Draco was stunned. He hadn't expected any kisses tonight. Maybe icy glares. Sharp lectures. Hysterical threats of Azkaban. Poff had surely already informed her about what had happened at the Astronomy Tower.
He had woken up the very moment she materialized in his bed, but he didn't let it show. It had been a long day. And yet, instead of sharp words, Granger had given him gentleness.She had taken the book from his hands, removed the glasses from his face… Her soft touches gave Draco courage.
He opened his eyes and saw her—she was stretched out along his body, exposing that long elegant neck, her dark curls brushing against his cheek. Her gaze dropped—and her eyes widened. Her mouth opened (no doubt preparing to scream), but Draco reflexively shook his head.
He hadn't expected her to obey. She never did what she was told.Draco didn't understand how Granger could claim he didn't listen to women. Lately, he had no choice—women didn't listen to him at all.Salazar, he was pathetic. Just as pathetic as that Hufflepuff. Worse, even—because she liked that Hufflepuff. She respected him. She wanted him, not some…
He had already begun spiraling into a full panic when Granger kissed him again—two light, brief kisses. His cock hardened instantly, and when she tugged on his lip, Draco nearly came right there. He was in shock.
But Granger didn't stop. Her hands began exploring his body in warm, delicate, reverent strokes. She studied him, her brow furrowed like he was one of her research subjects. Her fingers traced his jawline, neck, chest. She skimmed over the Sectumsempra scars, then moved lower.
Draco watched through half-lidded eyes, mesmerized by the way her thick curls slid over his chest. What a surprise. What would she do if he let her? Where would this ravenous curiosity take her?
He was sinking into the pillows, feeling a little helpless, when he finally heard her voice for the first time that evening—soft, just like that first night when she had woken him from a nightmare.
"Draco," she whispered.
Draco didn't speak. He simply took her face in his hands and pulled her closer. Soft flannel slid across his bare chest, their lips met. His tongue found hers, and she moaned—a deep, guttural sound—and he lost control. His hands slipped downward, found smooth skin, and he began unfastening buttons in search of more. He broke the kiss to pull her against him by the waist, burying his face in her open shirt, wanting more of that warm, velvety skin. His lips traced a path to her nipple, and he drew it into his mouth with urgency.
"Draco," she breathed into his hair.
His name on her lips tasted sweeter than her skin. Holding her in place, he began caressing her other breast, the flannel brushing his face. He felt Granger tug his hair and press against him.
The touch of this powerful witch, the feel of her small, soft hands made his body go weak. Malfoys do not go weak, growled a voice in his head. He ignored it.
Draco kissed up her neck. Granger shifted on top of him, pressing into his arousal, and his head fell back against the pillow. He groaned, unable to stop himself, his whole body aflame. What was happening? What was she doing? Was she playing with him?
Granger pulled back, frowning.
"I'm not playing with you."
Draco wanted to curse himself. Why, why did he keep muttering his thoughts aloud? Two years of Occlumency—for what?
"If anyone's playing, it's you," Granger said, her voice tight, the edge of warning clear. "You're the one who cast the spell."
Well, yes, but he had cast the spell…
A week ago.
Only a week? It felt impossible, though time had warped like that before—during the war. He stilled, hands still under her flannel shirt.
Was it the same for Granger? Had this week stretched endlessly for her too, like they were both now measuring time by her broken watch? Or had it just been an ordinary week to her, interrupted by irritating nightly visits to his bed? Was the spell just an inconvenience, keeping her from her Hufflepuff? And if so—why was she now nearly naked, straddling him?
"Draco?" Granger's voice was worried now. Only Salazar knew what expression he had on his face.
Draco looked up at her, confused.
"You tried to warn me today," she said. "And you threatened Justin."
"Yes," Draco sighed. Here it came—the shrieking. He'd been yelled at by plenty of half-naked angry women before. Pansy could hit truly operatic notes. He really should've thought before threatening to murder Granger's boyfriend. Genius.
Granger frowned.
"It didn't work."
"No."
Let's just forget it.
But what had he expected? Granger always dug deeper, always got to the truth—and not even soft lighting and bare skin could distract her for long. Still, she looked so tempting—her wavy hair falling out of the messy bun, wand stuck haphazardly in it. Several long curls fell into the open collar of her shirt, pointing straight to her exposed chest. Draco vaguely realized she was speaking again.
"…Tennant? Draco! Did you follow Tennant into that classroom?"
Her voice had sharpened, breaking the tender moment, and Draco finally lifted his eyes to her face. Granger's cheeks were flushed, but she hadn't even tried to cover herself.
"No," he rasped. Then he cleared his throat. "I pretended to help."
She looked at him approvingly, and a wave of pleasure coursed through Draco's body. Stop that.
"That's good," she said. "I can—"
"No, it's not good." Draco's mind snapped back into clarity, and the words poured out. "None of this is good. Don't you understand? Tennant is obsessed with you. Yes, he'll chase other girls, but you—you're the main target."
His hands tightened on her waist as he met those wild Gryffindor eyes.
"He'll follow you everywhere, and—"
"I'll be fine," she said.
Draco opened his mouth to argue—no, she wouldn't be fine. Was she fine lying crumpled on the floor outside that classroom? He couldn't be with Tennant every second—Granger needed to take at least basic precautions.
He was about to lay it all out when she leaned in again, too close to listen. So instead, Draco let his hands roam her body, tracing her curves, and let her lips meet his. They could talk later—hurl arguments, nitpick details.
She hadn't wanted to be here. She hadn't chosen this. But the Vanishing Spell still bound her, and maybe—just maybe—she was beginning to like the darkness, at least for a while. With me.
His hands slid to her shoulders, pulling the flannel shirt down, revealing her beautiful body glowing in the candlelight. Her messy bun had mostly fallen apart, wand lost somewhere in the bed, and he buried his fingers in her loose curls, brushing them from her face as he kissed her again and again.
The feel of her palms gliding across his skin made Draco shudder, and he exhaled softly against her lips.
It was time.
He should take her now, while he could—show her what this could be. His hands released her hair and wrapped around her tighter as he tried to flip her beneath him, ready to rip away the last of her clothes and—
"No," Granger gasped, pressing her palms to his chest. "Don't move."
"I can't do this properly like this," he said. "Unless you take the lead…" His heart thudded wildly at the thought.
"No," she said again, breathless but firm. "Not tonight."
Draco smirked at the sight of her flushed face.
"No? Maybe I can change your mind." His hand slid down.
Granger pulled away.
"No, we're not having sex."
"We definitely are."
"We definitely are not."
His fingers had already brushed the inside of her thigh, but she climbed off him, wrapping her open shirt around herself.
Draco stared at her.
"What the hell? You're in my bed, kissing me, letting me undress you, and suddenly—"
"There's nothing sudden about this," Granger snapped, shaking her head. "Sex is not on the table."
"Not on the table," he repeated mockingly, sitting up. "That precious table of yours. But I don't recall any negotiating. I do recall you kissing me and—"
"Is that how you see it?" she cut in, buttoning her shirt with sharp movements. "I kiss you, let you touch me, and now I'm supposed to just spread my legs?"
"Well… yes," Draco felt cornered. "You want me."
Granger snorted. Just snorted. As if her desire were a minor inconvenience that needed to be managed.
And everything he'd ever hated about this woman came rushing back with double force—her arrogance, her sense of superiority, her belief in her own flawless moral compass.In hindsight, this explosion was inevitable, the moment they started talking.
"And what exactly do you think was going to happen?" he demanded. "You show up here, all sweet and innocent, and I'm just supposed to sit here, obediently picking up the crumbs you toss my way?"
He loomed over her, using every inch of his height, even while seated on the bed.
"You expect me to chase after you, Granger? Beg you?"
Shut up, hissed a voice in his mind, but the blood was pounding in his ears, drowning it out.
"Bet your puff does it like a pro," he added venomously.
Granger straightened her back, her eyes turned to ice.
"How would I know? I'm not like you, Malfoy. Sex actually means something to me."
Draco's breath caught. Did these nights mean something to her? Was that even possible?
Granger stared him down.
"Well?"
What did she want him to say? Her gaze pinned Draco like a charm. He felt like he'd swallowed an entire vial of Veritaserum—words stuck in his throat, burning, desperate to escape: PLEASE I'LL SAY ANYTHING JUST LET ME TOUCH YOU PLEASE…
He didn't know what expression he wore, but it must have been pitiful—Granger looked concerned. Concerned. He clenched his jaw. He couldn't stay here with her. He had to leave—Malfoys don't beg.PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE…
With a cry—one that almost sounded like a sob, though it came out like rage or frustration, but was really just desperation—Draco yanked his wand from beneath the pillow and slashed it toward the canopy, shattering all the protection charms in one motion like a bolt of lightning. He didn't care about secrecy anymore. He didn't care about Tennant.
He just needed to get out.
Granger went pale, sinking to her knees on the blanket, her mouth falling open as Draco tore aside the curtain and fled the bed.