The Darkwood Wand

Night Seven-Speaking

Draco was staggered. He hadn't expected any kisses tonight. Dark scowls, maybe. Icy lectures. Screeching threats of Azkaban. By now the Puff had surely told her what happened in the Astronomy Tower.

He'd woken the instant she'd landed, of course, but pretended to be asleep. It had been a long day. But instead of harsh words, Granger had offered only gentleness. Drawing the book out of his hands, the spectacles off his face ... Her soft touches had given Draco the courage to open his eyes.

And there she was, stretched across his body, baring that long, slender throat, dark curls brushing his cheek. She looked down and her own eyes widened. She opened her mouth—likely to commence the screeching—and Draco acted instinctively, shaking his head at her. He didn't expect her to obey. She never did what she was told. Draco didn't understand how Granger could say he didn't listen to women. He had no choice but to listen to women these days; they certainly never listened to him. Salazar, he was pathetic. As bad as the Hufflepuff. Worse, because she liked the Hufflepuff. She respected the Hufflepuff. She wanted the Hufflepuff, not some ...

He was getting a little hysterical in his mind when Granger's lips touched his: still light, still soft. Two tiny kisses. He was instantly hard, and when she sucked in his lip, he almost came. He was just so shocked.

But Granger didn't stop there. Her hands began to roam: light, warm, sweet touches. She looked him over, her brow furrowed, as if he were a subject of study. Touches on his jaw, throat, chest. She traced his Septumscempra scars, drawing her attention lower. Draco watched through half-lidded eyes, captivated by the sight of those bushy curls sweeping over his chest. This was quite the surprise. What might she do, if he let her? Where might that powerful curiosity lead her?

He was melting into the pillows, feeling a bit helpless, when he heard her voice for the first time tonight, gentle, like that first night when she woke him from his nightmare.

"Draco," she whispered.

Draco didn't speak, just cupped her face in his hands and drew her closer. Soft flannel slid against his bare chest and their lips touched. His tongue found hers and she moaned, he heard it in her throat, and he was lost. His hands slipped downward to find smooth skin, and he began parting buttons, seeking more. He tore his mouth from hers and pulled her body up to bury his face in the open shirt, finding more warm, velvety skin, his lips tracing a curved path to a nipple and he sucked it, hard.

"Draco," she breathed into his hair.

His name on her lips was sweet, even sweeter than the nipple his tongue was caressing again. His hands held her in place as he shifted to her other breast, flannel brushing his face. He felt her fingers pulling his hair and her weight against him. To touch this powerful witch, to feel her soft little hands on his body, made him weak. Malfoys aren't weak, a voice growled, ignored.

Draco was working his way upward again, attacking her throat. Granger shifted above him, pressing against his cock, and his head fell back again against the pillow. A groan escaped him, he couldn't help it, his whole body was burning. What was happening? What was she doing? Was she playing with him?

Granger pulled away with a frown. "I'm not playing with you."

Draco could have hexed himself. Why, oh why did he keep muttering his thoughts aloud? Weren't two years of Occlumency training good for anything?

"If anyone's playing, it's you." Granger's voice now had an edge that would be painful if he allowed it to grow up. "This is your spell, after all."

Well, yes, but he'd cast the spell a ...

A week ago.

Only a week? Draco could hardly believe it, but then time had warped in much the same way during the war. He stilled, his hands still beneath the flannel top. Had it been the same for Granger? Had the past week spun out indefinitely for her as well, slow beats of time no more precise than those of her broken clock? Or had it been just an ordinary week for her, punctuated with annoying visits to his bed each night? Was the spell a mere inconvenience for her, delaying plans with her Puff? If so, why was she straddling him now, practically topless?