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Alone in the Eighth Year common room late one night, Hermione stifled a yawn, casting a Tempus to check the time. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning and she was the only one still awake, studying by candlelight, while her classmates had gone to bed much earlier after their usual Friday night gathering.
Winter was almost upon them and it got rather chilly in the castle at night. Shivering, Hermione remembered the jumper she’d seen lying across the back of the sofa earlier. She presumed it was Ron’s considering that the jumper bore the logo of the Falmouth Falcons, who Hermione knew—well, she was pretty sure—was his favorite Quidditch team.
Shrugging, she pulled it on, knowing he wouldn’t mind her borrowing it. The jumper was incredibly soft and luxurious, but that wasn’t all. It smelled delicious. Downright intoxicating. She detected citrus, cinnamon, and something fresh—pine, maybe?
In all the time Hermione had known Ron, she had never been particularly drawn to his scent. It was fine and all, it just wasn’t something she thought about much. Even during their brief attempt at a relationship the previous summer, it hadn’t affected her in any sort of way, certainly not like what was happening now. Ron’s face wasn’t what came to mind at the scent either, even though it was almost certainly his jumper she was practically burrowing into.
I must be ovulating, Hermione thought, snorting to herself as she climbed into bed, still wearing the jumper. She fell into a deep sleep and woke up refreshed, with faint memories of very pleasant dreams, featuring a distinctively not redheaded person.
The following morning, a chilly Saturday, she dressed in jeans and a long sleeve T-shirt, throwing the oversized jumper over top for warmth, intending to give it back to her friend that evening or sooner, if he asked for it. After a quick and fruitless effort to tame her hair, she headed to the Great Hall for breakfast.
Since most of her friends had risen early for an impromptu Quidditch match they’d decided on the night before, Hermione sat alone at the Gryffindor table, absentmindedly poking at her breakfast.
Finally pushing her plate away, she subconsciously brought the collar of the jumper close to her nose, sniffing it and feeling warm all over. It was so familiar and yet...
Suddenly, she felt eyes on her from across the Great Hall. Glancing around self-consciously, she found a surprising, silver gaze boring into her. Malfoy appeared to be looking at her chest, before his eyes snapped up to meet hers.
Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine at the intensity of his stare. Her core tightened, her heart fluttered, and she ignored the pulsing between her legs.
Malfoy had been the last of her classmates to retire the night before, staying up late to study, and bidding her goodnight only an hour or so before she’d finally looked at the clock to see it was long past bedtime. Though they’d moved past the enmity of their youth, Hermione found that her feelings for him were quite…complicated. The way she often caught him looking at her, almost as if he were studying her and puzzling her out, made her feelings no less complex.
But this look. This was something else entirely. It made her breath hitch and her heart do odd things.
With her belly still doing silly flips, she gathered her books and after one last glance at Malfoy, who still seemed captivated by the jumper she was wearing, she went to the library, and tried to immerse herself in her studies.
Hermione was startled when, only a few minutes later, someone pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. Without looking up, Hermione immediately recognized Malfoy’s satchel, which he set on the floor between their chairs, and began spreading out his books without so much as a word.
Coming back to Hogwarts for Eighth Year had changed the way they interacted with one another; the war had left its mark on all of them. Malfoy, while still a pompous git, was no longer the entitled bully he’d once been. He (and the rest of the Slytherins) had apologized to the lot of them for his behavior and role in the war.
After a year of facing down death, Hermione chose to forgive them. She knew Malfoy hadn’t had an easy time of it either; she’d watched him wasting away in their Sixth year, and now understood all the horrors he’d been through.
But that didn’t mean they were friends. Well, they weren’t not friends. But this was strange. Studying adjacently in the eighth year common room in the evenings was one thing, but for him to suddenly come and sit at her table in the library in broad daylight on a Saturday was quite another.
Why wasn’t he joining the Quidditch match outside? Where were the rest of his friends?
When he still didn’t say a word, merely started writing notes on his parchment, she glanced over to peer at him out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t help but notice how long his lashes were as he looked down at what he was writing. Her eyes traced the fine slope of his nose, and yes, she acknowledged that he’d always had lovely lips.
Okay, so she’d long ago accepted the fact that she found him attractive. Extremely so. Excessively so. But again, what was he doing there with her?
Her eyes moved to his hands, the long, elegant fingers gripping his quill. He’d rolled up the long sleeves of his t-shirt, showing off his lightly muscled wrists and forearms. She swallowed and bit her lip subconsciously, watching him take notes, and then jumped slightly when she suddenly felt his eyes on her.
Oh Merlin, she’d just been caught checking out Malfoy by the man himself. He was fully aware of it judging by the slight smirk he wore.
Screaming internally, she snuggled deeper into Ron’s jumper, now certain she was never giving it back to him. Its scent seemed even stronger now, somehow both soothing her and heightening the heady sort of arousal she’d been feeling since she woke up that morning, which only worsened as she’d traced Malfoy’s hands and arms with her eyes.
She made a mental note to ask Ron about the new cologne he must be wearing. It smelled expensive and rich. Whatever it was, made Hermione feel all warm and tingly. And was there a dash of Amortentia in it?
Whatever it was, was affecting her…oddly. Surely there was some kind of magic at play.
Malfoy cleared his throat, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. He still smirked slightly but, infuriatingly, said nothing.
Clearing her throat as well, she gave him a tight smile before returning her attention to her books, a bubble of hysteria caught in her throat. He was driving her mad, and all he had done was blink his stupidly long blonde eyelashes and take notes with his stupidly attractive hand. She was normally so careful not to look at him lest she make a fool of herself. Like she was right now.
What was wrong with her?
She couldn’t take it anymore.
“What are you doing here on a Saturday, Malfoy?” she asked, lifting her brows and feigning nonchalance.
He lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Same as you, I'd suspect-studying. Trying to pass my NEWTs."
When she glanced at him again, she noticed he was fidgeting with his quill. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous.
He lifted his eyes to hers, and she could’ve sworn he glanced at her lips before his tongue moistened his own perfectly plump lips–not that she’d memorized them or anything.
Hermione inhaled sharply, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed. “I think I need some fresh air,” she said, suddenly breathing shallowly, gathering her books with a swish of her wand.
Malfoy stared at her a moment longer before jumping out of his chair, beginning to pack his things. “Me too,” he said quickly. “I—I’ll join you.”
Hermione could honestly say she’d never heard Malfoy stutter before. His eyes were cast downward as he packed up, circles of pink on his cheekbones. Merlin, had she ever seen Malfoy blush? Besides the time he had been turned into a ferret, she didn’t think he could be embarrassed.
Hermione shrugged, again feigning casualness, and waited for Malfoy to finish packing his satchel before strolling out of the library doors together, and down the corridor, heading toward the front entrance.
Of course they passed Blaise and Theo, who nudged each other when they saw them coming.
“Nice jumper, Granger,” Blaise commented, wiggling his eyebrows once at Malfoy, who responded with a two-finger salute and kept walking.
“Oi Draco. Didn’t realize you and Granger shared a favorite Quidditch team,” called Theo, his tone sly and teasing.
Hermione brushed off their comments, assuming they were just giving Malfoy a hard time as Slytherins were wont to do.
“It’s Ron’s,” she sing-songed back to the irritating Slytherins with whom she’d actually become rather friendly, granting them an eye roll, missing the sudden distressed expression of understanding cross over Malfoy’s face.
“Come on, Granger,” Theo snickered as they continued on their way. “For being so smart–”
“Shove off, Theo,” Malfoy said in a dark tone. Hermione glanced at him in surprise but he kept looking straight ahead.
Stepping outside, the brisk wintry air immediately hit Hermione. It hadn’t snowed yet but with the color of the sky and the chill in the air, it was obvious a storm was imminent. She hadn’t even brought a coat, she’d been in such a hurry to get outside in the hopes of regaining her senses.
She shivered and reached for her wand to cast a warming charm. “Allow me,” Malfoy offered, casting one on both of them. The smell of pine, citrus and cinnamon was only growing stronger, making her shivery in a different way.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling up at him and blinking awkwardly. Malfoy had really grown quite tall over the summer. He was now almost the same height as Ron, and had filled out a bit — two facts she had noticed a while ago but had been trying very hard to ignore.
He fell into step beside her, and she couldn’t help but notice the way he kept stealing glances at her. It didn’t help that she was doing the same thing to him. He was just so–
“You know,” he cleared his throat, interrupting her musings, “that jumper really suits you.”
Hermione arched an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curving up a bit. “I always suspected I looked better in Ron’s clothes than he does.” She was just trying to lighten the mood, but Malfoy didn’t seem to think it was funny. In fact, he made a frustrated sound in his throat, suspiciously close to a choking whine.
“Well, that’s a given,” he replied hoarsely after a long pause. His eyes met hers briefly before flicking away. She tried very hard to ignore the fluttering in her belly. “You look good out of them too.”
She stared at Malfoy. “What?”
His ears turned pink, and again, she was struck by the fact that this wasn’t something she’d ever witnessed before. He’d blushed twice in less than ten minutes.
“I just meant… you always look good, Granger.” He said the words in a rush as if to get them out as quickly as possible, and Hermione suddenly felt warm all over, despite the frigid day.
She tried to gather her wits—she wasn’t about to go all girly just because he’d given her a half-assed accidental compliment. Even if it was kind of sweet. Even if he was tall and fit, and rather witty at times, and almost as academically minded as her.
Even if he was, quite literally, the man of her dreams, even though she denied it to herself.
Even if he was an arse.
Even if she regularly fantasized about… no, no, no. Those were nighttime thoughts. Malfoy merely liked Ron’s jumper, that was all.
They walked in silence for a moment, Hermione looking down at her feet. Draco seemed to be struggling for words, and she fought the urge to laugh at the oddness of their situation. She couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something.
“So, uh, how’s your Transfiguration essay going?” she asked finally, putting him out of his misery.
Malfoy snorted. “Better than your Divination project, I assume?”
“Touché,”’ she agreed.
They walked a bit farther but when they reached the courtyard, Hermione slowed her pace. It wasn’t that she was in a hurry to leave; quite the contrary, she was almost enjoying feeling like there was a cluster of kneazle kittens rolling around in her belly at Malfoy’s proximity. Being near him made her want to throw up, but in an unfortunately exhilarating way, if such a thing were possible.
“Well, I suppose I should get back,” Hermione said, attempting to sound casual, but she wasn't sure she'd succeeded. “Head Girl duties and all that.”
Malfoy nodded, seeming dazed, his eyes once again drawn to the front of the jumper.
He wasn’t staring at her breasts again, was he? She hadn’t worn a bra, and it was quite chilly, but the falcon emblazoned on the thick material of the jumper would have covered up any evidence. Her breasts were perky enough to go without, with nobody the wiser, as far as she knew.
As if reading her mind, Draco’s eyes snapped up to meet hers guiltily, half-sheepish and half..hungry.
Something hot and electric flared in her belly. All day, Hermione had felt it. Ever since breakfast. For weeks now really, but who was counting? No no, her brain piped up cheekily, even longer than that.
The way Malfoy looked at her often disarmed her, caused her to feel a combination of nervousness and other things she refused to name. It was something she preferred to think about in the privacy of her own bed at night.
Maybe she just needed a nap; after all, she’d been up way too late the night before.
Yes, that was almost certainly it — she was just tired, and her mind was playing tricks on her. Just because she’d developed a silly crush on Malfoy didn’t mean he… She cut her thoughts off, shaking her head slightly.
Hermione straightened her shoulders and forced a small, casual smile. “Well, I’ll see you later, Malfoy.” Her voice was slightly higher than normal and she wanted to hide her face.
Malfoy nodded, his expression unreadable. Hermione could’ve sworn his breathing was just a little shakier than normal. He stood watching her walk away, and Hermione took a deep breath, trying to hold onto any shred of composure as she felt his eyes sweeping over her body from behind her.
There was a dampness in her knickers that she was trying her best to ignore. She couldn’t afford to let her thoughts wander into dangerous territory, especially not about Draco Malfoy of all people.
Not again.
Well, maybe just one more time, she thought, hurrying to her dormitory.
Once inside, she stripped off her jeans and her knickers, and got into her bed, casting locking charms, and immediately shoving her hand between her legs. Her mouth parted in a silent gasp, her flesh already heated and sensitive. With just a few swipes of her fingers, she felt her orgasm building, heat coiling in the base of her spine, her clit throbbing. She slipped her middle finger inside while her thumb circled the swollen nub.
She had to be ovulating; that was the only possible answer. As her body grew more heated, the memory of the scent of the jumper wrapped around her like a warm and familiar embrace, and somehow only increased her need.
Hermione couldn’t help it; her mind flashed to silver eyes, an arrogant smirk, and the drawled sound of her last name. She came hard, her orgasm burning through her with an intensity that had her gasping into her other palm.
Hermione lay there dazed afterwards. She was no stranger to carnal needs, and it was hardly the first time she’d “accidentally” thought of Malfoy during the act. However, she had to admit it was very unusual for her to need to rush to her room and get herself off because a boy had looked at her tits.
But he wasn’t just some boy, her mind reminded her.
Plus, it wasn’t just that he'd looked at them, it was the way he’d looked at them. If that had even been what he was looking at.
Maybe Malfoy just liked the Falmouth Falcons, like Blaise had said. That would make more sense than him having a sudden obsession with her breasts.
He should go buy his own Falcons jumper, if he liked Ron’s so much, Hermione sniffed to herself.
Godric knew he could afford it.
***
Hermione walked into the Great Hall for dinner, once again subconsciously sniffing the collar of the jumper, noticing with disappointment that the scent had begun to fade.
She felt someone sit next to her on the Gryffindor bench and noticed the addictive fragrance suddenly intensifying again.
Hermione was startled when she looked up and saw Malfoy there, looking decidedly determined. Although the Eighth year students had free seating, Malfoy always sat at the Slytherin table. She glanced over at it and saw Theo and Blaise watching gleefully, conjuring a bowl of popcorn to watch whatever was about to happen.
Everyone’s eyes were on them; Ron and Daphne, Greg and Cormac, Pansy and Ginny. If Harry had been there instead of off at Auror training, he likely would have already been interrogating Malfoy.
Strangely, nobody said a word.
“Malfoy?” she asked, her brow knitting in confusion. What a long, strange day it had been. “What is it?”
“It’s—” he cleared his throat—“Well, you see. The thing is…” he took a deep breath and released it, “that’s my jumper.”
“What? No,” she said, shaking her head. That couldn’t possibly be true. “This is Ron’s—“
“No.” Malfoy shook his head, twisting his fingers through his normally immaculate hair. He eyed her intently. “It’s mine.”
She stared at him. “But the Falcons are Ron’s favorite—“
Ron cut in with a laugh, his mouth still half-full of potato as he spoke. “Malfoy likes the Falcons. The Cannons are my team. That’s not my jumper, ‘Mione.”
“It’s mine,” Draco repeated, staring into her eyes, his voice soft but insistent. “They’re my favorite team. I—I wore it yesterday. And then I left it on the common room sofa last night by accident. When I looked for it this morning, it was gone, and then you walked in here wearing it, and…I thought…” He exhaled shakily.
She turned back toward Ron on her other side, as if whining could alter an embarrassing reality. “But they’re your favorite team,” she insisted shrilly. Ron and Daphne exchanged amused glances, clearly enjoying her slow coming-to-terms with things.
“They’re not,” Ron said gently, shaking his head.
Oof, this was humiliating. She’d been wearing Malfoy’s jumper all day and he’d been subtly trying to get it back. Theo and Blaise had said it outright and she’d missed it.
How was she supposed to know that Draco Malfoy liked the Falmouth Falcons? It could have been any eighth-year’s jumper. Besides her knowledge of the school Quidditch teams from Harry and Ron, and Bulgaria from Viktor—oh, and of course, Puddlemere, Oliver Wood’s team—she barely had time to keep track of which team was which.
But deep down, she had known. She had worn Ron’s orange Chudley Cannons shirts and jumpers when they dated, had seen him in them for years, heard him talk about them, and witnessed his post-match jubilation or disgruntlement. Just last night, she had heard Ron and Malfoy amiably bickering about their favorite teams, Chudley and Falmouth.
Just last night.
And now, in her mind’s eye, she could see Malfoy yesterday, wearing it. She remembered admiring how good he looked in grey, complementing his silvery blonde hair and grey eyes. Some part of her must have been aware when she pulled it on, blaming her sleepiness at two am, and practically orgasmed over the scent it carried.
It was Malfoy’s cologne she’d been smelling all day, had been comforted by, had literally ran to her room to touch herself over. Well, that and his eyes, and his hands, and his smirk, and his voice. When he’d studied in the library with her, and later when he’d cast a warming charm on her during the walk he’d insisted he join her on. Of course it was.
And all along, he’d merely been politely trying to reclaim his jumper.
Hermione felt faint. Just because she felt…something for him didn’t mean it was reciprocated.
Ron chuckled, glancing between Daphne, Malfoy, and Hermione. “We saw you two on your stroll this afternoon, and you were wearing his jumper. We just assumed you two finally admitted your feelings and started dating.” Daphne nodded in agreement.
“Our feelings?” Hermione responded, shrilly. “There are no feelings. We’re just getting along better, is all. I don’t have any—”
“Um, well,” Malfoy interjected, swallowing as he met her eyes. “I have them.”
“You do?” Hermione asked, embarrassingly breathy.
“I do. Quite a lot of them actually,” Malfoy admitted.
Hermione was speechless.
“Listen, Granger,” Malfoy said. “I—I can’t tell you what it’s been doing to me all day watching you walk around in my jumper.” His expression was pained, his usually impeccable hair now sticking up in ways she had never seen it do with the way his fingers were tugging at those silky strands.
She’d fantasized so many times about what it would feel like to have her own fingers tugging on those strands.
Hermione stared at him with what she was sure was an unattractive, gaping expression.
“I certainly don’t expect you to feel the same way,” he said stiffly. “I just…wanted you to know. I’ll, uh, leave you to ponder all that,” he said, his gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips and then down to her chest where the Falcons mascot sat, then back to her eyes. “I hope you’ll keep the jumper; it looks better on you anyway.”
Hermione opened her mouth to say…something…she wasn’t sure what, but then Malfoy said something else, his grey eyes searching hers.
“If you insist on giving it back though,” he swallowed, “can I just ask one favor?”
Malfoy was looking at her like she was a delicacy to be eaten slowly. Her core tingled, rendering her even more brainless. She nodded dumbly in answer.
“Don’t wash it before you give it back to me.”
With that, he rose and walked away, leaving Hermione utterly flustered and lost for words. A moment after he exited out the double doors, she bolted up from her seat, determined to catch up with him before he disappeared.
She vaguely saw Theo and Blaise grinning as she hurried past them.
“Malfoy—wait!” she called out in the corridor. His longer legs meant he moved at a much quicker pace than she could.
He paused, waiting a moment before turning to face her, his expression guarded. She was still wearing his jumper.
“I do have them too. Feelings. I—I’ve—had them.”
His eyes widened slightly, her heart pounding as she stepped closer to him. The citrus, cinnamon, and fresh pine pulled her to him, making her knees weak, especially with the way he was looking at her.
“I’m sorry I stole your jumper,” she blurted, and he laughed, scrubbing his hand over his face as if in disbelief.
“Please, Granger. This is the best day I’ve had in, well, a long time—” he looked up, seeing a gaggle of sixth year Ravenclaws watching them, and pulled her into a nearby alcove for privacy. She went willingly and he backed her up against the nearest wall. “I really liked seeing you in my clothes.”
“Then I’m sorry I assumed it was Ron’s,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat.
“A fortuitous mistake.” Malfoy’s eyes darkened as he bit his lip, tilting his head at her. “If you had known it was mine, would you have worn it?”
She thought for a moment then answered honestly. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d wanted me to, so probably not. But,” she continued boldly, “I think a part of me knew all along it was yours.”
“Why is that?” His blonde fringe brushed her forehead and she smiled softly.
“Because I couldn’t stop inhaling the scent of it.”
He’d moved even closer; their bodies were practically flush by this point.
“And whenever you’re around, I want to bathe in your scent.”
“Bathe in it, hmm?” His eyes were dark, almost predatory.
“Yes.” She was whispering by this point. “I want it all over me.”
Malfoy groaned. “Fuck, Granger. You can’t just say things like that.”
“Malfoy—”
“Draco,” he insisted, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Draco, then,” she said, feeling as brave and bold as her house colours invited, “I’d like you to kiss me.”
“Fuck,” he said again, his gaze heated and making her tingle over. “Happily.” He cupped her face and leaned down to press his lips to hers.
It was no longer a tingle of arousal but a jolt, straight to her clit the moment his tongue slid against hers, his hands sliding down her throat, and lower, over her breasts, down to her hips, and then lower to cup her arse.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” she whimpered against his lips. He chuckled darkly, brushing his thumb over her pout.
“You have no fucking idea,” he replied shakily, his voice rough with desire.
“You know,” she continued, her arms tightening around his neck, “everyone’s at dinner right now.”
He was leering by now, and Hermione was so close to just telling him to do her right then and there. She just really wanted to get him alone and let him put those elegant hands all over her body. Those long fingers, those lightly muscled wrists and forearms…
“We’d better hurry then,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her again, then tugging her hand toward the direction of eighth year common room, and pulling her behind him.
Once inside, they hesitated for a second, looking between the doors considering their different options for beds, then Draco tugged her toward the boys’ dormitories. “My bed,” he urged. “I‘ve been imagining it for months. Years, maybe.”
As soon as the door closed behind them, they were already ripping their clothes off, kissing furiously as Hermione attacked Draco’s robes, while he fumbled with the button of her jeans.
She pulled away to help him wriggle her out of her jeans and then her hands went to the hem of the oversized jumper she wore.
“No. Leave it on,” he said, his pupils dilating at the sight of her stepping out of her knickers. “For now.” His throat bobbed as he took in the sight of her bare legs. “I want to memorize the sight of you riding me while wearing my clothes.”
His hands moved to her waist, then began to slide up her body under the jumper, her belly pulling in as his fingertips grazed her sensitive skin, then up past her ribs. He captured her lips again, groaning and thrusting his hips against her when he ran his thumbs across her peaked nipples, and cupped her breasts.
Her hands reached out to push his robes off his shoulders and his trousers down as far as she could get them so he could kick them off. Then, she shoved at his boxers and his cock bounced out into her hand, so incredibly hard it looked painful.
His tip was so swollen, it was flushed and shiny, and drops of precum gathered at the slit, beginning to leak down the side. Her mouth watered at the sight and she wanted to fall to her knees and take him in her mouth. So she did.
Draco made a strangled sound in his throat when she was suddenly face to face with his cock. It jumped when she reached a hand out and lightly stroked it, then leaned forward to lick the precum from his tip.
“Fuck, Granger,” he moaned, his hands tightening in her curls. “Are you trying to kill me?”
She huffed a laugh and then stared up into his eyes as she licked along the underside of him.
He was thick and throbbing and she had to squeeze her thighs together just imagining what he would feel like inside her.
She could feel her own arousal coating her inner thighs and she didn’t resist when Draco reached down to pull her to her feet, then backed her toward his four poster bed, with the ostentatiously green canopy and silk duvet.
“If you lick my cock again, I’m going to come, and right now, I just really want to fuck you in my bed.” Hermione huffed a shaky laugh and pulled his face down to hers for a soul-searing kiss.
He flipped them around, sitting on the edge of the bed in front of her, his cock slapping against his belly as he scooted back, and she stood between his legs wanting nothing more than to sit on his lap and impale herself on his cock. But his hands pushed her jumper up to her waist and the way he was looking at her cunt made her whine.
“You’re so wet,” breathed, sounding half-deranged, and when his eyes met hers, his pupils were practically solid black. “I need to taste you. Please Granger…may I?”
She sucked in a breath and nodded, his hands moving to cup her bum and bring her forward toward his face.
He held on to her and commanded in a husky tone as he reached down to tap one of her ankles. “Put your foot on the bed.” Her legs were already shaky and she hesitated when she wobbled. Draco held her tighter, his eyes intent as they met hers. “I promise I won’t let you fall.”
Hermione exhaled shakily and put a foot on the bed next to him, and he used his hands to bring her cunt to his mouth, planting a kiss on her clit and then groaning as he slid his hot, wet tongue through her slit, flicking against her clit then moving back down to lap at her entrance with firm strokes.
She wailed and threaded her fingers into his hair. Yes, it was as silky as she imagined. Touching him was even better than her dreams.
“Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?” he breathed into her cunt. “I can’t wait to have my cock inside you.”
“Malfoy…” she whined. She was about to pin him down on the bed and either ride his face or his cock, she wasn’t picky. She needed to come and she needed him to make her come.
Luckily he was just as desperate because he suddenly pulled her into his lap, pinning his cock between them. Even through the jumper, she could feel him throb, and her clit responded in turn.
“It’s Draco,” he reminded her. He kissed her jaw, then her lips, breathing words against them. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long… I wish we could go slow but we…don’t have much time.”
“Please Draco,” she panted, and then pushed up onto her knees placing her hands on his shoulders, brushing her cunt over the hardness of his erection. “I need this— I need you.”
He held his cock in place for her, and they stared at each other in awe, gasping together as she slowly sank down on him.
“Oh fuck,” he groaned, his hands on her hips holding her still against him for a moment, both breathing harshly before he began guiding her on and off his cock.
She couldn’t even control the whimpers escaping her. “Oh gods. Draco. Ohhhh gods.” She gazed down at him, watching his eyes slide over her, from the place they were joined, up to his jumper on her, then to her face. His jaw was slightly slack and she had to close her eyes against the intensity in his eyes. He began to bounce her faster and harder on his cock and her eyes rolled back as she started to come, keening and panting his name.
He slowed his movements, watching her raptly as her orgasm tore through her, then suddenly he flipped them over, fucking her hard and fast again.
“I almost came in my pants this morning when I saw you in my jumper,” he rasped. “I’m going to give you so many of my clothes, everyone will know you’re mine. And I’m going to fuck you every day wearing a different one. Every. Damn. Day.”
“Yes,” she moaned, on the verge of a second orgasm as he fucked her into his mattress. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He made a sound that was a cross between a sob and a growl. “Fuck…I’m going to…can I come inside you?”
Hermione whimpered in answer. “Yes. Oh gods, yes, please.”
With a groan of sheer relief, he started to come, and when she felt hot spurts of his release painting her insides, she came again, her head tossed back on the pillow, gasping beneath him as her cunt spasmed on his cock.
It felt as if they would come forever, and once the spasms finally receded, they were both exhausted.
Draco collapsed next to her on the bed, burying his face in her neck and inhaling deeply.
“You’re so perfect,” he mumbled into her skin. “Smell just like my Amortentia.”
Hermione smiled as everything finally clicked into place, running her fingers through the hair at his nape, then scraped her nails gently down his back making him shiver.
Clove, cinnamon, and pine. “You smell like mine too.”
He made a pleased hum and then they were quiet for a while, hands stroking and caressing everywhere they could reach.
“I hate knowing you’ve worn Weasley’s clothes before mine,” he said petulantly. “I wish I could obliviate every other man you’ve been with so none of them could remember the way you smell or the way you look in their clothes.” He nuzzled her. “Or without.”
Hermione laughed. “You’re still so dramatic, Malfoy.”
He nipped her lips and then her shoulder. “I’ll show you dramatic, you little witch.”
Seconds later, he had her on her hands and knees, pushing inside her from behind as she moaned, clenching around him. His cock felt so good inside her she could die, so deep at this angle, the heel of his palm pressed against her swollen, sensitive clit.
She could kiss that oversized jumper with the Falcon on it. She loved jumpers. She loved Falcons. She loved…
“I fucking love this cunt,” he rasped. “Fuck Granger…I’m going to fill you with another load of cum—think you can take all of it?”
“I know—hng,” she was so fucking close, “I know I can.”
The second Hermione started coming, with her face pressed into Draco’s pillow, she felt warm pulses of his cum filling her up for the second time that night.
Afterward, they lay together kissing softly, hands and lips finding every bit of skin, while Hermione felt him begin to drip out of her.
Remembering her earlier thoughts of ovulation, she cast a contraception charm, then another just to be safe. At the rate she and Draco we’re going, she’d need to get on the potion ASAP.
At least she hoped so.
Realizing that his dorm mates would be returning any minute, she leaned over him to kiss his lips, sighing with reluctance to ever leave his bed. He held her for a second and then released her so she could get up and begin to gather her clothing, including his jumper, although her knickers were nowhere to be found. She looked down to see streaks of cum flowing down her inner thigh.
She looked at his face and noticed that he appeared rather smug.
Reaching down between her legs, she gathered some on her fingertips and pushed it back inside, staring right into his wide eyes.
“I think I could take even more,” she smirked.
Draco blinked at her, jaw agape, the tshirt he was about to pull on frozen in hand. “Fuck Granger. I—I think I need to fuck you again right now.”
Her cunt throbbed and she dropped all the clothing she was holding and went to him, kissing him eagerly. He cupped her chin in one hand angling her face for a deeper kiss, and slid the other between her legs, using his own cum to finger her, each thrust of his fingers making a slick sound. She was so close to coming that her eyes crossed.
He removed his soaked fingers, lifting her up and dropping her on his bed, crawling between her thighs and stroking his cock, preparing to slide inside her.
“Aren’t you two done yet?” came the exasperated chorus of Ron, Theo, and Blaise’s voices.
“No,” he and Hermione both called out. Draco cast a privacy charm on the curtains of his bed and slid his cock inside her for the third time in less than an hour.
Later, they dressed (minus knickers for Hermione) and wandered out to the Common Room to find it deserted. The Seventh Year Hufflepuffs were having a party, and it appeared the others had gone to it. Hermione spotted an orange jumper draped casually over a chair and reached out to pick it up.
“No,” Draco said, sounding panicked. “Don’t touch it! It’s a Cannon’s jumper. What if you like that one better?”
Hermione snorted, but she dropped the jumper. “Draco…it wasn’t actually your jumper that made me fall for you. It just…helped me accept it. It’s just clothing.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ll be right back.”
Disappearing into his room for a brief moment, he came back out, holding a pile of shirts and jumpers.
“Here,” he offered, holding them out to her. “You’ll never need to borrow anyone else’s jumper ever again.”
She smiled and took the stack of clothes and placed them on the sofa, feeling her heart pang. “The thing is,” she murmured, putting her arms around his neck, sniffing him a little. “I only want them if they smell like you.”
Draco hummed, kissing her forehead then her lips when she tilted her face up to his.
“That reminds me…” He pulled a wad of black lace out of his pocket with a smirk. Her missing knickers. “I’ll be keeping these.”