granger, you wicked little witch – I am in danger of prematurely cracking my marbles if you keep that up," he warns as she grins. His strong hands support her hips as Hermione steers his portentous, thick cock between her spread legs.

She sinks down slowly, her sheath stretching to accept his girth as Draco keens at the tight fit. She forges on, the pinching pain morphing to pleasure as his bell-end pops past her entrance. Controlling his plunge inside, she gasps as she buries his length to the hilt. They both freeze, panting. Draco squeezes his eyes tightly closed; his lips move in a silent count.

Hermione stares intently at Draco, marvelling at the sensations he arouses in her… every single time. Tonight feels especially incredible – is it that the last barrier of denial and obfuscation blocking their relationship has been removed at last? Is it her joy, and pride, in finally being acknowledged as his girlfriend?

Whatever it is, I am going to savour the memory of this night for the rest of my life, Hermione thinks rhapsodically. She starts to rock, smiling down cheekily as Draco's eyes fly open.

"You falling asleep there, Malfoy?"

He thrusts up into her in reply, using his superior strength to lift her body up and down. Water sloshes over the lip of the bathtub as she fervently matches his rhythmic movements. Draco grunts as she sighs in pleasure. Hermione adjusts her grip on the tub's sides to lean forward a little, until Draco's formidable shaft rubs the front wall of her sex just so; the shift increases the delicious pressure of his pubic bone against her clitoris. She grinds harder, adding a little circular twist on the end of every downward bump.

"Granger – you are amazing – pound me, come all over me – ta chatte est si chaude et serrée, ma petite," Draco rasps. "Don't stop."

Not a chance in hell of that! Hermione slams her body down harder as Draco's left hand snakes up to tweak her nipples in turn. The added pleasure/pain sensation spurs her pace to frantic as she chases her zenith. She mewls as Draco repeats the stimulating tugs on her breast buds.

Judging by his wild graphite eyes and harsh breaths, Draco is rapidly losing his cultured control. Hermione's skin feels aflame, sweat from the hot water and their energetic exertions pooling at the hollow of her fluttering throat and doubtlessly ruining her braided up-do. She can feel her peak screaming towards her, a runaway train of euphoric sensation.

Pumping her hips, Hermione catches her wide brown eyes with Draco's blown pupils. "Malfoy, I'm gonna – I'm gonna come! Oh ohhh ohhhhh… I'm COMING!"

She screams the last syllable as Draco grits his jaw and thrusts in a last furious frenzy, propelling her through the seemingly-endless cataclysmic orgasm; Hermione slumps against his torso in a boneless heap, feeling him convulsing deep inside her. Her pulsing channel squeezes every last drop of ejaculate from his tumid penis as Draco vocalizes something between a roar and a groan of carnal release.

Hermione clings limply to Draco as he buries his hot face in her bosom, peppering kisses to her elation-doused skin. His elegant fingers skim across her back, occasionally cupping and dispersing handfuls of warm water.

"Is it just me, or did we die a little and were sublimely reborn?" Hermione meditates, when she is able to fashion a lucid sentence again.

Draco widens his legs and pulls her down to his eye level. "Definitely a joint mortality experience," he agrees, eyes crinkling as he smiles unguardedly into her flushed face. "You might need to remind me of my name – the top of my head clean blew off, I think."

Hermione takes a deep breath. "It's Draco… my Draco." She brings a tremulous hand to rest against his cheek; he shivers at her light touch.

Draco mirrors her gesture. "And you're Hermione… my… my Hermione." His Adam's apple bobs crazily as he gulps out the words.

Yes. Yes, I am.

She meets his seeking mouth in a fierce, exquisite, exultant kiss.

I am yours, Draco Lucius Malfoy.

French translations:

Ma trésor – My treasure.

Laisse-moi embrasser ta douce chatte toute la nuit, ma petite - Let me kiss your sweet pussy all night long, my little one.

Baise moi – Fuck me.

Ta chatte est si chaude et serrée, ma petite – Your pussy is so hot and tight.