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There are very few things that are unexplainable. Quantum entanglement, antimatter, the Fermi Paradox to name a few.
Add to the list; Hermione Granger’s inability to orgasm.
It isn’t as if she’d never achieved orgasm. She had. Once. Which is why she was so desperate to fix this problem.
She knew what it was like for your breath to catch in your throat. For your toes to curl into your feet. For your thighs to twitch and your knees to shake. For just a moment, having nothing but overwhelming dopamine attaching itself to each cell in your body and pulling your back to arch in pleasure.
She knew what it was like, for just a moment, to know bliss.
She had gone to muggle doctors. She had grown up with muggle doctors and trusted in scientific processes.
“Normal,” they said.
She didn’t have any preexisting conditions. She wasn’t on muggle anti - depressants. She didn’t abuse recreational drugs or alcohol. She was at the pinnacle of her ferti lity at 25.
“Psychological,” they said.
They had recommended her a muggle therapist with expertise in sexual health. Sarah Wu, a middle-aged woman with glasses far too big for her face and an overwhelming odor of cat urine. While kind and patient, her methods were less than effective.
Breathing exercises that left her too dizzy to even locate her clit. Morning affirmations of “I will orgasm today” that had her feeling much too awkward to even try. For the first time in her life, she had doubted the scientific process of muggles.
She felt hopeless lying beneath cold covers each night with her wrist pinned under the band of her knickers, her middle and ring finger switching between drawing intricate patterns or fast circles. It felt good. Great, even, when she reached her second hand down to plunge into her opening. But it was never enough.
It always ended up caught in her chest. Her toes just starting to press together in anticipation. Her back arching up from the mattress. And then it disappeared. An empty wash through her womb that left her buzzing and frustrated.
She had tried everything. Toys, inhibition spells, sitting on her hand until it was numb to mimic another person’s touch.
And it was starting to ruin her life. She was 25 for God's sake and the only claim to her sexual history was a brief stint of a relationship with Ron, who (bless his heart, really) had tried his hardest to bring her with his hands and his tongue and, once, even his cock. But to no avail.
Their separation had little to do with her inability to orgasm, but it still left her ego wounded. Especially when she saw him at a Sunday Weasley dinner a few weeks later arm-in-arm with a blonde, both doe-eyed and glassy in what Hermione could only guess was a post-dinner romp in the gardens.
After that, she had thrown herself into her work. She didn’t touch herself anymore. She had thrown out all of her toys , donated (because she didn’t have the heart to toss) her books on sexual spells, even burned the lingerie Sarah Wu had pushed her to buy to “visualize herself as a sexual being.”
She would get aroused, of course, she was still a warm blooded woman. In the elevators when a man would smell like fresh cologne or a smoked cigar. When a woman would bend to retrieve a fallen object on the floor. But Hermione would just go home, draw a bath, read a book, and fall asleep with an ache between her legs she knew she’d never rid herself of.
That is, until Ginny found out.
Ginny Potter (nee Weasley) was very open in her sexuality. She had no qualms about speaking on her sex life, even over a glass of wine in a public resturant. Harry had to scold her multiple times when tales of his sexual escapades with his wife ended up in the Daily Prophet.
Ginny had probably thought Hermione was just a prude. A girl who had never found her womanly wiles because all Hermione would do in response was nod, sip, and blush.
But it was an especially stressful day at work. And Ginny had chosen an especially delicious wine. And each sip left her lips a little looser.
By the end, Ginny knew everything.
“Never?” she gasped.
“Not never,” Hermione pondered, a finger on her chin. “Once, at Hogwarts my sixth year. I never had the urge before then.”
“What changed?”
Hermione blinked. “Pardon?”
“You said you’d never had the urge before. And you haven’t come since then. So, let’s retrace your steps.”
Hermione’s mouth opened and closed before dropping to take another sip of her wine. “It wasn’t anything. It just… It just happened. I don’t know. Pass the wine, please?”
Though it wasn’t nothing. It didn’t just happen.
But, how could she tell Ginny what it really was?
She expected the Amortentia to smell vague. Like a pastry shop, but not specifically scones or croissants. But it was so sharp. Pine and spearmint toothpaste and freshly mowed grass. It was an invasion of smells that somehow fit so perfectly together. As if there was one thing that smelled of all three.
Hermione had to giggle to herself just a bit. What in the world would smell of pine and spearmint toothpaste and freshly mowed grass?
The students started making their way from the dungeons, splitting off in direction of their respective dorms. With Ron’s arm casually slung over her shoulder, she followed him and Harry as they made their way to the Quidditch pitch.
Practices for each time were staggered each week, meaning the Slytherins had the pitch before the Gryffindors.
As it was every other week, the field was not empty. The Slytherin team still mounted on their brooms, milking each second of their time. Hermione could see Malfoy balancing in the air, his thighs clenched tightly around the handle of the broom while he used his hands to point and guide the new team members into drills.
His legs must be quite strong--
She was jolted by the sound of Ron cupping his hands over his mouth to call Malfoy and the team down.
“Bloody wanker,” she heard him grumble as they watched the brooms descend.
When they touched down, Harry and Ron left her side to converse with Malfoy while the rest of the Slytherin team moved around Hermione to their locker rooms, taking the time to bump into her shoulder purposefully. She stood her ground.
“... every week… behind schedule…”
She watched Malfoy scowl as Harry berated him once again for causing their practice to start late. His hair was windswept and there was a streak of dirt on his cheek, almost to his lips, that was very Un-Malfoy-like. She could see the beads of sweat clinging to the fine blonde hairs on the back of his neck dripping into the collar of his uniform.
With a nod and a surely sarcastic comment, Malfoy gripped his broom over his shoulder and moved away from the boys towards the locker room. Towards her.
“Granger,” he drawled casually. “Excuse me.”
“Huh?”
Was her mouth open the whole time? She shut her jaw with a snap. She had never been this close to Malfoy, well, maybe ever. And there was something so familiar about his presence...
He pointed a thumb behind her. “That’s my locker room. You’re in my way.”
“Oh! Oh-- Right. Right, I’ll just,” she stepped sideways, letting him pass. Trying to ignore the way his billowing uniform grazed her calves and how the sudden movement pushed his scent though the air.
Pine. An expensive cologne. Spearmint toothpaste. The remnants of a minty-fresh charm. Freshly mowed grass of the quidditch pitch.
“Thanks,” he mumbled as he passed. It made her knees weak.
She stared after him until he disappeared into the locker room and Ron’s voice called out to her again.
“What?” She called back breathlessly.
“I asked if you were going to watch our practice!”
“I think… I think I’ll head back to the dorms actually.”
That night would be the first, and last, orgasm of Hermione Granger. It was quick. A few unsure strokes of her fingers to a bud she had never paid attention to before her breath came in a gasp and she shook in the aftermath.
It was wonderful to be boneless. Relaxed. At peace for the first time in years.
Then, of course, Harry’s patronus had interrupted her basking with news of Ron’s poisoning. Because how long does peace last for a friend of Harry Potter?
She didn’t try it again until after the war. There was no time, she was sharing space with Harry and Ron, she was always dirty and hungry and sad.
She did it again because it felt like the right time. There was no burning need to touch herself like there was with her brief run-in with Malfoy a year earlier. There was only a desire for the relief after all the grief.
It didn’t work the first time. Hermione shrugged it off as not being inexperienced.
It didn’t work the second time. Hermione bought a book with diagrams.
It didn’t work when Ron tried with his thick fingers. Hermione pretended it did.
After two years of failure, she felt broken. Now, after almost 8 years? She felt desperate.
Which… was why she was here.
The morning after her wine binge with Ginny (with a hangover the size of Hagrid) her friend assured her that, while she wouldn’t disclose this to anyone, she felt Hermione needed help. Magical help.
Ginny said there was a man who ran a magical therapeutic center, where he specialized in sexual health and liberation.
After much bargaining (and a little bribing) Ginny had made her an appointment.
The office was, thankfully, lacking in a cat-pee smell. It was a small, renovated flat above a potion’s shop that held a small kitchen attached to a waiting room area and two doors that Hermione could only assume were for a bathroom and a private room for the sessions.
She sat on the plush grey couch with her ankles crossed, twiddling her thumbs and counting each slat of cherry wood flooring to distract herself from the nervous rolling of her stomach.
“I can’t say I wasn’t surprised to get a letter from girl-Weasley,” a voice came from the door and Hermione jolted, uncrossing her legs. “Color me even more shocked when I found out it was for you.”
He looked different, but not at all. Somehow. He looked older, broader. His hair was a little longer and hung around his ears and over his forehead. He even had an extra crease or two around the corners of his eyes.
But it was still, unmistakably, Draco Malfoy.
He pushed his weight against the doorway with his shoulder, crossing his arms in front of him.
“Would you like to come into my office?”
“I…” Hermione glanced around the room desperately. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“No misunderstanding, Granger. I am Mind-Healer Malfoy and your friend is so concerned she wrote me begging to add you to my books. So, why don’t you just come in? For Ginny Weasley, of course.”
“I don’t…”
But then she saw the flick of his lips. He was holding back a smirk. His eyes were daring her to leave. To run.
“Alright,” she whispered, surprising them both.
She stood, whipping her sweaty hands on her legs. Draco raised an eyebrow and pushed himself off the doorway, moving sideways to let her brush past.
The session room was a little darker than the waiting room. A deep brown leather couch with a matching chair was positioned against the wall facing each other. For a moment, it reminded Hermione of her brief stint watching muggle pornography.
“Have a seat. Would you like some water?”
“No, I--” she cleared her throat, which was suddenly dry. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Draco nodded. Positioning himself on the seat comfortably and he assessed Hermione silently, biting her nail and sitting on the edge of the couch avoiding his eye.
“You look nervous.”
Hermione scoffed and then quickly bit her lip. When she finally raised her eyes, Draco looked amused. “Would you like to tell me why you’re here?”
No, she thought, I’d actually rather die. Horny, alone, and dignified.
She opened her mouth, but then closed it quickly with a blush.
Draco laughed. “Brave Gryffindors my ass.”
She went to retort but he had already stood and made his way to the large oak desk in the corner, picking up a quill and slip of parchment and handing it to her.
“Write it down, then. We can burn it after.”
Hermione nodded and with shaking hands, gripped the utensil and paper from his hands. Her fingers brushed his gently and she was surprised with how warm and soft they felt.
While Draco adjusted himself back into his chair, Hermione stared blankly at the parchment in front of her.
How do you word this?
She squiggled the sentence hurriedly, but clearly, before handing it back to him. He took a moment to read it. Hermione watched his face for any indication of… anything. But there was nothing. His face was relaxed and blank, his eyebrow didn’t twitch. He didn’t blink too hard.
Suddenly, the note erupted into flames in his hands. It felt strangely calming to see it burn.
“Never?” he asked carefully, his tone light and casual. As if this was an everyday occurrence.
Well, for him it may be, she reminded herself.
“N-No--” she cleared her throat again before strengthening her voice. “No, I did once. Our sixth year, in October.”
Draco hummed, narrowing his eyes in thought. “And the times after? What does it feel like?”
She blushed. “It’s-- good. I mean, normal. I think. It feels good.”
“Do you get close?”
“I… Yes, I think so. It builds up here,” she pointed to her stomach and watched Draco’s eyes follow her hand down. “And then it’s just… gone. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”
Maybe it was the gentle way he was looking at her. Or the helpless feeling of this being her last chance. But she felt her eyes burn with tears. “I’m sorry,” she gasped out, standing on shaking knees. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I think I’m just broken.”
Before she could reach for the door, she felt two hands on her shoulders turning her back into the room.
“Granger,” Draco’s voice cooed. “You’re not broken.”
“I’m not?” She felt a thumb flick to catch a tear that trailed her cheek and resisted the urge to nuzzle into the hand.
“You’re not. You’re not even the first, second, or third witch to come here with this problem. We just have to find what’s blocking you. Will you let me?”
Would she? She had to. If this was her last chance… she had to.
“Alright.”
Hermione let him lead her back to the couch, but didn’t go back to his chair. Instead, he took a seat facing her on the opposite side of the couch.
“When I was in Hogwarts, I learned Occlumency from Snape. He thought it would help when I was facing… him. During my house arrest, I spent the time and used the knowledge I had from Snape to start training myself in Legilimency.”
Hermione nodded, furrowing her brows. Draco leaned his elbows on his knees to angle himself closer.
“What I mean to say is, my specialization as a Mind-Healer is use of Legilimency. If you’d let me, I’d like to take a look and analyze your experiences. Will you let me?”
Hermione started, leaning back to make room away from him. “That’s-- absolutely not!”
She flushed at the mere thought of him scouring her mind and fantasies. Of looking at her memories of touching herself with toys and lingerie and books and pornographic films. But part of her was curious, too. Perhaps even a little exhilarated by the prospect.
“Hermione,” she gasped softly at his use of her name. “I won’t go snooping around. Slytherin’s honor. If at the end of this session you don’t feel comfortable, I give you full permission to Obliviate me.”
Hermione bit her lip and looked at her folded hands. “Alright.”
She heard his soft, relieved exhale. “Okay, I need you to look at me.”
Hermione slowly turned her eyes up to his. They were swirling pools of liquid metal in the dim room.
“ Legilimens.”
Hermione gasped at the initial contact with her subconscious. Her instinct was to throw him out of her mind, to try and build up a wall. But she had not been trained at Occlumency like Harry and Malfoy had.
Instead, he gently touched each corner of her memories, sifting through carefully. True to his word, he never settled on one that didn’t have anything to do with their session.
And then he found it, her orgasm. She could feel him in her mind watching. The hazy edges of her memory, the rippled gasp as she came down. Her face slack and flushed.
He moved the memory forward and saw her in the Hospital wing, clutching Ron’s hand. The blue nurse’s blanket wet with her tears.
He moved forward again. The next time she had tried to touch herself. She had gotten completely naked, experimenting with her breasts and the sensitive skin of her exposed stomach. But she felt Draco’s focus in her mind only on her face. Panting and pink and tight in concentration before loosening and furrowing her eyebrows at the lost sensation.
He moved forward further. The first time Ron touched her. He was gentle, finding places that she liked. Her face flushed and tight as she focused on plummeting over the edge. But it never came.
Memory after memory he combed through. Poking and prodding and stroking each file until he absorbed all it had to offer.
When he pulled back from her mind, his cheeks were pink and his eyes were even darker than before. The way he was looking at her, it was… a fire pooled in her belly and throbbed between her legs.
Suddenly, he arose from his position on the couch and returned to his desk, rummaging through his desk until he found a pad of paper and scribbled fiercely.
“I think I know what’s causing your blockage.”
She felt her heart clench in her chest. Could it really be that easy? Could he really fix her? Would she be able to go home tonight and--
“You’re too smart.”
“Excuse me?” She sputtered, her face flushed and tight. Her heart dropping to her stomach. He had been messing with her. There was no cure.
“You can’t turn your brain off, Granger. Sex makes you stupid. Boneless. Nothing else matters at that moment but getting to that peak and dropping off. But…”
“But?”
“But you don’t allow yourself to be stupid. When you’re about to orgasm, you won’t let yourself let go. Immediately after your first time, you were thrust into a traumatizing situation of watching your friend almost die. I was in your mind, Granger. I could practically feel you overthinking in a memory.”
“I do not--” Hermione gasped, her hands in fists at her sides.
“The first time you touched yourself after the war, what were you thinking about?”
The death. All the death. That there shouldn’t be any pleasure, not yet. That it was wrong to enjoy such a selfish task when thousands of people were grieving.
“When Weasley was touching you for the first time, what were you thinking about? Do you remember?”
Of course she did. She had just started her new job at the Department of Magical Creatures and her new Werewolf legislation was about to pass her boss’s desk and, Merlin, if it didn’t pass all of those poor Werepeople--
Her fists unclenched and she felt the sting of tears again. Oh god. She buried her face in her hands.
“Granger,” a deep voice called to her. “This is a good thing. Look at me.”
She peeked through her fingers. His face was slack and kind, not a hint of amusement. Perhaps a little smugness. And a slight flush of his cheeks, still.
“How is this a good thing? I’m thinking about werewolf legislation when I’m supposed to be--urgh!”
She heard Draco chuckle at that. “It’s good because it’s something we can work through. If you wish to return--”
“Yes! I-- Yes.” Hermione blushed and bit her lip while Draco quirked an eyebrow in her direction.
“I have homework for you then. You like homework, don’t you Granger?”
“I…” She bit her nail nervously “Is it graded?”
He chuckled, a deep and throaty sound that vibrated his adams apple through the thin skin of his neck. “No, this is more of a pass/fail assignment.”
“Alright.”
When he smiled, she felt it in her belly.
“I want you to go home and touch yourself. For as long as you want. As long as you can. But you’re not to orgasm. If you feel close, stop.”
Hermione blinked two times. One to hear the words he was saying, then again to process them.
“You want me to… not orgasm?”
“S’what I said.”
“Isn’t the whole point of me being here is so that I… do do… that?”
“Granger,” he shook his head. “We’ll have to work on your vocabulary next week. In the meantime, yes.”
He held open the office door for her. “Have a good night, Granger.”
“Okay, Hermione. You can do this. Simple. It’s just… not orgasming. You’ve done that a million times before.”
She stared at her bed as if it would bite her. Carefully slipping under the covers and toeing off her socks.
She trailed a hand down her neck, grazing the soft pulse point. The hand moved down to her chest where she rolled her nipple between two fingers, moaning softly at the familiar build up in her womb.
I wonder if Turner signed those papers for-- No, bad Hermione.
She huffed, redoubling her efforts by kneading her breasts firmly in both hands.
Really if Turner didn’t sign them by the morning I’ll miss the deadline--
“Gah!” Hermione groaned, lifting her hands from her body. “This is no use.”
She pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes,
“Focus,” she whispered to herself. “It’s an assignment. Nothing more than homework.”
She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and lightly grazing her lower stomach with her hand.
Homework, just homework.
She thought of school. The calming ripples of the Black Lake. The tall swaying trees of the Forbidden Forest. Her hand found its way under the band of her panties, toying with the damp curls.
She thought of the solitude of the library. Her thigh twitched as a nail grazed against her clit. She thought of the Quidditch Pitch. Malfoy in his Slytherin robes with sweat on his neck and dirt on his cheek smelling of pine and spearmint toothpaste and--
Hermione gasped, her back arching off the bed.
“Touch yourself.”
“I am,” she moaned, her middle finger rubbing fast circles around the bud.
“For as long as you want.”
“Please,” she pleaded, but there was no one there. Just her. There was sweat on her upper lip. Her toes were curling around the thin blanket, pulling it towards her feet.
“ For as long as you can.”
Her breath was coming in short, desperate pants.
“Oh, Draco--”
“But you’re not to orgasm.”
Her hand snatched away from her body. Her eyes were wide and her cunt clenching around nothing, searching for the release it had almost had.
Again.
For Draco Malfoy.
“You look tired.”
Hermione scowled. It had been three days since she saw Draco last. Three days of edging herself to near madness because she could.
“Long day at work,” is what she supplied as an answer.
He shrugged, offering her a cup of tea as he poured his. She declined.
“So, how was it?”
“How was wh-oh! It was-- fine.”
He set his tea down on the end table next to his chair and crossed one leg over his knee.
“Fine?”
“Y-Yes. Fine.”
“Hm,” Draco hummed. “Okay. It was fine. What did you do?”
“Pardon?” Hermione blinked up at him.
“What did you do to pleasure yourself?”
“I don’t… that’s not…”
Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Granger, part of your blockage is your inability to think of sex as a normal part of life. It’s not taboo. It’s not wrong for you to want to feel good.”
“I know that,” she snapped.
“Alright,” he nodded, “Say fuck.”
“What?”
“Say fuck.” He enunciated each word.
“Why would I want to do that?” Hermione asked incredulously.
“You wouldn’t, I want you to.”
She shook her head. “I don’t--”
“Say it.”
“No, I--”
“Granger, say it.”
He was sitting next to her now. She could smell the pine of his cologne and the mint on his breath.
“Please--”
“Hermione.”
Her head snapped to meet his stare. “Say it.”
His eyes were rolling with silver and flecks of blue.
“Fuck,” she whispered, clenching her eyes shut.
“Good. That’s good,” she heard him coo softly next to her, “Say cock.”
She opened her mouth, then pursed it tightly to swallow. “C-cock.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” she felt a thumb rub the padding on her palm. “Now try...come.”
He bit the t like a fresh apple. Hermione sighed, his deep voice passing through her ear and into her naval creating liquid lava that pooled in her panties and made her rub her thighs together softly.
“Come,” Hermione exhaled breathily.
She had yet to open her eyes and gasped softly when she felt a wand near her ear.
“May I?”
Too consumed by the smell of him and the warmth of his body radiating next to her, she nodded.
Just as he uttered “Legilimens” her eyes snapped open, remembering what he would be seeing. But it was too late, he was already grazing the edges of her memories from the last three days.
Through his prodding she could see herself splayed out on the bed her third night, a thick coating of sweat slicking her body and sticking her to the sheets. Her cunt on full display, red and glistening while her fingers rubbed furiously through her folds.
The second day, he watched as she screeched and pulled her hand away, just as she was about to tip over the edge. Babbling and thrashing her head as she quickly resumed her fingering, pushing herself closer to the edge.
And then he arrived at the first day.
Hermione watched him watch her. Timid and unsure as she peeled back the blankets. Her frustrated sigh as she palmed her breasts through her shirt.
“Focus. It’s an assignment. Nothing more than homework.”
She tried to push him out of her mind. But she could feel his focus narrowing in on her hand as it trailed down her stomach and into the band of her pants. The walls of her mind shrinking as he zeroed in on the first click of her hand on her clit and the sound of her gasp through her memory.
“Please…”
Hermione knew he was looking at her face. Flushed and lax in pleasure as her back arched. They both knew she was close by the tightening around her eyes as they snapped closed.
“Oh, Draco--”
He was so taken aback by hearing his name in her memory, he dropped from her mind. Her head throbbed and spun at his abrupt departure, but she was acutely aware of the way his pupils stayed blown. His iris’ no more than smoke surrounding a black hole.
His stare was predatory and blazed right through her causing her spine to tingle.
“I’m so--”
But she wasn’t able to finish as his lips descended on hers. Her eyes fluttered closed at the pure possession he took over her lips, tucking it between his teeth and biting roughly. Like he was punishing her.
One of his hands reached up to roll her breast between his large hand, something he knew now she liked. Something he had seen in her mind.
When his thumb flickered over her pebbled nipple, Hermione wasn’t able to control the shiver or the groan that was torn from her. The sound made him freeze with her bottom lip still in his mouth. He let it go where it folded back to her mouth with a wet smack.
His pupil no longer blown wide, but narrowed and focused. Wide iris’ that Hermione could see the panic swimming in the silver depths of.
“Malfoy--”
“You should go.” He stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair as he busied himself at his desk.
“But, Malfoy--”
“Congratulations, Granger,” he interrupted once again. “You’re cured. I’ll owl you the bill.”
After leaving Draco’s office she had wandered the dark streets of Diagon Alley, peering in at closed shop windows and finding her way to the apparation point with only the lamps overhead as a guide. She must have been with him for hours. She wondered just how long it had been that he was searching her mind.
When she finally arrived home she bypassed the kitchen, much to the upset of her growling stomach, and crawled into bed.
It felt awful; rejection. She never had to fear it before orgasms. She has so long convinced herself that she was broken, that she would be unwanted by any man anyway, that she left no room for rejection.
Did this mean she was undesirable, even with her ability to orgasm?
She had spent years yearning for one. It was supposed to fix everything. She was supposed to feel free, relaxed, confident. But she felt empty.
Hermione rolled over onto her back and let her hand reach down to undo the button on her denims. She let out a shaking breath, which she wasn’t sure was from the anticipation or the painful pressure in her chest that caused a tear to roll down her temple.
Her nether lips felt dry. She tried pulling a finger into her mouth to wet it before slipping it back into place, artificially drenching herself.
She would make herself orgasm.
No, she would make herself come, as Draco would make her say.
Hermione imagined what it would be like to have him over her. Making her say filthy words before she got rewards. He would make her beg for him to lick her cunt. He would make her say it, even if it made her red in the face.
After he took her, perhaps he would sink into her mind to let them both rewatch the memory. The thought pulled a moan from her throat, but it was followed closely by a hiccup from her tears. She pulled her hand from her still-dry knickers, turned onto her side, and prayed for a dreamless sleep.
Sharp knocking was what startled her out of sleep. Rapid, short poundings on her door that had her scrambling from her bed, rushing to the door before the visitor woke her neighbors.She cursed under her breath as her foot became tangled and she pulled to free herself.
She opened the door and blinked to find Draco Malfoy standing in her apartment hallway. He looked taller out of his office. He must have expanded the ceiling for comfortability as he was mere inches away from the top of her doorway.
His eyes swept her form lazily. He looked like he had been drinking with the slow flicker of his eyes. He furrowed his brows when he reached her waist and when Hermione peered down to look at herself, she blushed to find her zipped was still open from her previous (unsuccessful) activities. She turned her back towards him to quickly straighten up before slowly facing him again.
“Can I help you, Malfoy?”
He cringed at her tone. “May I come in?”
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, tucking her bottom lip into her mouth and wincing at how tender it still was.
“Alright,” she moved aside for him to pass through, as he had done for her once.
He stood awkwardly in her living area, clenching and unclenching his hands at his side.
“Would you like some tea?” Hermione asked after a moment.
Draco looked up, his face surprised as if he forgot he was here, in her home. “Uh, no. Thanks. I’m… I’m sorry.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “For not wanting tea?”
He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “No. For… before. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
Her stomach soured and plummeted. As if it wasn’t enough to reject her once, he had come to her home to do it again.
“Great. Thank you so very much. If that’s all, I’d like you to go.” She gestured towards the closed front door.
Draco furrowed his brows and blinked at her. “I’m not sure why you’re so pissy--”
“Pissy?”
“Yes! I came to apologize--”
Hermione threw both hands over her head. “I don’t want an apology. I wanted to kiss you! Merlin, every time I’ve come in my life has been because of you. Of course I wanted to kiss you! And now I want you to leave so I can forget--”
For a second time that day, he silenced her with a kiss. This one was slow and languid, lapping his tongue against the seam of her lips to gain entrance.
She thought of pine and spearmint toothpaste and the freshly mowed grass of the quidditch pitch and a streak of dirt on his cheek.
He grunted when she pushed him onto her couch. It was in stark contrast to the leather of his office couch: plush, cotton, and worn.
Hermione swung her leg over his hips grinding her denim-clad cunt onto his lap. He hissed and grabbed her bum with both hands, guiding her into a pace that had her throwing back her head and moaning as the seam of her jeans pressed against her clit.
“Shit, Granger.”
Hermione moaned when he slid a hand into her hair and pulled her curls down until her neck was taunt and exposed to his mouth.
His breath was hot against her collarbone as he sighed. “I shouldn’t be here. You’re a patient… I shouldn’t.”
Hermione huffed, pushing his chest until his back was molded into the back of the couch. She stood, mustering all of her courage to keep herself between his legs when she undid the button on her trousers once more.
“You should at least stick around to see if I’m properly cured.”
She pushed the jeans down to the floor and toed out of them carefully, leaving her clad in only the soft cotton of her yellow knickers and her tee.
Using his broad shoulders as leverage, she climbed back into his lap. For a moment they both paused, panting and blinking at one another.
Without breaking eye contact, Hermione reached her hand out to grasp her wand she disposed of on the end table.
“May I?”
Draco sucked in a deep breath before nodding slowly.
“Legilimens.”
The details of his mind were blurry. These weren’t memories, but a history of thoughts.
Her spread out for him on his desk. Her bent over the arm of the leather couch. Her on her knees in front of his chair, her eyes fluttering up at him while she took his cock in her mouth.
With a groan she pulled out of his mind, letting her hand travel to the now soaked through cotton of her knickers. His trousers underneath spotted with her arousal.
Draco reached around to tuck his hands into the bending of her knees, pulling her closer to his hardening length.
His eyes were hooded and focused on the outline of her hand in her panties as she gently ran two fingers over her clit. She felt her pussy contract when she slid first one, then two fingers into herself.
She could feel her orgasm bubbling in her throat, taking her breath and turning them into short pants. She began riding her hand, grinding down on her palm and subsequently further onto Draco’s lap.
She felt, more than heard, his growl rumble his chest as he snatched her hand from where they were buried inside her. She blushed when he lifted her hand in front of her face. Her arousal glistening and dripping down her hand.
“This for me, Granger?” He asked before taking her two busiest fingers into his own mouth.
Hermione jolted at the feeling of his tongue wrapping around the tips of her fingers and suckling on them gently.
“You taste like cherries,” he moaned. “Tart and sweet and addicting. Want to taste?”
Without waiting for a response, he pulled her face forward to kiss her fiercely and plunge his tongue into her mouth when she gasped. She could taste herself and groaned when he rolled his hips forward to grind her still throbbing clit against his length.
With his lips still on hers, she reached both hands down to undo his own slacks, reaching in to pull his cock free. He hissed as he was released from the confines of his pants. He was painfully hard and probably aching, a thick vein swelling and pulsing along the side.
She pumped him in her fist gently, watching a bead of precum weep from the tip and catch on her fingers.
She lifted it to her mouth and tucked it between her lips. “Mm. You don’t taste so bad yourself.”
Draco gave her a look of either amazement or adoration. Perhaps both. Hermione yelped when he flipped them over, her back now sinking into the cushions of the couch and he moved between her legs, pushing his bottoms further down his legs.
He hooked his thumbs into the sides of her knickers and Hermione’s eyes snapped shut in embarrassment. No one had been… down there in years.
“Don’t get shy on me now, Granger. Look at me.”
Hermione slowly fluttered her eyes open, feeling her cheeks warm up as he slid her panties down her legs before tossing them to the floor.
“I’m going to fuck you, Granger. Right here on this couch. And then I’m going to take you to my office and act out all the thoughts you saw since you’ve been coming to me,” he took her chin in his hand, his other grasping his cock and rubbing it against her entrance. “And from here on out, I’ll be the first and only cock you come on.”
He rocked forward, impaling himself inside her. Hermione’s gasp caught in her throat at the pressure of his thick length stretching her for the first time.
Above her, Draco groaned, pressing his free hand onto her lower stomach. Hermione’s eyes rolled back at the sensation. He let one leg dangle off his hip, but hitched her other onto his shoulder, swearing at the new depths he was able to reach.
“You were always mine, isn’t that right, Granger?”
She was almost angry at his ability to talk through this. She was a babbling, head thrashing mess beneath him as he expertly curved himself against the soft flesh of her front wall.
“From the very first time you touched yourself, you were mine.” He accentuated the last word with an especially hard thrust, which caused Hermione to scream out a sob.
“I just didn’t know it yet,” he licked his thumb and pressed it against her clit, causing her to wail and thrash violently. “There was never anything wrong with you, Granger. You… just… needed… me.”
A blinding light. The curling of toes. She could barely hear herself scream over the overwhelming, agonizing pleasure of coming all over Draco Malfoy’s cock. She was barely aware of the scream that tore from his throat as he spilled into her for the first time.
Draco collapsed on her, tucking his face into the curve of her shoulder and planting small kisses on her neck while he shivered in the aftermath of his release.
“I was thinking,” Hermione panted as she turned her face to meet his. “that we should try the desk first. Can you apparate?”
“Right now?” Draco asked incredulously.
“I have eight years of orgasms to make up for. Don’t tell me you’re not up for the challenge.”
A sly grin slowly made its way onto his face. “I’m definitely up to the challenge. But we’ll need to start with you on your knees first.”
And with a loud pop, he apparated them away.