(no subject)
Author: Irisri
Title: What was thought of as the Century Curse 6
Rating: PG-13 for Language
Summery: It seems a curse has been set upon the Malfoy family. Now, Malfoy must do everything within his power to break it. But he has to ask. Why him?
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Warning: Might contain slight HBP spoilers.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter… sadly. If someone gives me a small portion of it, I’ll be EXTREMELY happy.
Draco looked up from his Charm's Research book to see Granger come into the common room, her hair mussed, her shirt ashkew, and her cheeks flushed.
"Did you finally get laid, Granger?" he drawled, ignoring the burst of white-hot anger that sparked in the pit of his stomach.
"You!" she exclaimed.
"Yes," he replied. "Me."
"You have some nerve!" She declared.
"Whatever are you talking about, Granger?" He'd be damned before he'd admit that he knew what she was talking about right offhand.
"You walked in on me, you prat! While I was in the bathtub, no less."
"And a delightful body, I might add," he said in his famous drawl. Of course, his saying that didn't mean he actually thought it so, he assured himself; he just wanted to pull Granger's strings.
And pull her strings, he did. She gasped, her hand clapped over her mouth.
He smirked at her, at her speechlessness, and looked back down at his book, and wondered why the devil he had to reread this chapter, it was First Year's work, for heaven sakes.
That was Draco's mistake. After seven years of being enemies with Hermione, he should have known never to look away whenever she's raving mad.
And since he looked away, Hermione took the oppertunitty to throw a book at his head.
"You fucking bitch!" Draco rubbed his temple as he yelled at her.
"You fucking bastard!" she countered. "Don't ever say anything about my body!"
He stalked over to her and grabbed her upper arms. Her eyes were blazing brown fire, changing from their normal muddy color to a dark chocolate brown.
"I'll say anything I want, Mudblood! No one tells a Malfoy what to do, especially your kind!"
"Watch me," she hissed. "Now get your filthy hands off of me. I'd rather die than have a Malfoy touch me."
Hermione watched his stormy gray eyes turn almost black with anger. His hands tightened around her arms and his fingers dug into her skin. She was going to get bruises, she just knew it.
"You didn't seem to mind that much last night," he hissed back at her.
"Last night, I was tired," she replied hotly, her voice strangely calm.
He made a sound that was between a growl and a snarl. "We'll see."
She looked up at him in horror. "Don't you dare kiss me!" she whispered fiercely. "I swear on God's green Earth that if you do, I'll hex you back into 1923."
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
"If you don't want another slap on the face, you'll let me go this instant," she warned.
His fingers tightened around her arms before he pushed her away. She fell, sprawled out on the floor.
"Why would I want to touch you anyway?" he asked her. "Weasley's already touched you."
She didn't reply, because she knew that if she did, she would point out that he'd touched her first.
Hermione pulled off her clothes and slid between her sheets, rubbing her arms. When she touched her upper arms, however, she flinched. Yes, they were going to be bruised.
The next night, tension was thick in the air as Hermione and Malfoy did their Head duties and rounds. They didn't talk, but the glances they gave each other were full of hatred and annoyance. When they reached the dungeons, however, Mafloy spoke.
"Why don't you go up to the Head dorms? I can handle this."
"Why?" Hermione asked automatically.
"Because, in case you haven't noticed, you aren't exactly best friends with Slytherins."
"Big deal. I can handle them."
"Granger." He stopped and pushed her against the wall, putting a hand on each side of her head, staying an arm's length away from her.
"Do as I say."
"No," she said defiantly. "Since when are you worried about my safety anyway? Shouldn't you want me to go to my death?"
Good question. Why was he so eager for her to go back to the Head dorms?
"Granger, just go," he growled. "I'd rather not be responsible if something happened to you."
"What do you care?"
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the most trusted wizard in Hogwarts. If something happens to you, regardless of if I did it or not, and I was there, who would be blamed for leading you into the dungeons? Me. So run along to the Head dorms."
"What do I care if you get expelled?" she asked.
"You don't. But I do, now go before I do something I regret."
"Like what?" she asked haughtily. Her chin was raised, her eyes blazing in defiant determination, and a some of the few springy curls were brushed in front of her eyes.
"Like this," he replied before he ducked his head and pressed his lips against hers.
Hermione very nearly fainted. Whatever she'd expected, him to slap her, hex her, punch her, it was into anything but that. His lips were soft, like the last time, but they weren't insistent.
She moaned at reached up to wrap her hands around his neck. His tongue started probing the seam of her lips, asking for entrance, instead of demanding it.
Her eyes were closed, he noticed. His eyes weren't. He wanted to watch her reaction. He felt her leg snake up to his knee and pull him closer. His arms were still pressed against the wall. She was the one who'd moved closer, not him. Finally, he let his arms slip down to hug her to him, his fingers roaming her body, from her thighs to the top of her head.
Her arse wasn't perfectly firm, her thighs weren't either, and they weren't thin, but he liked the feel of them. Her back was slender, arched in a way that he thought perfect, her breasts were small, but he didn't fancy huge breasts anyway. Her neck... Gods, he thought that was his favorite part of her body. It felt creamy, smooth as silk, and it was slender, and arched, like her back.
He found that her hair wasn't quite as rough and tangled as he'd imagined, but it was soft instead. It was also very thick. He started running his hands down her arms, which were linked at his neck, but she flinched and pulled away.
Silently, he lifted her shirt sleeve and saw that it revealed very dark purple marks. There were also small cuts right beside then, cresent shaped and thin.
He couldn't stop staring at her arms. He'd done that to her. It was something he couldn't seem to get over. But why did he care? The answer came to him unbidden.
Even though she was a Mudblood, she was still a woman, and his mother had taught him never to strike a woman, to hurt a woman beyond taking her virginity.
When he looked back into her eyes, they were filled with horror. At what, he didn't know, but she silently moved away from him and walked back towards the Head dorms.
Well, he thought. He'd gotten her to go back to the dorms, right? So why did he want her to stay there in the dungeons and scream at him for hurting her?
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Title: What was thought of as the Century Curse 6
Rating: PG-13 for Language
Summery: It seems a curse has been set upon the Malfoy family. Now, Malfoy must do everything within his power to break it. But he has to ask. Why him?
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Warning: Might contain slight HBP spoilers.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter… sadly. If someone gives me a small portion of it, I’ll be EXTREMELY happy.
Draco looked up from his Charm's Research book to see Granger come into the common room, her hair mussed, her shirt ashkew, and her cheeks flushed.
"Did you finally get laid, Granger?" he drawled, ignoring the burst of white-hot anger that sparked in the pit of his stomach.
"You!" she exclaimed.
"Yes," he replied. "Me."
"You have some nerve!" She declared.
"Whatever are you talking about, Granger?" He'd be damned before he'd admit that he knew what she was talking about right offhand.
"You walked in on me, you prat! While I was in the bathtub, no less."
"And a delightful body, I might add," he said in his famous drawl. Of course, his saying that didn't mean he actually thought it so, he assured himself; he just wanted to pull Granger's strings.
And pull her strings, he did. She gasped, her hand clapped over her mouth.
He smirked at her, at her speechlessness, and looked back down at his book, and wondered why the devil he had to reread this chapter, it was First Year's work, for heaven sakes.
That was Draco's mistake. After seven years of being enemies with Hermione, he should have known never to look away whenever she's raving mad.
And since he looked away, Hermione took the oppertunitty to throw a book at his head.
"You fucking bitch!" Draco rubbed his temple as he yelled at her.
"You fucking bastard!" she countered. "Don't ever say anything about my body!"
He stalked over to her and grabbed her upper arms. Her eyes were blazing brown fire, changing from their normal muddy color to a dark chocolate brown.
"I'll say anything I want, Mudblood! No one tells a Malfoy what to do, especially your kind!"
"Watch me," she hissed. "Now get your filthy hands off of me. I'd rather die than have a Malfoy touch me."
Hermione watched his stormy gray eyes turn almost black with anger. His hands tightened around her arms and his fingers dug into her skin. She was going to get bruises, she just knew it.
"You didn't seem to mind that much last night," he hissed back at her.
"Last night, I was tired," she replied hotly, her voice strangely calm.
He made a sound that was between a growl and a snarl. "We'll see."
She looked up at him in horror. "Don't you dare kiss me!" she whispered fiercely. "I swear on God's green Earth that if you do, I'll hex you back into 1923."
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
"If you don't want another slap on the face, you'll let me go this instant," she warned.
His fingers tightened around her arms before he pushed her away. She fell, sprawled out on the floor.
"Why would I want to touch you anyway?" he asked her. "Weasley's already touched you."
She didn't reply, because she knew that if she did, she would point out that he'd touched her first.
Hermione pulled off her clothes and slid between her sheets, rubbing her arms. When she touched her upper arms, however, she flinched. Yes, they were going to be bruised.
The next night, tension was thick in the air as Hermione and Malfoy did their Head duties and rounds. They didn't talk, but the glances they gave each other were full of hatred and annoyance. When they reached the dungeons, however, Mafloy spoke.
"Why don't you go up to the Head dorms? I can handle this."
"Why?" Hermione asked automatically.
"Because, in case you haven't noticed, you aren't exactly best friends with Slytherins."
"Big deal. I can handle them."
"Granger." He stopped and pushed her against the wall, putting a hand on each side of her head, staying an arm's length away from her.
"Do as I say."
"No," she said defiantly. "Since when are you worried about my safety anyway? Shouldn't you want me to go to my death?"
Good question. Why was he so eager for her to go back to the Head dorms?
"Granger, just go," he growled. "I'd rather not be responsible if something happened to you."
"What do you care?"
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the most trusted wizard in Hogwarts. If something happens to you, regardless of if I did it or not, and I was there, who would be blamed for leading you into the dungeons? Me. So run along to the Head dorms."
"What do I care if you get expelled?" she asked.
"You don't. But I do, now go before I do something I regret."
"Like what?" she asked haughtily. Her chin was raised, her eyes blazing in defiant determination, and a some of the few springy curls were brushed in front of her eyes.
"Like this," he replied before he ducked his head and pressed his lips against hers.
Hermione very nearly fainted. Whatever she'd expected, him to slap her, hex her, punch her, it was into anything but that. His lips were soft, like the last time, but they weren't insistent.
She moaned at reached up to wrap her hands around his neck. His tongue started probing the seam of her lips, asking for entrance, instead of demanding it.
Her eyes were closed, he noticed. His eyes weren't. He wanted to watch her reaction. He felt her leg snake up to his knee and pull him closer. His arms were still pressed against the wall. She was the one who'd moved closer, not him. Finally, he let his arms slip down to hug her to him, his fingers roaming her body, from her thighs to the top of her head.
Her arse wasn't perfectly firm, her thighs weren't either, and they weren't thin, but he liked the feel of them. Her back was slender, arched in a way that he thought perfect, her breasts were small, but he didn't fancy huge breasts anyway. Her neck... Gods, he thought that was his favorite part of her body. It felt creamy, smooth as silk, and it was slender, and arched, like her back.
He found that her hair wasn't quite as rough and tangled as he'd imagined, but it was soft instead. It was also very thick. He started running his hands down her arms, which were linked at his neck, but she flinched and pulled away.
Silently, he lifted her shirt sleeve and saw that it revealed very dark purple marks. There were also small cuts right beside then, cresent shaped and thin.
He couldn't stop staring at her arms. He'd done that to her. It was something he couldn't seem to get over. But why did he care? The answer came to him unbidden.
Even though she was a Mudblood, she was still a woman, and his mother had taught him never to strike a woman, to hurt a woman beyond taking her virginity.
When he looked back into her eyes, they were filled with horror. At what, he didn't know, but she silently moved away from him and walked back towards the Head dorms.
Well, he thought. He'd gotten her to go back to the dorms, right? So why did he want her to stay there in the dungeons and scream at him for hurting her?
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