Hermione groaned into the pillow as her alarm chased away the whispers of her playful dream. Draco had been deliriously wonderful last night, just as he had been their first time; patient and unselfish, but still oozing that stubborn nonchalance that was definitively Malfoy and rather alluring. The nerves had affected her again, but she had certainly felt more comfortable this time, and something about the water trickling between their bodies had soothed her qualms and tickled her in a delicate but delicious way.
Wrap your legs around my waist.
Her sore muscles clenched as she recalled his lips and mumbles against her throat, lulling her into a place that felt sinful and yet somehow safe. She had let him press her against the tiles and rouse that throbbing warmth in her stomach, amongst the rose-scented steam and the echoes of pulsing water. She had quaked and moaned with abandon, like Friday, and then he had carried her to her room, waiting until she had gathered her senses before joining their hips again to satisfy himself.
Granger...
With her body sated, she had simply watched him with fascination as he sought his own release. His features had softened and he'd looked completely unburdened for those brief moments, and she had absently freckled kisses across his jaw and neck. She had studied him intently and silently decided that he had never looked more beautiful and free, and she had kissed him hard when he had let go. Her sheets were still damp from shower-drops and sweat, and while she knew the space next to her was empty, she peeked under her lashes anyway; just to check.
She was alone, but that was...okay.
He had come to her last night, and that was enough for now. His pride was taking a severe beating, and she was wise enough to know that it would take time for him to adapt to their...odd situation, as did she. Truth be told, she wasn't exactly sure what she hoped to gain from all this, but she knew she liked him, and Luna's words had her tempted to act on impulses.
Sometimes, Wars can bring good things. They can teach people to hold on to what feels right, even if there are risks involved.
She had a feeling fate would work against her but, just this once, she decided to let things happen and follow the flow. Merlin knew, she would find it hard not to over-analyse the strange relationship with her Slytherin houseguest, but she was learning him, and rushing to make decisions or find conclusions would prove futile.
A quick glance at her clock warned her that she had remained in bed too long and was slightly late, and she quickly began her morning routine before she went to meet McGonagall. Classes had ended so that the Headmistress could start sending home students for the Christmas Holidays as safely as possible, and Hermione and the other Prefects had agreed to assist her. Unfortunately, Michael would be there too, which meant she would finally have to face the Head Boy after running away from him at the Ball with no explanation.
She had already fed the excuse of a sudden stomach bug to Ginny and her other friends when she had stayed in the Gryffindor common room on Saturday night, and she hoped the white lie was substantial enough for Michael to believe. Striding down the familiar corridors, she checked her reflection in a frosty window-pane to ensure that any marks left by Draco had been successfully covered by her rushed Glamour Charms, before slipping down the hall for McGonagall's office.
A guilty flush crawled into her cheeks as she heard the familiar voices drift down the corridor; McGonagall, Michael, Neville, Ginny, amongst the other Prefects. If she had felt guilty after kissing Draco, the paranoia was driving her mind to madness now. Surely they would notice her slightly swollen lips? Or glimpse an ill-disguised bruise from a rough kiss? Or realise that there was a hint of masculine scent to her now?
