#cyprusgreen-writes

Pairing: Draco x Hermione

Rated E; Male Masterbation

Summary: After six months in Azkaban Draco is stuck at a Hogwarts Reconstruction summer program. He's consumed by a certain Golden Girl and we get a view into his explicit masturbation session.

....

He palmed himself.

His hands were cool and rough--still slightly callused from his time playing Quidditch. Skin toughened from years of gripping a thick length of smooth wood.

But his hands had changed over the years. He no longer had the polished hands of a pampered heir. Six months in Azkaban could do that to you. His apperance had hardened, shoulders filled out. No longer all angles and edges. The tattoo on his neck, a reminder of how lucky he had been to let out on 'parole'.

So many things had changed in the last two years. But oh, how he savored his new-found freedom.

After six months of no privacy, he had vowed to never have another quiet orgasm for as long as he lived. An 'up yours' all to the times he tried to sneak in a wank in his small cell and had to bite down violently on his fist to silence his groans.

No more. He was determined to thouroughly enjoy himself nowadays. Not that he had anyone to enjoy with. Being a convicted death eater, even one who was acquitted on account of being a minor at the time of his crimes, could really put a damper on your dating life.

So alone he went. Savoring the feeling of rubbing his long, thick length slowly with both hands. Imagining her body taking him in, filling her to the hilt.

Her.

That girl. The fucking girl he could never quite shake.

The girl who also happened to return to Hogwarts for an optional 8th year. The girl who also happened to joined the summer 'castle reconstruction' program. The only student present who was not required to attend due to ministry mandated public service.

The Golden Girl, herself.

Hermione. Fucking. Granger.

His mouth parted and he thrust his cock up into his fisted hands.

Granger.

Mmmm Granger.

Beautiful.

And Fucking Infuriating.

Precum lubed the tip of his head as he spread it around with his wide thumb. He gently rubbed the slick up and down himself. Needing more glide, he spit into his hand and rubbed it down his length, coating his cock. It made an obscene noise and he groaned in pleasure.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. Fuck. He had needed this, so badly. It had been such a long week. Full of hard physical labor, lifting slabs of stone. Complex spells, repairing walls and floors. He had little time to do more than work, sleep and eat.

Gods, she had been right there. Wearing her awful muggle outfits that left him hard all day. Skimpy little things she said kept her cool in the oppressive summer heat. Tight shorts that sat low on her hips and rode up her ass. Tank tops with thin straps that he wanted to rip off her body. Her smooth mid drift showing everytime she pulled her wild mane up into a bun. And by all apperances she had zero clue the effect she had.

Her fragrant scent hit him every time she passed by his way. Distinctivly feminine. Apple shampoo and sweat.

By midday she was dripping in it. He wanted to lick every single drop. Wanted nothing more than to feel her body beneath his, sweating and used. Panting. Hair wild around her, cascading down her back. The evidence of her arousal all over her thighs. The taste of his semen all over her mouth and chin.

He wanted her to be filthy for him.

He wanted her to bend over and spread her ass cheeks for him, showing off her pink little holes like a good girl. Wanted to see her thighs coated in her own need, desperate.

Fuck. He palmed himself up and down again, gritting his teeth and throwing his head back against his pillow.

He could stretch her out. She was so small. Would his cock even fit the first time? Her thin shorts left little to the imagination, fabric clinging to her fat little lips--until she turned and adjusted herself. Delicious.

She'd be so embarassed if she knew.

If she had seen him stare.

If she could see him panting as he indulgently stroked himself to thoughts of her, and her alone.

Would she blush and turn around? Or would she stare and lick her lips? Letting her gaze linger on his proud cock just a second more.

His grip tightened and he twisted his hand around his head and back down.

Merlin, he needed her.

His hand went past the base of his cock and he grabbed his balls, tugging at them. They bounced heavily. He tugged at them again, and felt a familiar ache.

Fuck. He was so full. He needed to cum. So badly.

He wanted to fill her with it. He was young. Verile. Full of seed. A wizard who needed to fuck. Hard. And she could take it, with those high hips. That petite, yet solid frame. Oh yes, Granger could take a pounding.

He fisted his cock harder and groaned at the loud sloppy sounds it made.

Her cunt would be heaven. Warm. Soft. Wet. He just knew it. He wanted to taste it. To eat her out. To finger her tight cunt, to push his thick fingers in her ass as he licked and sucked at her clit. Working her body into a frenzy. Not letting her escape him even when she writhed and shook.

He wanted to make her take more than she ever thought she could. To make her weep from pleasure. To spasm and gasp and squirt all over him in confusion and shock. To grip her perfect cunt around his fingers and sob his name into the air.

He shuddered and thrust his cock up into his hand again. And again. And again. His light blond pubes beginning to become wet with spit and precum.

Fuck. What would she say if she knew? If she walked in and saw him?

His arms began to ache at the punishing speed but he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop. It felt so good. He hissed at the smooth glide over the sensitive underside of his head. He threw his head back again and cursed. She was unreal. The perfect delight for his filthy mind. The glide of his hand addicting when paired with her image.

He wanted to bite at her smooth light-brown skin. To tounge her pretty dark cunt from behind and rub her round ass while she went down on him. He wanted a close up of her pretty little pussy contracting on air. Needing his thickness. Needing his length. Needing him. Wanting him. Screaming his name. Crying out for his cock. Saying his name over and over and over. Draco. Draco. Draco. Draco.

His abs began to quiver and his eyebrows knitted together.

He was getting close and he let out a involuntary yell. His hips bucked and he felt himself on the edge of no return. He pumped his hand harder. Fucking himself, turning himself on with how wanton his need must look.

He needed Granger. His Granger.

He was so thouroughly pent up. Salazar, he would cum buckets just at the sight of her breasts. Her perky little tits. Bouncing slightly when she walked by on early weekend mornings, wearing no bra. The fucking tease. Little peaks poking through. He wanted to take them in his mouth and suck on her dark nipples. Biting her from her tits all the way up her neck and back down to her soft thighs. Marking her as His.

Granger needed his cum. She did. She needed a good hard fuck. One look at her and you could tell it was true. Her shoulders were too tight. Her posture to ridgid. Someone needed to help her let go. Needed to tame the little lion into contented submission. His little lion.

She'd beg for it. She'd beg for him to come on her tits. Or to come all over her pussy, just to fuck the cum into her with his thick long fingers. A greedy little pussy. His greedy little pussy.

Or maybe he'd just fuck her into the bed. Drill her with her ankles pushed all the way back to her ears. Banging the wooden headbord into the wall over and over. Their hip bones grinding against eachother. Her cunt rubbing his pelvic bone, hitting that spot just right. That spot that he knew would have her gushing, drenching his balls.

He wanted to taste their sex.

He wanted to grind himself into her. To make her cling to his arms, his shoulders, his back. He had always felt so skinny growing up, but she had always made him feel broad. Large. Strong. She had changed everything for him.

And recently something had changed between them. At times it felt like they were actually firting and dare he say, they had chemistry. Brushing by eachother in close spaces, knocking into one another on purpose just to feel the closeness of eachother's body.

Fuck. He thought of the way she had rolled her eyes at him today. Their verbal sparing leavng him frustrated. The little fucking brat. Needed a lesson in manners. Needed to be teased. Needed to beg for it. And he needed to taste her desperation.

Fuck he wanted to get her pregnant. The prissy little swot. To force his pleasure deep into her. To fill her again and again. Until her womb accepted his seed.

Fuck, he was close. His arm was burning at the speed. His hips snapping up to meet every single pump. The pleasure, a weight across his hips. He moved his hand from his balls and grabbed for his towel in anticipation. His hand snaked down his chest. Wet from perspiration. He tweaked his nipples and cried out sharply.

His hand remained on his flat stomach, fingers feeling his core tense again and again as his body teetered on the edge of release.

He whined. He needed it. He was chasing it. He imagined being muffled by her cunt. Her thighs around his face.

He spasmed at the thought, as he continued frantically fucking himself. Grunting and cursing every thrust. He bit down hard and grabbed his balls cupping and pulling and squeezing when suddenly his peak hit him like a steam train.

His body tensed, thrusting his cock, hard as he could into his fist. His abs tensed and he saw stars, his body hit by blinding pleasure that shot through him. He howled her name.

Hermione

Unabashed. Unashamed.

His eyes rolled back as cum shot violently from his pulsing cock. His voice rang out clear and desperate as he yelled into the air. Long strings of hot pleasure, shot out one after another. The first sailing past his head, the next hitting him in the shoulder, in the chest, on his abs and the final shot landing below his belly button. Each rope brought another groan. Another clench. Another bliss.

He continued to slowly stroke himself after his last shot. The warm, slick cum, feeling heavenly on his sensitive cock. Turning his head he panted into the pillow, letting out a shout as he needily jacked his cock, chasing another orgasm. The image of her naked writhing form flashed behind his eyes. Fucking beautiful. He found it quickly and cried out her name again. The sound of his hand on his cock, obscene.

Granger! Oh fuck, Yes. There it is. Fuck me. Yes, love. Just like that! Oh Fuck, I'm coming...I'm coming! FUCK!

His second orgasm had him shouting loudly, body spasming, his legs shaking and his hand now absolutely covered in his thick pleaure. Cum gutters filled with warm, white, need.

Slowing to a stop, he lay there absolutely drenched in his own seed. His balls empty. He stayed like that for a few moments, panting into the night air, the aftershocks making him shiver. He fought the powerful sleepiness that threatened to overtake him.

His hand shook as he loosened his grip.

Fucking Fuck.

His hand came away, just covered. He opened his eyes and surveyed the scene. It was quite the sight. And it was all her fault. Beautiful fucking thing.

After he cleaned himself off, he continued to lay there with a smile playing on his lips. He chuckled to himself as he listened carefully for any signs of life coming from his neighbor to the right. It was a dumb thought, really.

But he could dream right?

...

...

...

On the other side of the wall lay a girl with wild curly hair, smooth tan skin, and warm, kind, chestnut eyes. She grabbed for a towel and wiped her hand on it before placing it between her legs. She stifled a moan, biting her lip. Her clit was large and swollen. Fuck. So sensitive. And although she had touched herself to him nearly every night, and had craved to be as loud and carefree as he, she would be damned if she ever let Draco Malfoy know how badly she needed him. The feel of his svelte, toned body gripping her tight. Gods. She needed to stop.

If he wanted her, he was going to have to do more than wank to the thought of her every now and again.

Maybe he'd come knocking on her door one night. Come use her willing body to fulfill all his filthy needs. It was a dumb thought, really.

Rated E: Smutty Smut Smut

They lay together, windows open. Salt air and sunshine their sole audience.

The princess runs her finger through her lover's fine silver hair. A mountain of a man snuggled up against her. She leans her lips close to his ear and sighs.

"Make a mother of me, Daemon."

Her Rogue Prince growls sleepily into her neck and shakes his head.

Laughing softly, she shifts against him. Grabbing his face in her hands, she nods back emphatically.

Letting her tongue part his, she brushes her fingers across his jaw. Hungry.

Daemon pulls away, wariness in his eyes.

"Don't say things you don't mean, Princess... It's cruel."

Rhaenyra kisses him again, nuzzling his cheek, grabbing his large hands and spreading them across the expanse of her pelvis and hips.

Daemon grips her gently, hands cradling her womb. His fingers linger, and he sighs against her skin, his hand splayed widely.

His young wife was, in a word, insatiable. Far be it for him to complain, he bed her night after night, dutifully brewing her a small cup of moon tea every 3rd-day because she "would not be a broodmare".

So there had been no children, no missed moons, and in truth, Daemon had shut away the thought in his heart.

Rhaenyra chews at her cheek, knowing he doesn't believe her request to be genuine.

But she couldn't resist asking. For months now her dreams had been plagued by scenes of Daemon filling her again and again, until his need spilt out of her. And even then, her Prince would take his large, long fingers and fuck it back into her as she writhed. Such delicious dreams.

Other nights she dreamt of Daemon lounging next to her, singing lullabies in high Valerian to her small bump. To his child. His fingers playing along the shape of her.

Sometimes she dreamt of his toned body fucking her slowly, his voice tight with need, telling her how good she was, how sexy she looked with her widening hips and ever-rounding belly.

"I want to have your children. Daemon...Give me a child... Give me an heir. Let us create our dynasty."

The Prince sucks the air between his teeth, growing hard against her leg. The warm length of it pulls at her need. Her fingers travel over his chest as she lets her hands trail his beautiful, hard body. Riddled with scars, she knows each one by heart. A map of a land she's explored and claimed often since her wedding night.

"Rhaenyra. You told me not long ago that you'd rather die alone than wed. Rather live in solitude than be with child." He tilts his head, surveying her. Looking for some sign of doubt in her lavender eyes.

My gods, she loves him. He can see it. Her love burning hot. Passion infusing her kisses, devotion in every touch.

"I would rather we leave no heirs than risk you, my Princess." His forehead is gentle against hers, his large hand caressing the back of her head, cradling her with a reverence reserved for Dragon eggs and newborn babes.

This time, she speaks in high Valyrian. The words shifting the air immediately. Daemon's breath hitches, and he bites his lip, dipping his head against hers.

"I want your children. I will face anything with you by my side. Please, Uncle. Daemon. My sweet Husband. Make love to me. Fill me up with you until you can no more. I need it. To feel our future find a home within me."

There is no use in denying her now.

He groans, and his hips presses into the side of hers, his long cock leaving precum on her soft thighs. He kisses her. Hard. Hand on her throat. Possessive. Growling from the way she desperately grabs for his hips.

Smiling he pulls away and grabs his thick legnth, watching her eyes follow his movments. Palming it indulgently for a few pumps, Daemon rolls over on his back, bringing her on top of him. She smiles down, cupping his cheek in her hand. His deep purple eyes linger on hers, heavy with lust, eyebrows knitted, lips parted.

"Come here, Princess...Come ride me, my bride."

He speaks back in their ancient tongue...the words more natural on his lips.

"Come, little dragon. Come take what is yours."

She smiles, and her eyes sparkle at his words. Lifting herself up, she grabs his hard length, his thickness making it impossible to close her hand around him. Bringing her other hand to her mouth, she gathers a generous amount of spit and pumps it up and down his shaft.

He pants, holding onto her hips with contained need. He can be patient. After they were wed, it took weeks for Rhaenyra to take his entire length. But by now, with much practice, she could take him. Slowly.

He brings her closer for a moment, taking each perky tit into his mouth, sucking snd nibbling at her. She smiles at him and he can almost detect something shy. He smirks at her and cups her entire cunt in his rough palm. She squirms and bats his hand away to sink a finger inside herself. It comes out glistening.

So the Princess lines herself up and sinks down along him. They groan together, the pure ecstasy of their union clear on their faces.

Daemon opens his eyes, letting his hand travel up Rhaenyra's abdomen. Tweaking her nipples, he cooes as she struggled to bottom out. He places his fingers in his mouth and bring them down to her precipice. With gentle ministraions he plays with her pearl, tender circles to help ease the stretch.

Cupping her face he speaks again, his words dulcet sweet. "That's it. Good girl. Such a good girl for me, Princess. My wife. You're doing so good."

She keeps her eyes closed but smiles and shifts her hips. Daemon curses.

"You feel so good. Just go slow... that's it. Take me in slowly ... you need to be ready for me."

Experimentally, he thrusts his hips up, and Rhaenyra whines, her hands fisting the blankets around them. She takes comfort in Daemon's large hands that now nearly encircled her waist. He holds her securely, his thumbs making soothing motions into the soft skin of her hips. She feels his cock press something deep within her, and is now certain he's filled her to the hilt.

"Breed me. Fill me." Her voice is thick with need, and she opens her eyes to find him staring at her, his face alight with adoration.

Gently he thrusts up again.

And again.

And again.

It is a torturously slow pace, sliding in and out of her, the drag of him causing her to bite her lip to silence a cry. She feels his abs tense every time he thrusts in a bit deeper.

Daemon swallows, his need growing. He needs to fuck her. Really fuck her. To pound into her small frame. To split her delicious flower open and pump his seed into her aching womb. To feel her spasm around him. To feel her cunt milk the cum from his balls.

He growls and paws at her body as he languidly continues to thrust. By now the wet sounds of her tight cunt are deliciously obscene.

All it takes is a single nod from Rhaenyra and Daemon groans happily into the air.

"Fuck, yes."

Pulling her body down flush against his, he holds his young bride tightly against his chest as he thrusts up into her quickly. His length spears her roughly, and her pleasured mewls spurr him on.

Snapping his hips, he feels her cunt spasm. He repeats the motion again. And again. Until Rhaenyra is nearly sobbing into his chest, fingers digging into his skin. Her cunt is stretched to the limit. His fat cock dragging in and out. Over and Over. Slick beginning to cover his balls.

Daemon bottoms out. Pants into her. Bites at her neck.

"I need more. I need more." He's breathless. Needy. Desperate. He needs to drive into her.

Rolling over in one swift move, he commands her in high Valyrian to get on her hands and knees. She obeys, looking back at him, lustfully.

He mounts her, holding on tightly to her hips, her round ass pressing deliciously into him. The view makes him frantic, and he fists her long silver hair, pulling it roughly. Crying out, she archs her back, and Daemon begins to drive into her. The rapid slap of their skin and their moans are a chaotic chorus.

He doesn't stop. He can't. Need and want become overshadowed by the thought that tonight he'll give her a child. His heart flutteres in his chest. Gods, it's all he ever wanted. To share in the creation of their future.

The pleasure of that prospect makes him grunt harshly.

With. Every. Fucking. Thrust.

Rhaenyra begins crying into the blankets and reachs underneath herself to rub at her swollen clit.

"That's it. Come on my cock. That's it. Your body was made for this. Body made for fucking. Made to take such a big cock. You were made for me, Rhaenyra. Do you know that? Destined to fuck me. Only me."

She shakes and cries out as she comes, screaming his name into the bed. Gushing into her own hand, she gasps, surprised at the amount she released. Her hand trembles as she sobs into the pillow, overwhelmed.

Daemon cries out as he felt himself getting close.

"No! Need more. I want to come looking at you." His voice is harsh, rough.

He pulls out, and when she doesn't move, he flips her limp satisfied body, cradling her cheek, whispering sweet affirmations. Throwing both her legs over his shoulders, he leans all the way forward, pressing his forehead to hers. As he sinks back into her, she moans deliriously into the space between them.

He swallows her sounds and murmurs into their kisses. "I'll give you all of it. All of it. Fuck. Yes, darling. It's yours."

He begins slowly but picks up speed until he is breathless. He grabs her by the face, fingers rough and callused.

"Tell me. Tell me. Tell me what you want, Rhaenyra. "

She can barely breathe, choking on tears and lust-- she grits her teeth and cries out.

"Your babies yes yes yes, YES I want them...Please!"

He struggles to maintain the rhythm. His lips grit out the words, his lips meeting hers in between.

"Princess, I can't hold it. I- I'm going to cum. Rhaenyra"

He shivers and bucks against her until he feels his need spilling into her. His pleasure nearly makes his vision blackout.

He cries out into her open-mouth kisses, her tight young cunt drawing out his pleasure.

Drenched in sweat, he continues to pump into her with short strokes. Turning himself on by the feeling of her cunt full of him. He grits his teeth and lets out a growl that grows into a high pitched whimper. He can't stop. He can't. He has more to give. One more.

Expression pained, he whines as he thrust into her for a handful of pumps more before he feels himself break apart again. Clutching him tightly she feels him spasm and cry out into her chest.

He can nearly feel his balls empty themselves of all they have. He laughs and exhales at it's intensity.

Exhausted, he pulls out and rolls over. She lays beside him, limp. Hair a mess. He reaches over and grabs her, holding the worn girl against his chest.

Kissing the top of her head, Daemon rubs his hand up and down her back.

They lay like that for a while, both comfortable and relaxed in the silence.

Pulling her up further, he brings her face to his, covering her in little kisses, up and down, all over.

"Do you really want to? I won't hold it against you if you change your mind. There's still time for ---"

She interrupts him with a bite to his lips and he curses.

"Fucking--Alright! No tea then. No need to get violent with me." He chuckles into her smile.

Pulling away, she looks at him thoughtfully. "Is this what you want?"

His eyes soften, his heart thundering in his chest. Surely she could feel it. She has to know. But he tells her anyways.

"I've only ever wanted to bring our legacy, our house, our name, greatness..." His voice becomes quiet. His eyes become downcast.

"There's no one I else I'd trust with this. No. One. No one but you, Daemon." She searches for his eyes and finds his vibrant purple ones watching her again. She smiles and places her head back on his chest. She sighs contently, the sunlight warm on her skin. She could fall asleep like this.

Daemon kisses the top of her head and remains silent, swallowing back the things he dare not say.

Coward, his heart whisperers

But he has time.

He'll fill her every night until it sticks. And then maybe, maybe when her belly is swelled with their heir. A girl perhaps. Maybe two. Maybe then he'll find the courage to tell her exactly what it means to him.

Chapter 1- The Second Battle of Hogwarts

“ Draco can smell the dark magic in the air. Hogwarts reeks of it. Smoke mingles with the distinct sweetness of death. It's static in the air as curses fly from one corner of the hall to the other. 

The place he once spent his adolescence has become more of a tomb than a battlefield. Old bones trip the living–Draco must mind his steps as he dodges his opponent's advances. They're awkward and lunging attacks, lacking style and finesse. But what his gangly opponent lacks in style, he makes up for with determination and consistency. This duel has lasted longer than most; he'll give him that. 

'Finally grew some bollocks, eh Longbottom?' Draco laughs as he deflects a nasty slicing curse. It bounces off a column and cracks the stone. 

Neville grunts in frustration and wipes the blood from his eyes. Draco half-heartedly volleys back a series of hexes. None of them find their target.

He doesn't want to kill the poor sod. There's no point. Draco's seen the snake, cut in half by the very wizard he's duelling now. If they weren't fighting, he might buy him a drink for killing the oversized bastard. 

It's not until Draco glances behind him that he realises they’re alone in the hallway. He points his wand and throws up a protego. Once it envelopes him, he lowers his wand and raises his palm, but Neville strikes at him again. Draco rolls his eyes and sends back the hex.

'Listen to me, Longbottom.' Draco starts slowly. 

Neville does the opposite. He mounts his offence, shooting a violent nonverbal curse that shatters Draco's shield. 

Draco rolls his jaw and, with a flourish, knocks Neville off his feet. He yelps and before he can recover, another angry swipe and Neville’s wand drops to the floor, pushing him up against the wall. Draco walks up slowly to the struggling boy, his dragon boots clack in the relative silence. 

‘Shut up. And Listen. To. Me.’ His voice is low– hushed and tight as his grip on his wand. He presses the smooth wood underneath Neville’s jaw and watches as the boy closes his eyes. 

‘I’m going to let you live, alright?’ 

Neville's eyes open with a flash. 

‘You didn’t see me, you didn’t duel me. For all you know, I wasn’t even here.’ Draco emphasises his words with a staccato to his opponent’s neck. 

‘I’m not going to play your games. Just do it. Kill me.’ Neville bites out. Blood drips from his hair, and Draco’s aware of the boy's state. He’s drenched in blood. 

Draco sighs; he doesn't have time for these Gryffindor dramatics. ‘Let me leave, I let you leave. No more, no less.’

‘Why? So you can go run and protect your Master?’ The boy actually spits out the words, and blood sprays onto Draco’s face. 

Grey eyes flash with anger, and a distinct sneer forms on his face. ‘Fine. Have it your way, Longbottom...oh, cheers on killing the snake.’ He stuns Neville, lets the boy fall to the floor with a thud, and turns towards the stairway. 

Draco stretches and rolls his shoulders. He can hear the chaos below growing louder; small tremors tell him the castle is still under attack by explosives. 

Show time. 

He takes one last look back at the boy’s crumpled form before he disapparates to what remains of the great hall...”

Continue Reading Chapter 1 on Ao3 Here! 

Cover Art by the incredible @mariyand-r

'It smells... sweet. Like apples, vanilla shampoo, fresh ink on crisp parchment...' Draco trailed off.

He frowned. Pansy didn't smell like apples. Nor did she use vanilla shampoo. But he didn't love her, not in that way, at least. They were more like friends...that sometimes kissed. He shrugged.

Then who?

He pushed off his stool to walk around. The room was buzzing with excited chatter. He went past a few girls and sniffed the air. Not the same... he gave up and sat back down, continuing his chopping.

The rest of the afternoon passed inconsequentially and before he knew it, class was dismissed. Finally the doors flew open, airing out the heady smell from the room.

He half-heartedly threw a crumpled piece of parchment at Goyle's large bumpy head. He missed and grimaced as it hit Granger, getting stuck in her giant hair. But she didn't notice. Merlin she was slow.

'Granger! Your hair's eaten something.' Hermione stiffened and felt around her head. She turned towards Draco and scowled, a flush peeking through her tan skin.

Draco laughed and plucked it from the very back of her mane and tossed it at an annoying Ravenclaw this time. The trash found its target and the girl looked around suprised. Hermione hit his arm with the back of her hand, and he noticed the notes scrawled all over her skin.

'Can you quit, Malfoy?' She was still flushed. But when Draco raised a single eyebrow at her, she huffed and rolled her eyes, walking away quickly to catch up with the other 2/3rds of the Golden trio.

Prissy little swot. Draco snickered to himself.

A soft breeze shifted the air and blew through Hermione's great big hair as she walked away.

He froze.

Breathing in again...

No... Absolutely not!

Apples. Vanilla. Ink on Parchment.

...

I loathe you, as we kiss in hidden coves and inlets of stone.

I follow you into potions. And, Merlin. I'm disarmed by the apple sweetness of your hair, my amortentia lingering on your skin.

I hate you.

I know you're nothing but filth and dirt. Yet you live without shame, knowing very well how repulsive you should be.

How dare you live so free and leave me chained to your impurities.

I try to make it hurt--whisper lies wrapped in insult, hoping you will share in my contempt. I beg you partake in this burden. I beg you to hurt me back.

When we kiss I pull at your hair and press you against these ancient walls. I spit in your mouth to see your shock and I fuck your face to hear your gagging sobs. Yet you fall to your knees and swallow my shame. Every drop of shame.

I've kissed you and consumed you. I've tasted the ghost of my seed on your tounge and wondered what you do when I walk away. Do you wash out your mouth or do you let the taste of me linger? Are you appalled when you rise from your knees-- when do you begin to feel regret? When does the reality of our perverse connection set in?

I lay awake at night and think about things that I cannot bear to ask. How can something so destructive feel so much like redemption? Why do you taste so much like salvation? I've prayed and prayed to all the gods, to break the ties between us.

But you stay.

And while my traitorous hands betray my mind's resolve, you ruin me again. I become a desperate man.

You arrogant, stubborn, reckless Witch. Why must you persist and pester? Why hold on when I tell you to go? Why must you stand there, brown eyes full of woeful devastation, your jaw set in baffling resolve?

It's not until I tear the ribbon from your hair and trip you in the hall, that I see your courage splinter. That is when you stay away. You hide from me. And I hardly survive the distance. I wallow in my dejection and barely endure a week of respite.

Until one day my shoulder brushes yours and I find your figure among the throng. I see you cling to him. Your smile looks so different in the light. Watch you press your lithe body against him and laugh at his asinine remark. I hate it all, because what you freely give to him shall never belong to me.

So I follow you and pull you back into shadows. But now you try to leave. You fight back when I push against you. Slap me sensless and scratch my arms. My desperation turns delirious, until I tear apart.

I plead for your mercy and the warmth of your touch. I watch you look up at me and all I can see is your disgust. So I fall to my knees before you and offer all I have. The only thing a shameful whore has to give. I offer supplication.

And to my depraved delight your small hands guide me between your legs. You use my mouth, taking all you need, grinding your core against my face. You pull at my hair. You humiliate me in the most delicious way. You try to drown me in your anger and I float away on the sound of your cries. I swallow every drop.

You leave me while I'm still on my knees--but I believe you'll return again. I must.

Sometimes the darkness can be so terrifying, when you're alone.

Granger, I dream of kissing you in the light.

You ruin me. Give me the worst of you knowing it's the best I'll ever have. I hate that you inspire impossible dreams. My hope runs dry.

I loathe that you know the taste of my tears. That you keep safe the blackberry hue of my bruises. The ones that bloom colorful bouquets, smelling oh so much of patricide.

I despise your kindness--your gentle, unguarded gaze.

I loathe what I've done to you. Hate that I taught you shame. That I seared those words into you with same mouth that now leaves you breathless.

And I feel your incredulity. I cannot bear for you to leave me but I hate you for staying. I am lost to reason.

I loathe you.

And you despise me.

You hate that I won't fuck you--take your sweet cunt in all the ways you beg. I refuse to take your virginity and you cry. You presume it's all disgust and superiority.

Granger, don't you see the truth? How can you not know.

I cannot bloody your knickers and take what isn't mine. Not from you. Not because I don't want you, but because it would only bring us pain. I don't want your sweetest gift to be another reason for your tears. I couldn't bear to watch you cry in regret. I couldn't bear to see you walk away. I could never watch you belong to another--not after being inside you. Not after I've filled you up with all of me.

I love you Granger--and I hate it.

I know you'll never love me back.

I loathe you for being the one thing in the entire world I want, that I cannot have. I am a coward and continue to cling to this perverse romance. Too afraid to let you go. Too selfish to walk away.

Sometimes I think I might be a monster.

Sometimes it feels like you're the only reason I'm still alive.

I loath you. Endlessly.

Dear Granger,

I bet you nearly threw this in the bin before reading it. Or perhaps you wanted to incendio the thing just as you recognised the seal. But you couldn't possibly resist taking a peek, could you? So very predictable of you Granger.

Yet, so very smart of you.

In truth, I nearly forgot to leave a note at all, after having gotten into your room. It's much messier than I expected. Do mudbloods not learn how to make their beds as children? Or is it that you don't use beds at all and sleep on the floor on straw mats? Regardless, I found being in your room a perfect moment to find out more about you, golden girl. And I have some thoughts.

For the love of Salazar Slytherin, you should be wearing knickers worthy of your age. I'm certain I've seen the same style in a botched delivery to McGonagall last winter. Just as well, you should've consider putting something up on your walls. And your desk... The current state of it all but confirms your aversion to nearly everything but intellectual persuits. But to be fair, these are the very least of your concerns.

Which brings me to the matter at hand and the reason for this letter.

Word on my magic, I believe you would have been the most magnificent and beautiful girl I'd ever met, if you weren't born a mudblood. It's a pity, really. A shame that such competence and intelligence is held by such unworthy hands. Such a horrible waste of those eyes and legs, and that pretty little mouth of yours. Such a tragedy, really. You, the forbidden fruit. The fall of any good man-- But we both know I am not a good man, Granger. You know as well as I that your filth is precisely what makes the taste of you so sweet.

You make such a tempting treat. Such a sweet and deadly indulgence. Such a curious vice. I've seen you. Felt your eyes seek me out in the great hall. I feel the heat in your cheeks while you pretend to dislike my attention. I know what you desire. I know what you need. I've seen inside your mind, Granger. Natural legillimens don't need wands or even need to speak the words. For weeks now I've looked inside your mind and seen the terribly naughty things you dream of doing. I've seen what you want to do with me. To me. For me. I've seen it, Granger. And I know that despite your scowls and biting words that you crave me. That you salivate at the thought of being able to taste my cock. That you dream of being folded over desks, fucked until your throat becomes raw from your screams of pleasure. Oh Granger, I have seen it all.

And it gave me pause.

I began to wonder what you could have been or who you would become, if not for your dirty blood. Don't you? At your core, you must know you don't belong here and yet you try. Oh how you try. Like a garden weed, pretending to be a fragrant flower. And while you may deceive most, Granger, I see what you are. I know who you are behind your swotty exterior. I know that underneath that rats nest, in that obnoxiously large brain of yours, that you see the truth. You have no place in this world. There is no good reason for you to exist. And yet, here you stand. Unworthy of the magic in your veins. Unworthy of even the privledge to walk in the spaces we exist. And you continue to pretend and continue to tempt my resolve.

You have neither the decency to be ashamed, nor the sense of self-preservation to be humble. You carry such a target on your back, not only because of your status but because of the company you keep. In the end, it shall get you killed, Granger.

But after some thought, an idea began to form.

And now I believe despite all that I said before, there may be some way you can avoid what is to come.

Offer yourself willingly to me and I shall guarantee your saftey and wellbeing in the war to come. This is a sincere offer that I give despite all your failings and shortcomings. Despite all the times you tried to humiliate and best me, I offer you survival.

I do this because I know you could have been mine. Had you been born a Greengrass. A Goyle. A Nott. Born to any of the Sacred Twenty-eight. You would have been mine and you would have seen what a privledge it would've been. I would have persued you. Courted you. Won your affections at any cost. Nothing would have kept you from me. You would have been be the most chershed, the most loved, the most lavished, the devastatingly beautiful, Lady Malfoy. You would have given me heirs. I would have loved you, proudly. But we don't live in that world, do we?

You see the Dark Lord begins his reign tonight. Tomorrow shall be the beginning of a whole new world. An entirely new order. The transition will not be smooth. You shall not escape it. No one shall.

Come to the astronomy tower tonight at half past 10. Kneel down with your hands behind your back. I'll come to you and finally give you what you've been aching for. A taste of what your future could be. And as I take that sweet little mouth of yours, I'll give you my word and my oath to protect you. And when you swallow my pleasure, you shall bind yourself to me.

You shall finally belong to me as you've so eagerly desired. And in return I shall ensure that gifted mouth, and those skilled hands not only survive the weeks and months to come, but shall be put to very, very good use. I shall hide you. Feed you. Fuck you. Protect you as He rises to power. After the war, I shall present you to the new world as mine. My own little mudblood, property of Draco Lucius Malfoy. Heir to the largest estate in Britain. You'll be the most well kept pet in the wizarding world. I'll even allow you to keep your magic, Granger. I'll allow you continue to read and study. To freely wander my wings of the manor. To freely wander the expansive grounds. I shall even allow you to use my potions lab.

Doesn't that sound tempting, Granger?

I may even give you children. Think of it, Granger. Our beautiful blond little bastards running around the manor. They'd have your curly hair and my eyes. They'd be brilliant. Of course they'd mostly live with mother and father, but you could always visit them. They would be shown mercy, because after all they have no choice in the matter. Children are a natural result of being bred night after night. And while they'd never officially inherent a single galleon of my estate, our children would certainly be well taken care of. They could live comfortably in one of our summer villas. Live off generous allowances. They would even be eligible to marry a third or fourth daughter of a lesser house. Marrying a Malfoy bastard is still better than most witches could ever deserve.

Of couse I shall have a wife and heirs. It is expected and is my sovereign duty to my family and name. But worry not, my dear Granger. You would always be my escape, my release, my forbidden indulgence. I would not forsake you or neglect you.

I believe this is the only way. Once you understand the true danger you are in and kindness of my offer, I believe you shall agree. Because try as you and your foolish friends might, by years end, mudbloods shall be all but erased from existence. It would be such an absolute waste. Such a pity to see you struck down. Your lovely brown eyes reflecting the green flash of an Avada.

Be reasonable.

Be practical.

Put that brain to good use. You know this is the only way. Deep down you know if not for kindness and mercy you shall be strung up and made an example of. Your body shall be paraded around the streets of Diagon Alley. He sees you as nothing more than Harry Potter's mudblood. But if you were mine, you would be spared.

Stop pretending, Granger. Accept that your life as you know it is over. Accept my offer. It is the best you shall recieve. I would keep you in my very bed and use your sweet cunt to lull us to sleep every night. You would want for nothing, Granger. And your desires, those deep, secret, overwhelming desires. I could relieve you of those. Help you release those aching needs, night after night.

Perhaps you worry that you're not ready. Well I assure you that both your humility and obedience shall come with time. I can help you, Granger. There are potions that can ease this process for you in the beginning. Many wives take them; dull all feelings they may have the first few years. But I know eventually you'll be content in your position.

I leave it to you. I'll not endure an ungreatful, unhappy mudblood under my roof, nor in my bed. I shall not rape you nor take you as an unwilling captive. I would rather kill you myself than force myself upon you.

You must make up your mind quickly. I shall not ask again. And tomorrow shall be too late. I hope for your sake that you accept this offer.

I have begun to make provisions for you. I spoke to Mother and Father a week ago. Even they can appreciate how wasteful your death would be. They agree that 17 is a fine age to select a paramour. You must understand that many pureblood Wizards eventually take a lover. Marry a wife for duty. Find another for love--or lust. Take some comfort that I shall certainly not be the first nor the youngest Malfoy to take a mudblood as a mistress. I've told the house elves to prepare my bedroom for two. They've knocked down the wall in my quarters to extend it. I thought you'd like a small private library and desk. A closet. I've instructed them to buy you some pretty sleep clothes. Chinese silk and luscious lace. Only the best for my precious pet. Expensive lingerie from France. They'll certainly be in better taste than your current styles. And luckily for you, you'll never actually have to learn to make a bed. You're no maid. No servant. No. You'll be the most pampered and cherished mudblood in the entire world, should you accept.

Hermione, tonight when I bring you home I'll have your virginity--take what should have always been mine. And while you may not thank me tonight, or tomorrow. One day, after I've filled you up night after night. After I've fucked you so hard that you become pregnant with my child. I know you'll thank me for my mercy and generosity. You may even grow to love me. And perhaps, in the quiet of night, when the only sounds are your soft sweet moans, I may return the sentiment.

There's only a few hours till sunset. I sincerely hope you make the right decision. It would hurt me deeply to see such beauty and intelligence go to waste, Hermione.

Your future Lord and Lover,

Draco Lucius Malfoy

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CHAPTER 3 -Posted to Ao3

Rated: Explicit/Mature Pairings: Draco x Hermione, Neville x Luna, Harry x Ginny, Blaise x Pansy Tags: Action/Mystery, Romance, Slow-Burn, Angst, War-time/Post-War fic, BAMF!Hermione, BAMF!Draco, 3rd-Year Canon Divergence, Eventual Gratuitous Smut, Draco goes to Azkaban, Hunting Death Eaters, Special Forces Team, Violence/Injury, Draco Malfoy needs a hug, Draco Malfoy Centric Beta'd by @diplobeanz on Ao3 Cover Art by the incomparable @mariyand-r

Chapter Summary: Gifted medium Luna Lovegood discovers the truth about Draco Malfoy’s fate, and an explosive showdown happens between two members of the Golden Trio.

*Chapter Exerts Below Cut*

Draco x Hermione | Rated E | HBP & On AU | Tags: Angst, Draco-centric, 2nd Wizarding War, pre/post War, Dark with happy moments, Morally Grey Hermione, Morally Grey Draco, BAMF Draco, BAMF Hermione, light anti-ron, Smut, Slowish Burn, Tender

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By Drops_of_CyprusGreen

Coming to Ao3 September 2022

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During the second battle of Hogwarts, a violent and mysterious curse devistates both sides of the war. Voldermort is finally defeated, the Order is left standing victorious and nearly all Death Eaters are killed or on the run.

Nearly all.

But Draco Malfoy? He's found barely alive, and is given an opportunity for a new life, by the most unlikey source.

The girl he tormented as a child.

The woman he's been harboring feelings for, for years.

The golden girl, herself. Death Eaters' Bane. A perfect vision of The Angel of Death.

Hermione Jean Granger.

Hunt down the most deadly death eaters who ever lived? Help Hermione Granger avenge her parent's murder? Get a second chance at life?