Chapter Text
Hermione loved school—loved it so much that she became a professor—but being forced to return from her summer trip a day early in the name of unity was stretching the bounds of her love.
She couldn’t keep herself from frowning as she and Harry traipsed up the castle steps and deeper into the cooler air. Having come straight from a beach holiday in France, she was still wearing a short floaty skirt, white t-shirt and jelly sandals, while Harry wore his summer staple of long jean shorts (even despite Theo's week-long nickname of ‘Jorts Boy’—which everyone was calling him by the last day).
They journeyed to the sixth floor and through a set of grand double doors rivalling those in the Entrance Hall. Doors Hermione was certain she’d never seen in all her years at Hogwarts.
“Wasn't the Ancient Runes classroom here?” asked Harry.
Hermione clucked her tongue. “There was never a classroom here. There was never anything here.”
The space was large enough to be the Great Hall, except rather than an enchanted ceiling, there was nothing but brick and an ancient iron chandelier. Peculiarly, the surrounding walls sported half a dozen wooden doors. Hermione sent a little wave to Neville, who loitered with Professors Trelawney, Babbling, Sinistra, and the new muggle studies teacher, Penelope Clearwater.
Headmistress McGonagall acknowledged their presence with nothing more than a glance in their direction. “Seeing as this activity is not compatible with ghosts nor half-giants, Professor Binns and Hagrid will not be joining us.”
“Lucky,” muttered Harry.
“Therefore, we are now waiting for only one person.”
At that, Hermione's whole body pulsed with anticipation at realising who, exactly, that one person was. For an entire summer she'd done so well to ignore any thoughts about the potions professor—after that stupid drunken night—and yet, she still hadn't made an effort to prepare for the inevitable moment she'd again face him. Why hadn't she prepared?
Hermione heated with panic. She’d simply not pay any attention to Malfoy. So what if he was the only man who’d been able to give her an orgasm? So what if she dated Ron and Oliver and Cormac and needed to fake her moans and hide her disappointment after they came in five minutes flat, but Malfoy gave her an orgasm like the magically-altered toy she kept in her nightstand? Like it was his life’s purpose?
So what?
Hermione couldn’t date a fellow professor. She promised herself as much when she started this job, and reaffirmed her promise when Malfoy began at Hogwarts and walked into the staff break room one day, suddenly less pointy than he’d been during their school years with his hair unsettled over his forehead like a Witch Weekly model, the ropey veins in his forearms well-popped, and those long, artful fingers.
As she rearranged her footing, Hermione squeezed her thighs together to stifle the sudden reminder of what those fingers could do.
Their sexual run-in was just a moment of weakness, that was all. After several months of his silly jokes and sweet flattery, plus his pureblood chivalry that somehow made her forget a single thing about feminism, she found herself snogging him in the back alley behind The Three Broomsticks.
Afterwards, she swore off both Firewhisky and Draco Malfoy.
This role meant far more to her than good sex... that’s what she told herself anyway. There was zero room for failed relationships and broken hearts at Hogwarts.
The grand doors behind groaned as they wedged shut, drawing everyone’s attention.
Headmistress McGonagall thinned her mouth into an unimpressed line. “Ah, Professor Malfoy, how generous of you to finally grace us with your presence.”
There was absolutely no urgency in his bearing. He strolled in wearing black trousers and a shirt instead of his usual wizard robes, then stopped at the meagre space between Hermione and Harry before showing McGonagall a pull of a smile.
“Now that you are here, I can organise everyone into pairs for today’s activity.”
The Headmistress unfurled a scroll reminiscent of their very first day at Hogwarts, except instead of nerves and excitement and wonder, Hermione felt nothing but irritation for a wasted day. She could have been reading a book on the beach. Or at the very least, organising her syllabus for the remainder of the year.
Malfoy rearranged his footing and his shirt brushed against her bare arm, leaving a tingle in its wake. With that simple action she caught his clean masculine scent, and oh gods, she'd forgotten how delicious he smelled. Hermione shook her head to herself. No, she couldn’t think that way. She needed to ignore him. Ideally she'd avoid him today, then during term, ensure she woke earlier to take breakfast first, travel the long way between the Charms classroom and the Great Hall to avoid any chance of him popping up from the dungeons at the second floor corridor, and she'd discontinue using the staff break room. Simple.
Hermione edged a half-step away from Malfoy, just to solidify her plan.
“Professors Potter and Trelawney, please choose a door.”
“Lucky you, Jorts Boy,” mumbled Malfoy.
Hermione trapped a laugh in her mouth. The nickname had evidently travelled across the Channel.
“Shove it, Malfoy,” Harry said beneath his breath before padding over towards Trelawney.
McGonagall continued listing off names and, even as adults, they walked to their assigned partner as if they were forced towards the gallows. Suddenly there were only four names left. Not bothering to hide their nervous expressions, Hermione, Neville, Penelope and Malfoy all glanced at one another.
“Professors Granger and Malfoy, you will be collaborating together today.” Wand in hand, she indicated towards the door behind them with a silver filigree border and a matching doorknob.
Hermione's nerves fired. Before she knew it, she was speaking. “No.”
McGonagall arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry Professor Granger, but there are better ways to express your discontent than with a single syllable.”
“With all due respect, Headmistress, no is a full sentence. I do not wish to work with Malfoy. I can be paired with someone else.”
Malfoy scoffed lightly.
“With all due respect, Professor Granger, I am not here to consider your wishes. This is a necessity of your employment and all are required to partake in this exercise.” She sent a pointed look to Malfoy, then Harry, before settling the same unimpressed stare on Hermione. “After the shenanigans over the past year, I will not have any more conflict amongst the staff. Our pupils deserve better. You are going to go through those doors and come out the other side as a unified workforce. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Headmistress,” they all mumbled in unison.
Just as Neville and Penelope paired off, Hermione turned to the nearest door, nibbling at the inside of her lip while Malfoy followed closely at her side. How was she supposed to work directly with the wizard after their last encounter? She sighed heavily. Ignoring him was no longer an option. They’d just need to sail through whatever this challenge was, leaving no room for flirty conversations or innuendo. Perhaps no room for conversations at all.
McGonagall’s voice came like a sharp crack. “Wands.”
Every single wand shot through the room and landed in her open palms.
“How are we supposed to escape this place without wands?” asked Malfoy.
“You don’t need to escape, Professor Malfoy. You must collaborate, and I trust that you can do that without your wands.”
The room filled with vague mumbling then a sigh or two before doorknobs rattled and hinges creaked, all setting off for unknown journeys.
For the first time since Malfoy had arrived, Hermione looked him directly in the eye. Warily, as if she might fall back against a pub wall with his body bracketing her all over again. His cheeks were a little pink in the way she noticed warmer weather inflicted, his lips looking as lush as ever, and hair the perfect length—a week or so out from a haircut and tousled in that carefree way. But all of that was beside the point, really. With effort, Hermione pulled her sight away.
Malfoy opened their door and swept his palm through the air. “Ladies first.”
She needed to stop the end of her mouth from quirking up into an unsanctioned smile. She hated when he did that…
Okay, fine. Hermione didn’t hate it at all. She found it incredibly charming.
With a curt sigh, she gazed through the doorway. Concentrate on the collaboration, she reminded herself, then she stepped into what was an unusually dark space. The deeper she moved, the deeper the press of shadows. Suddenly, she couldn’t see a foot ahead and needed to halt in place. Malfoy bumped into her from behind, every heated inch of him pressing against her before bounding backwards. Hermione swayed a little before catching her footing.
“Will you watch where you’re going?” she hissed, rubbing the back of her thigh where his knee had jabbed her.
“I don’t know about you, Granger, but I can’t see through the dark.”
“Lumos,” she whispered.
A speck of light erupted in her open palm until it settled into something no bigger than a galleon and glowing warm yellow, gentle and sparkling like forest fairies. She'd expected it to be brighter, but perhaps that was all she could manage without her wand.
“Show off,” mumbled Draco.
“Or, just a perfectly competent Professor.”
All she could see in the room was his faintly lit face, suddenly creasing with confusion. “I can’t believe you protested working with me today. What exactly have I done to offend you?”
“I had to give up the last day of my summer holidays for this nonsense because of you.”
“Me? I’m not the one who's entrapped us, Granger. It’s not my fault.”
“It is your fault that you’ve spent the past year putting hiccuping potions in Harry’s pumpkin juice, making his cloak flash Potter Stinks in the middle of class, and sticking his glasses to his face for three days straight.”
He cracked a grin. “But you have to admit the shrinking broom prank was incredibly funny.”
She gave a half-hearted eye-roll.
“Are you sure you’re not still annoyed about that kiss?”
The light in her palm fluttered like a disturbed flame, jittering the shadows across Malfoy’s face.
Hermione’s cheeks burned. “You agreed that we weren’t going to speak about that again.”
“No, I agreed not to speak about the fact you came around my fingers.” He chuckled lightly.
As she groaned her exasperation, the light in her palm flared brighter. It hovered away from her hands, increasing in size and vibrance until it met the walls, lighting the whole room.
A library.
But Hermione didn’t bother assessing their whereabouts for long, sending the full force of her glare at Malfoy.
“Why are you so bloody irritating?”
“Because you do this adorable little scrunch of your nose and—”
“Let’s just get this over with.” Hermione turned away, folding her arms over her chest. If he was going to stand there and list all the qualities he liked about her, she wasn’t going to be able to stop herself from reenacting their last run-in. “You're so good at concocting elaborate pranks that you should be able to easily puzzle us out of this room.”
Finally, Malfoy swept his gaze around to take stock of where they had emerged. He glanced past his shoulder, where the door they entered had been only moments ago. “Have you noticed there’s no visible way out?”
It wasn’t the Hogwarts Library they were in, at least not an area Hermione was familiar with, but it was still a library of sorts. All four walls were wrapped in incredibly bare wooden bookshelves. Only a dozen or so cloth-bound books were slotted in, and there was nothing else in the large space except a gold and burgundy rug with a grand desk in the centre.
Just as they both craned their necks to peer at the unremarkable ceiling, there was a loud grinding. It departed as quickly as it arrived, causing the next beat of silence to feel particularly loud.
Then, the bookshelves jostled in place.
“Can you see that?” asked Hermione, unable to pull her eyes away from the shuddering furniture.
“Yes…” he said slowly.
This time they didn't simply jostle but creaked and groaned. Hermione needed to blink rapidly to make sure she was truly witnessing the bookshelves tear away from the walls and glide in their direction.
“Granger, McGonagall didn’t say these rooms would try to kill us, did she?”
“Please,” scoffed Hermione. But her skepticism quickly disappeared, noticing how the moving shelves were quickly causing the room to shrink.
They backed up into the centre of the space as the furniture moved with increasingly hostile speed, Malfoy two steps in front of her, as if he might shield her from the threat of the animated wood. All the while, Hermione wondered how long it would take to mend her broken bones should the shelves flatten her, and what the students might think if she started term in a sling.
They moved backward until her behind hit the edge of the desk. She turned, ready to step up, convinced it would impede the path of the bookshelves; but before she could raise her knee, Malfoy grabbed her waist and lifted her to sit on the surface.
“My magic isn’t doing anything,” said Hermione, standing on the desk. “What about yours?”
“Useless,” he mumbled, then jumped up to join her.
Hurriedly, she ran her panicked gaze around the room, trying to find any detail: instruction they may have missed, the hidden seam of a door, a glamoured object. All she could spot were books. Fourteen of them, by her quick count. Before she could even speak her thoughts aloud, Malfoy Accio’d one into his hand.
He flipped through the pages. “They’re all blank.”
Hermione snatched the book from his grasp and muttered Aparecium to no effect. “Then maybe it’s not this one.” She slammed it shut and turned it over to view its faded navy cloth. There was a single word in the centre. “Est?”
The hurried glide of the bookshelves and the accompanying grumble of their strained wooden joints was becoming oddly menacing.
Hermione conjured another book into her grip, then suddenly Malfoy was behind her, peering down past her shoulder. The heat of him leeched through the flimsy cotton of her clothing, and along with the crisp, citrusy smell of him, she briefly re-experienced the same brand of exhilaration as the last time they were together. When they tangled in the shadows outside the pub. She recalled how his tongue had caressed hers, knee pressed up between her legs as she ground down against him to feel friction at her clit, just before he vanished her underwear and slipped his fingers into her heat—
With a curt huff, Hermione willed away the memory. She crouched, planting the book down flat on the desk. “Quick—the others.”
The shelves were less than three feet away at their every side, seemingly shrinking in width as needed to create a perfect wooden perimeter.
Both Hermione and Malfoy Accio’d every book in their direction. Hermione caught two, but the others slammed into her legs, the corner of one jabbing into her thigh and making her both drop the books in hand and lose her balance. Just as she rocked back onto one foot, Malfoy belted an arm around her waist and yanked her against his chest. Her pulse already stampeded, but now, as he stared down at her, it raged. Gods, she’d forgotten how gorgeous he was up close.
Just as his gaze dropped to her lips, he said, “Hold on.”
“What?” she whispered.
From every direction, the shelves rammed into the desk.
Malfoy’s arm cinched around Hermione’s shoulders, and she cowered into him. Her chin slotted over his collar, into the dip of his neck and shoulder, and her fingers scrunched the back of his shirt as the surface beneath them swayed.
The force was enough to wobble Hermione, nearly knocking her sideways again, but his other arm latched around her waist, drawing her in and making their bodies meld against each other. Their chests heaved together. Instead of Hermione worrying that the room was going to shrink around them until they were squished like irritating gnats, all she could think was that Malfoy was scorching against her, and if they were skin to skin it would only be that much better.
When silence finally reigned, she broke away from his hold and briefly glanced up at him.
He stared at her with his lips angling for a smile, the kind she knew came before he said something flirty, but instead, he breathed deeply and opted in favour of watching her mounting discomfort beneath his unrelenting gaze.
Hermione shifted her sight anywhere else, peering up at what now looked like a wooden box encasing the desk, awfully coffin-like. But how long did they have to consider their threatening surroundings?
She knelt, flipping the books over one after the other. “There must be…” As soon as she discovered a book sporting the inscription ‘ante’, the desk quivered beneath them.
Malfoy groaned, then he dropped to his knees to help.
The desk was shrinking, rocking lightly.
The shelves restarted their mission, closing in, inch by inch.
“This one says ipsum,” said Malfoy. “It’s all Latin.”
Hermione gasped and yanked the book from his hand. She placed it at the front of the arrangement she’d curated before her folded knees.
“Ipsum ante te est,” she read aloud.
“It’s right in front of you,” Malfoy translated.
With that, the desk stopped its efforts to shrink, barely a foot of wood left at every side of them, and the bookshelves froze in place.
Breaths shallow, Hermione peered up to find the lines of a door materialising in the wood ahead. She glanced at Malfoy past her shoulder.
Taking to his feet, he carded his fingers through his hair. “I know McGonagall isn’t going to let us die, but I really didn’t need that.” He extended a palm. “Shall we?”
***
Draco couldn’t believe his luck.
He’d been dreading this day, but then he walked in to find Granger in the skimpiest skirt he’d ever seen her wearing, and now they were paired together and forced into tight spaces? Thank fucking Merlin. He needed to kiss McGonagall when they next crossed paths.
More time spent alone with Granger was everything he’d wished for over the summer, particularly seeing as Owling Theo to covertly ask about his beach vacation with Granger only seemed to spur Draco’s jealousy.
Now was the perfect opportunity to properly woo the witch.
Draco held the newly materialised door open for Granger, who walked through with a curt sigh. Gods, she was adorable. She kept a wary little crease to her brow ever since that night at The Three Broomsticks, and he was determined to iron it out before this forced collaborative day was through. He wanted her to look at him with faint astonishment, much the same way she’d done when he began his role at Hogwarts and she realised he was capable of more than following in his father's footsteps. In the same way as when he’d halted her undoing his zipper that drunken night and told her he wanted to pleasure her first. He enjoyed his ability to surprise the witch.
As Draco walked deeper into the new room, he glimpsed behind at the door fading away into a white wall. “Alright, one successful—” Just as he turned back, his footsteps stalled. Mouth fell open. “Is that a bed?”
“Yes.” Granger’s voice was pale.
There was nothing except four white walls, meagre lighting he couldn’t see a source for, and a four-post bed with silvery sheets.
“This must be a joke.” Granger sniffed a laugh. “It’s just a joke—a riddle we have to decipher. That’s all.”
“With a bed?”
Granger ran a fingertip across her bottom lip twice over. She suddenly had her Thinking Expression on—the very same he’d witnessed throughout their school years and absolutely adored that it still persisted today. “Do you think we’re in the Room of Requirement?”
“That’s on a different floor.”
“It might be a derivative of the room, plus some extremely powerful magic.”
Draco lifted a shoulder. “Does it matter?”
“Well, what I'm getting at is…” She glanced away before tentatively returning her gaze. “I think this room is showing us what we want to see.”
“What do you mean what we want to see?”
Sure, he wanted to shag Granger, he’d definitely thought about it more than once, and definitely at least five times today… but not in this way. He’d always imagined taking her greedily the first time. Rough and dirty. Finishing what they started against the wall in the middle of Diagon Alley, bending her over the potions classroom bench between classes, or dragging her down onto the Quidditch pitch and fucking into her so harshly she’d leave scratches down his back. He supposed he could do those things in here, but no, a bed was not the top of his list.
“What we require,” she added unhelpfully.
“How can this be the Room of Requirement?” Draco asked, moving forward to survey the walls and detecting absolutely nothing. Just like the last room, there was no entry or exit. Nothing written on the walls, no levers or pulleys, not even any bloody books. “Where are all the knick-knacks? And the burns on the ceiling.”
“Be quiet for a moment while I think of what I’ve read about magic fitting an individual’s needs. Although, I wonder if it works with the requirements of two people? Or more, given all the staff are here?”
Draco sighed. He didn’t want to admit it, but perhaps he was uncomfortable. Why was the room so small? He began another lap of the tiny perimeter. There had to be a door somewhere. “I have no answers for your questions,” he said tersely. “I teach potions not riddles.”
She spun to see him, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re just going to make me do all the work then, are you?”
“I'm not going to make you do anything, Granger.”
She made a skeptical, “Uh huh,” before turning back towards the bed. “Right then, seeing as I can’t recall reading anything useful, let's begin with some associated words. Maybe that’ll trigger an idea.”
Draco nodded despite the fact she’d already turned away.
“Hmm,” she began. “Sleep—”
“Sex.”
“Duvet—”
“Shag.”
“Pillows—”
“Fuck,” said Draco through a budding smirk.
She whipped around with a cute display of anger that had Draco biting back a grin. “Will you bloody stop?”
He let his grin free. “Do the deed.”
Granger grasped at the air as she let out a frustrated groan and swivelled away. “You are infuriating.”
With that, a dark line ran up the wall ahead before it took a sharp right, carving out a new door.
“How did you do that without solving anything?” asked Draco, stepping forward to better see the materialised exit.
“I solved my desire to get away from you!” She turned for the door.
“Wait, what if—now hear me out before you say anything—”
Granger whirled back, seemingly at her wits’ end. Her mass of curls had somehow grown larger since a moment ago, and he wondered if it was fuelled by her mood instead of the weather, as presumed.
“What if the room has given us this perfect offering to shag?”
Her cheeks coloured. Pink marbled down her throat, right to the round neck of her t-shirt.
“You said it yourself, the room is just showing us what we want to see.”
She simultaneously shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. “Why in Merlin’s name would McGonagall want us to have sex?”
“Maybe she just wants us to be happy?”
Her eyes narrowed into a glare. “Do you think any of the other Professors are off shagging right now?”
At recalling how Potter and Trelawney walked off into a room together, Draco wrinkled his nose. “I truly hope not.”
An expectant look was forming in her eyes, and she was still plenty flushed from his suggestion. This was his opportunity, he suddenly realised. She was waiting for him to say something… and he certainly had something important to say.
Draco knew Granger was correct, as she was about most things. He could feel that this place was trying to give him everything he wanted on a silver… bed. He wasn’t certain how it was anything to do with McGonagall’s unity exercise, but he didn’t care. He just needed to tell her what he felt, or rather, how he’d felt for her for some years now. How, even as a boy, he’d admired the enthusiastic bolt of her arm into the air for the professor's questions, appreciated how she twiddled the end of a curl between finger and thumb as she read in the library, and how he enjoyed that sometimes her eyes became glassy when she laughed, making the amber sparkle. All qualities he had previously realised he wasn't supposed to be admiring in a muggle-born, because he wasn't supposed to admire her at all.
But now, with the war and talk of blood supremacy long behind them, there was nothing stopping him...
Except his own mouth.
He couldn't find a single word. Instead, a small yet extremely convincing voice in the back of his mind told him that he needed Granger pliant, not irritable. Draco wanted her to hear the words. He didn’t want them to have the wrong glean because he expressed himself at an inopportune time, and most importantly, didn’t want her to assume he was just saying any old nonsense to get her into that bed.
Instead of a love confession, Draco decided to rely on his usual wit and charm to diffuse her unimpressed expression. What came out of his mouth, however, was nothing of the sort.
“I promise you, Granger, if you just lay back and let me put my tongue between your legs, this strange room will be very happy.”
Her brows quivered in. Then she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and he knew she battled with her own desires.
“You like that idea, don't you?” he added.
“I don't hate the idea, but we can't." She twisted around for the exit. “There's no use spending any more time in these rooms than needed.”
“Granger.”
He'd been so close, he almost had her.
“Wait—”
When she failed to hesitate, outstretching her arm for the door, Draco witnessed a patch of flooring beneath jut up and out, catching her foot. Just as she hurtled forward, moments away from crashing into the wall, Draco launched in her direction.
But his foot caught on something.
Something that hadn’t been there moments ago and disappeared so instantly, he couldn’t even sight it as his eyes cast down.
He braced himself for the sound of Granger’s impact and the feel of his own, but all he heard was a gasp. Then all he felt was the strange squeeze of his knee, like he’d pressed it in between two sofa cushions, followed by the scuff of the carpeted floor on his palms. When his vision settled, he realised he was not only on the ground, but his leg was somehow halfway through the wall, his right leg and half his left shoe, which was folded down against the floor at a strange angle.
With a heated surge of panic, Draco tried to pull away.
He didn't budge even a quarter of an inch. Somehow he now felt even more uncomfortable—had the wall tightened around him? His efforts quickly stalled at realising that not only was Granger stuck, but in a position that made his smile return at full force.
There was nothing of her on this side of the wall except for her arse (a perfect one at that), a small stretch of her lower back, half a shin, and one foot she used to balance precariously on her toes. Despite the fact he desperately wanted to dance his sight up her thighs, he slid his eyes away, trying to maintain some of her dignity.
“Granger?” He couldn't stop grinning. Why couldn’t he stop grinning? Hopefully she couldn’t hear it in his voice. “Are you alright?”
There came a reply, but it was far too muffled. She wriggled in place, and his eyes immediately latched onto her behind. Her skirt swayed. Thighs jiggled. How could he not look? Her arse was basically at his left ear. If he turned his whole body enthusiastically, his nose would slip right into her centre.
“Wait a moment, I’m going to try free myself first.”
Draco summoned all of his energy for his wandless magic, but it felt like a doused flame. He couldn’t even budge his untied shoelace.
“What can you see on that side?” he called out. “Maybe it can help us get unstuck? Is there another puzzle? More Latin?”
Again, he couldn’t make heads nor tails of her response.
But he was suddenly far too distracted to care. Draco’s eyes flung back to Granger’s backside like a magnet. He couldn't help from shifting up the honey-toned columns of her thigh to that flimsy little skirt, only shortened further due to the way the wall had caught her in a bend.
He’d thought about her like this. Bent over his desk in the dungeons, bent over the green chaise in his flat. He’d imagined spreading her wide, imagined the lines of her folds and then what she might taste like if he dipped his tongue between. He could allow himself to fantastise, couldn’t he? What was the harm? How could he not when the round of her bum was directly in front of his face, and—
“Pink underwear, Granger?”
Her response was lacking clarity, but he certainly heard a very curt tone.
There was an edge of lace that trailed up and up, disappearing beneath her skirt. He didn't know what came over him, but he desperately wanted to see where it led to. He brushed back the covering—swiftly, as if doing it hurriedly might stop her from noticing—revealing the full show of her behind and the pink laced underwear only covering half of her cheeks.
Her reaction was delayed: a little wiggle of her bum and something that sounded awfully like his name yelled out with nothing but vexation.
But Draco tuned it out. His eyes trailed down the curve of her arse, to the stark patch of dampness leeching into the fabric between her legs and making the seam of her all the more apparent.
“Are you… are you wet, Granger?”
“No!” He heard that.
“You fucking are! My nose is barely an inch from you, and I can not only see how wet you are, but smell you.” He failed to add the part where the heady musk of her was making his tongue water.
This time when she moved, it was a gentle squeeze that sought to press her thighs closer, as if seeking friction. Unfortunately for her, the way she was trapped meant they wouldn’t meet. Any thought of Draco’s current predicament—stuck in a wall with no apparent way out—disappeared, and he raised a forefinger, hovering it at the gusset of her underwear. The sweet scent of her was the only thing playing on his mind, causing him to forget unity and escaping nonsensical rooms, replacing it with vivid imaginings of petal-soft arousal-slicked skin beneath his tongue.
Draco lowered the tip of his finger like it was the only logical thing to do, dragging it down her seam. “Fuck. Were you like this before I was down here?”
He didn't care for the answer. Knowing she was soaking the cotton of her knickers was enough to make his cock quirk in his trousers.
Finally, he heard her voice, more shriek than anything. “Will you just think of what the room needs to get us out?”
“I think the room wants me to eat your cunt, Granger.”
Her whine made it through the wall.
They had been so close to doing exactly this that night at the pub—before people had spilled out the back door and caused them to break apart. He’d had dreams about tasting her, about this very moment, and given the state of Granger's knickers, he assumed she had, too.
As he teased his finger over the dampness, her back arched and he took it as a sign for more.
Decisively, Draco slotted his fingers into the sides of her underwear at Granger’s hips, and she wriggled a tad beneath his touch, but whether to shake him away or help him along, he couldn’t tell. She was powerless, and the thought made him feel drunk with desire. Made his cock throb like nothing else.
As he let her underwear drop, trapping it between her knee and the wall, Draco caught his breath.
She was beautiful, bent over and bared. His cock hardened as he marvelled at her pink, shiny folds. When his palms spread her arsecheeks wider and he glimpsed the deeper blush around her entrance, his cock thickened until it pressed painfully against his fly. He shifted around to better align himself behind her, even though it stretched his weirdly trapped foot uncomfortably. He was too aroused to care.
And yet, he didn’t want to frighten her.
Draco placed a testing kiss to the back of her thigh. When nothing came in reply, no startle or wince, he left another a little higher. Then a gentle nip of her bum. This time she flinched beneath him, before quickly angling backward. At that, Draco glided a testing finger down her arousal and, just as he reached her entrance, she bowed her back further, letting the tip slip into her tight wet heat.
A faint noise came through the wall and Draco chose to hear it as pleasurable. Even still, he held in place, suddenly very aware that he’d gotten carried away and only moments earlier, she denied this activity.
But Granger pressed backward again.
Draco’s finger disappeared right down to the knuckle, and he groaned lightly. He slipped in a second and then twisted his hand to make his thumb graze over her clit with every stroke in and out.
Her whole body wilted. The tension left her thighs, trusting the wall to hold her.
“You like that, don’t you?”
She clamped down around him as if in reply. He could feel how much she enjoyed it—see it, in the tiny sway of her back and forth to meet his every pulse into her core, how she dripped down his fingers, and the way his every new delve drew out enough arousal to soak his palm. He retracted to dip a finger into his mouth to sample the taste of her and, Salazar, she was divine.
Before she could even feel the loss of him, he grasped at the rounds of her hips and simultaneously dragged her to his mouth, breaching her folds with the point of his tongue, dipping until he felt the scorching heat of her entrance around him.
Granger’s moan penetrated the wall. His cock jolted in its confines with desperation.
As he groaned his pleasure, he used the flat of his tongue to lap at the new flood of arousal from her centre, humming into her as his cock pulsed for the effect he had on the witch. Imagine what he could do to her if there weren't a bloody wall between them.
“I wish I could better see you,” Draco said against her, perfectly aware she'd never hear him.
With one hand, he clawed into her arse as he licked another unhurried line up the curve of her cunt, his other between her legs drawing tiny circles on her clit. He desperately wanted to witness pleasure crease her expression, see how she gasped for breaths as he worked his tongue in a way that dragged her closer and closer to the edge, and feel the sting at his scalp as she grabbed at his hair. Without the front half of her available, his brain filled in the blanks: her uncontrollable whines and the purr of his name from his lips.
How was it that he started the day with the threat of unity exercises, and now his wildest dream was about to come true? He was about to have Hermione Granger come on his tongue.
Suddenly she ground back against his face, forcing his tongue deeper into her centre.
Draco chuckled against her. “Do you need more?”
Briefly, he rubbed himself over his trousers. He desperately wanted to take himself in hand and stroke as he tongue-fucked Granger, but he needed to give her his all. If he weren’t stuck like this, he'd be slamming into her with his cock instead of his tongue, and the thought made the sticky spot of pre-cum in his briefs known. His balls ached, as if he were only three pumps away from coming.
But Draco pulled his whole body around another inch, ignoring how his trapped foot had horrible pins and needles, and grasped Granger’s arse harshly enough to pinch the skin. He ate deeper, the slick of her arousal fanning over the bottom half of his face as she ground back on his tongue and fingers, seeking more friction. He alternated between pumping inside, swiping his tongue to take in all of her sweet arousal, and flicking and swirling at her clit. Sometimes, she angled or arched, directing him to intensify pressure or focus his efforts, other times she quivered, nearing the edge. He knew he had her when she finally trembled violently beneath his grip.
Then her moans were as clear as day. She fluttered manically against his tongue.
Draco groaned into her as she came for him, savouring the feel and taste of her suddenly slicker. His own pleasure was a heated swipe through his body, until he felt an unruly pain in his balls. He desperately needed a wank. Two strokes would do it.
But there wasn't any time.
Granger fell out of the wall and into the new room, while Draco fell in the opposite direction.