Drawn ( A Dramione Story)

Unintended Outcomes

A clear head in the morning is one of the best feelings. It sets a day apart with special promise. A magic appointed splitting of warmth as sleep falls off of bright eyes, blood coursed with purpose, destination invalid as the day rings its unknown adventure to the world.

There were fewer days than she liked that felt that way. Before the war, it was chaos. During, the horrors were all around, death the definite end for some, a feeling that never left.

Days after the war were much filled with anticipation. She only knew a world so divided.

That was part of the reason why she agreed to return to Hogwarts. She longed for stability. Space to rediscover herself not aligned in darkness. It was folly to believe she'd ever be the same. That was impossible. War changed too much, ruined, too, her innocence to believe in such lines as right and wrong.

For once, Hermione Granger found herself adrift in an uncertain world, even more uncertain of herself that she had been as an awkward adolescence with buck teeth and knobby knees. The very veil of straightforwardness that she always honored as a young girl was lifted to show just how jagged the line of the world was. White and black. It was not so defined.

The world, unlike the sky, was mostly gray.

Her conscious came alive as the sensation of light drifted across her face. This was not one of those beautiful mornings that she yearned for. A morning haze glowed with warmth and shined brightly in the room, so brightly that she whimpered out a soft groan.

She was not rested enough to withstand the vibrant light of a September morning in Scotland. It was blinding, harsh. There were no condolences for a hangover as the country saw it. Late summer beamed with sunshine until the sudden emergence of winter fell in white heaps upon the ground.

Hermione awoke slowly. She took stock of herself without opening her eyes, a sudden brightness might encourage a sudden upheaval of her stomach. Indeed, it rolled around in noisy sloshes.

Firewhiskey.

Why did she agree to sip from Pansy Parkinson's goblet? It smelled amazing. That's why.

She shifted gently beneath the rich fluffy comforter and her body awakened with fire. Her body was tender. Especially the apex of her thighs, that delightful spot never ached before. Thighs. They slipped together as she moved. The night before may be a fucked-up blur of firewhiskey, spin the bottle and those spiked potions that were passed around luckily, she realized it fast enough to not take any, but the slick on her thighs was something that was unexpected.

Cum. Not all hers, she guessed too.

Her pussy dripped with it. A bitter mingled sweet scent came from below. Sharp, almost pleasant, heat burned up through her sides toward her overly sensitive nipples.

It was astounding that sex, one cock, could impact her body, change it to a ball of fire and lust.

God. She ached for more.

And just like an answer to her mental desires, an arm snaked around her waist. Long, cool flesh rested against her naked body in familiarity, cupping her the curve of her hip on one hand. A chest pushed gently on her back, moaned slightly as he caressed his face into her hair.

He wasn't awake entirely. His breathing was too slow for it. But the noises, the contented sighs that came from his throat filled her belly up with unbridled hunger for what he gave her before.

Whoever he was.

Hermione ventured to open her eyes and froze. White. All white everywhere.

A small bedroom, not at Hogwarts, stood in unabashed luxury compared to any place she'd been. Coffers of ornate designs painted brilliant white. They flowed through arches toward a sitting room off to the right of the bed. The sitting room, too, consisted of white walls adorned with marble faces mounted in neat rows. An entire wall of French doors opened up to the world outside as gossamer curtains of white billowed in the warm winds of morning.