fic: Angle of Reflection (M, 1/1)
Title: Angle of Reflection
Canon: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I in any way associated with, HP.
Warnings: explicit sex
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Draco/Hermione
Summary: Mirror magic is a dangerous thing.
Draco sat in a chair that had to be stunned every three hours or it would try to run off with him on it. The small desk he worked at had only three legs, the fourth he'd replaced with a rusted statue of a badger. That was the problem with the Come-and-Go Room. It was full of hundreds, if not thousands, of objects that would have been perfectly useful if only they were in slightly better repair.
The full-length mirror Draco had set the desk up in front of was not broken in any way he could see. His reflection was not at all distorted and in it he could easily see the backside of the broken cabinet lock he was working on. When he'd realized he needed to see both sides of the lock simultaneously to have any hope of repairing it, he began searching the room for a mirror. There were several broken ones, including one with a very angry spirit trapped inside the shards and one that tried to suck him in. Draco ignored these but made note of their locations and kept well away from those parts of the room in the future.
He finally found two mirrors facing one another at the end of a long, dead-end row of junk. The larger of the two had a single, hairline crack down its center. If this had damaged the Mirror of Erised's unique ability, Draco could not see how. When he looked into it he saw himself, not as he was now but happy, almost carefree. Beside him stood his mother, smiling and at ease, with one arm wrapped around him in a tight hug. On his other side was his father, free and proud of him.
Remembering the rumors that had filled the castle at the end of his first year, Draco thought himself home free. If Potter could find the fabled Philosopher's Stone simply by wanting to, surely Draco could find out how to repair the cabinet by the same means. Unfortunately Draco's heart did not seem to be as pure as Potter's. The only variation in the reflection he could see when he brought the damaged lock before the glass, was the lock fully repaired.
This being almost no help at all, Draco resumed his original plan and turned to the other mirror. He could find no hidden magical properties in it and decided the faint magical aura surrounding it was due to its location in a magical castle. Even the most ordinary of objects couldn't help but soak some magic up here.
The only further thought he had given to the Mirror of Erised was to throw a cloth over it. The white cloth covered only most of the mirror, leaving the word "Erised" and the stretch of glass beneath it visible. So long as Draco's reflection was not caught in these few inches of glass, it could show him nothing. He did not need to be reminded what he was working towards, it weighed heavily enough upon his mind as it was.
Draco glanced at the reflected word in his own, unbroken mirror and sneered. What good were desires if he could not own them?
He ran a hand through his hair. If he was getting philosophical about the mirror again, it was definitely getting late. He began gathering up his tools. If he went to bed now he could be up before dawn and get in a few hours of work before classes.
"Malfoy?"
Draco turned and saw Hermione Granger coming towards him. How the hell had she gotten in here? And how had she found him in the midst of all this junk?
"What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to reign in his anger. He continued returning his tools to their kit. A confrontation without the possibility of interruption would most likely lead to a duel and he couldn't afford to risk that. The cabinet could be damaged, his work on the lock could be undone, or they could activate any number of deadly objects in the room.
"I- I lost my copy of Hogwarts, A History. Dobby told me all lost items in the castle eventually end up here."
Draco nodded. "As you can see, they really do."
She came up behind him and he could feel her watching him. "Why-" She paused before barreling on. "Why aren't you hexing me?"
"Why would I hex you, Granger?" he asked, keeping his head bent.
"Maybe because you hate me?"
He finally looked up and met her eyes in the glass. Her gasp sent a shudder through him and he felt a tightening in his groin. Her eyes were wide with surprise and confusion, and dark with a lust that matched his own. The reflected "Desire" seemed to burn above her head in the glass and when she swallowed, tongue darting out to moisten pink lips, he whirled, knocking the chair to the floor in his desperation to hold her.
One hand slid into her damnable hair - so soft, God, he knew it would be - while the other grabbed her hip and pulled her to him. Her hands went into his hair, kneading at his scalp and tugging and pressing him closer to her while their tongues fought for dominance. If he'd ever given it any thought - and he would face the Dementors before admitting he had - he would have thought her slow, shy, tentative in her kisses. But the girl wrapped in his arms knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't going to let a little thing like modesty get in her way. Her tongue slid over his, teasing and playful. She pulled back and nipped at his lip, causing him to growl in frustration. Two could play that game. He twisted his fingers in her hair and pulled her head to the side, allowing him access to her neck.
He trailed kisses down to her shoulder and bit her skin hard enough to mark at the same moment the hand still holding her hip moved around to grasp her bum tight. She gasped again, this time with a heady mix of surprise and desire that left him desperate to rid them both of clothes.
As he buried his face in her hair he remembered just who this was. Hermione Granger. Mudblood. Constant thorn in his side. He wanted her, had for over a year now, but he was a teenage boy, he wanted just about anything with a basic female shape. This desire he felt now was different from any he'd felt before and felt almost dangerous in the way it consumed them both.
Even while he opened the catch of her robes and slid the heavy fabric over her shoulders to the floor, he sifted through his mind, searching for some magical influence. He was too distracted to think clearly though and came up with only memories of Granger. The feel of her hand on his cheek hours after she slapped him. Watching her cheer, careless of who might see, in the Top Box at the World Cup. Seeing her pale and frightened during the attack later. The strange twist of jealousy in his gut when Krum danced with the most beautiful girl in the room. The perverse joy in getting a rise out of her during Prefect duties. Cursing the small twist of fate that had Millicent holding her captive in Umbridge's office.
"Do you want to stop?" he asked, realizing he was getting nowhere finding evidence of a magical influence in his own mind. Merlin, he hated her, but he wanted her too. Had the two emotions always been linked like this? Had his hate always fed his desire and his desire his hate until they were both too strong to ignore?
"God, no!" she moaned, pulling his shirt open with no mind for the buttons and forcing it over his shoulders.
"Good," he breathed, ripping the shirt off and throwing it carelessly aside. He barely gave a thought to the Dark Mark on his arm, only enough to be glad he'd taken to wrapping it and passing it off as an injury in case he was seen without his shirt.
He slid her tie from her throat, following its path as far around her neck as he could with playful nips that made her giggle. He wanted her to make that noise again. He wanted her to gasp and moan and scream. He wanted to learn every blessed sound that could come from that damning little mouth.
She was busy learning the planes of his chest and back, giving him time to catch her up in the undressed department. Before going any further he reached to the side, earning a disappointed mewl from her. She'd forgive him for the momentary lapse in attention, he was sure. He pulled the cloth from the Mirror of Erised, letting it fall to the floor while he returned his hand to her chest, undoing buttons while he fondled her breasts through her shirt. She wasn't wearing a bra. The lack was like a gift meant just for him. Had she been ready for bed when she realized she was missing her book and hastily dressed to come down here? He tipped her chin up and saw embarrassment in her eyes. He kissed her, chastely for the first time, a silent thanks as he pulled her blouse open and cupped her breasts in his hands. Her mouth flew open at the sensation and her head tipped back. He followed it, one hand wrapping around her back to dip her gently to the cloth he'd pulled from the mirror.
She was limp beneath him, out of her depth and overwhelmed. That was fine with him as he sat up and took in the sight of her naked chest. There was a scar beginning just below and to the left of her right breast and extending in a sharp, thin line to her right hip. It was silver in the light, like a spider web had fallen on her skin. He touched his fingers to it and her hand immediately caught his, holding it away from the scar. Fear sparked in her eyes and it took him a moment to realize it wasn't fear of him, but a mixture of many things. Fear that the scar ruined her, that it would bring the war between them again, and maybe a little that it would remind him he was supposed to be on the side of the man who had hurt her.
He bent forward, his hand disentangling from hers to fondle her breast once more while he whispered in her ear, "You're beautiful." What he really wanted to say was that he would kill whoever had done this to her but a pure and virginal Gryffindor would probably find talk of murder a turn off.
She turned her head to kiss his cheek. Her hands slid down his chest, pausing momentarily on his own breasts to tease his nipples as he was hers. The growl he made when she flicked one with her nail didn't seem enough to satisfy her though and her hands continued downward to his belt.
"You do know-" he asked as she pulled and pushed, making the rough fabric of his pants rub over his penis. He was already so hard and if the breached this barrier he knew they wouldn't stop until they'd breached the final one.
"I know," she said, breathless, and opened his belt and pants in one final tug. Her hand slid inside and he stilled, balanced on his elbow over her, his hair falling down to tickle her forehead they were so close. She met his eyes, asking permission and seeking guidance. Her fingers slid and crawled over the too-thin fabric of his boxers, exploring this strange new territory. He saw the moment her curiosity turned to perverse enjoyment. She knew she was driving him mad.
In frustration he removed his hand from her breast and leaned back on his knees. It was horrible to rob himself of her touch, maddening as it had been, but he wanted a little revenge. He toed off his shoes and hastily pulled the last of his clothing off, keeping his eyes on hers the whole time. She gulped audibly at the sight of him but his little Gryffindor wasn't about to run away from a challenge. She met his eyes, almost defiant in her determination. He smiled and reached beneath her skirt.
She jumped when his fingers brushed her outer thighs. He gripped the elastic of her underwear and tugged it down. Obligingly, she lifted her hips, allowing him to slide them all the way down her legs. He pulled her shoes off as well and kissed her arch, the inside of her opposite ankle. He made his way up her legs that way, kissing back and forth until she was shivering in anticipation - or maybe that was a little bit of fear. That she was ready for this at all, and with him, was miracle enough, he should keep it simple, traditional. Not that there was anything simple about a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, a Muggleborn and a pureblood having sex. Or anything traditional about two students doing it on the floor of the- well, that was probably more than tradition, it was possible the room was crafted for just this purpose.
He kissed her again and found his theory justified by the relieved sigh she gave. Her muscles relaxed and he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She was a world-class kisser and wasn't about to be outdone. She met him fire for fire, distracting herself while he slipped a hand up her skirt. She stilled instantly, her eyes going wide. He met them, trying his best to appear comforting and reassuring instead of mad with lust. Thank the Founders she was wet already. He rubbed her clit with the heel of his hand and slid a finger inside at the first twitch of her thigh. Her mouth made a small, silent O of surprise but she didn't seem distressed. That curiosity was back. He smiled, silently promising she'd have a lot more to be curious about before this was over.
He slid another finger inside and she jumped so that her skin ghosted over his erection. Tired of waiting he pulled his fingers out and placed his cock at her opening. She met his eyes.
"I've never..." She bit her lip.
"I'll go slow as I can."
She looked at him and he saw undeserved trust shine in her eyes. She nodded once, again giving him permission.
She was tight but after only a few centimeters he felt her body relaxing beneath his. Her eyes were screwed shut in concentration and he could practically hear her sheepishly explain, "The books said it'd help to keep relaxed." He would have laughed if he didn't know that would send all the wrong messages. Maybe later, when they were more used to each other.
The full impact of that thought hit him just as he broke through the last of her virginity and so was quickly discarded as she bucked up, taking him fully into her in one quick motion. She let out a strangled cry and he bent over her, kissing up the tear leaking from the corner of her eye and gently shushing her, promising it would get better. Slowly she adjusted while he moved in and out at the gentlest pace he could manage. Before he even knew she'd recovered, that curiosity of hers was back and he felt her tighten around him. He choked in surprise and it was her turn to move, lifting her hips to meet his. He didn't bother being gentle after that and it was sheer luck on her part that she managed to orgasm just before he did.
He carefully pulled out of her and wrapped an arm around her waist, rolling them over so that he could support her lighter weight. She didn't seem to mind and gave a small hum of contentment as she rested her ear over his heart. He kissed her head once and let his own fall back.
He'd just fucked Hermione Granger and, if her behavior was any indication, had enjoyed it at least as much as she had. That smell clinging to his skin was hers. That scream echoing in his ears was hers.
He lifted one arm from around her waist and ran it through his hair before letting it fall to the side. He turned in its direction and met his own eyes in the Mirror of Erised. From this angle the crack was more obvious and he saw two reflections of himself and Hermione branching out from a joined image of his hand. It took several seconds to realize what was wrong with the reflections. In both, as in reality, he lay on the white cloth, now stained with sweat and blood and the combined remains of their coming. Her head lay on his chest, ear over his heart, hair blanketed over them both, one of her hands drawing circles on his shoulder, one of his tucked protectively around her waist. He fisted his hand and the reflection did the same. In reality he couldn't see the muscles of his arm grow taut because of the bandage over the Dark Mark. In the reflections he could. The one on the left showed his forearm bare, the way it would never be again, while the one on the right showed the Dark Mark displayed proudly.
Draco focused on his heartbeat, trying to settle it for fear Hermione would ask what was wrong.
In the reflection on the right Hermione rose languidly and threw her head back, sending her hair streaming over her shoulders. The light glinted off a thin, metal braid, thinner than the rod of a quill and wrapped around her throat. Despite this symbol of servitude she smiled down at the mirror-Draco, her eyes dark with renewed lust. On the left Draco's arm rose from Hermione's waist to pet gently over her hair. After several seconds she lifted her head to smile lovingly at him. She ran the fingers of her left hand through his hair and he thought he caught a glint of gold on a finger there before she bent to kiss him.
Draco watched, mesmerized. On one side he and Hermione held each other close, content with chaste kisses and the simple joy of being together. On the other, Hermione wrapped her fingers around his cock, rubbing and pulling until he was hard again. When this Hermione tried to take the initiative and place herself over him, he rose up, slapping her hard. Draco jumped, the imagined sound of the impact echoing in his ears.
"What's wrong?" the real Hermione asked, her eyes wide with concern.
"Nothing," he said quickly, the word catching in his throat. Shame filled him and he felt as if she would see what he had if she looked into his eyes long enough.
"This is wrong," she said sadly, "I know." She pushed his bangs from his forehead, her touch gentle, almost loving. "We should hate each other and I know logically there's every chance something's affected us but ... does it make sense that I don't want it to stop? Even knowing all the pain it would cause?"
He wrapped both his arms around her, and rolled over so she blocked his view of the mirror. Even so, as he tucked her in close to his body he caught one last look at the two Hermione's of his desire: one happily sated in his arms, the other smiling wickedly as he licked blood from her chin.
"I'll make this work," he promised, "however I can, whatever I have to do. We'll be together."
Canon: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I in any way associated with, HP.
Warnings: explicit sex
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Draco/Hermione
Summary: Mirror magic is a dangerous thing.
Draco sat in a chair that had to be stunned every three hours or it would try to run off with him on it. The small desk he worked at had only three legs, the fourth he'd replaced with a rusted statue of a badger. That was the problem with the Come-and-Go Room. It was full of hundreds, if not thousands, of objects that would have been perfectly useful if only they were in slightly better repair.
The full-length mirror Draco had set the desk up in front of was not broken in any way he could see. His reflection was not at all distorted and in it he could easily see the backside of the broken cabinet lock he was working on. When he'd realized he needed to see both sides of the lock simultaneously to have any hope of repairing it, he began searching the room for a mirror. There were several broken ones, including one with a very angry spirit trapped inside the shards and one that tried to suck him in. Draco ignored these but made note of their locations and kept well away from those parts of the room in the future.
He finally found two mirrors facing one another at the end of a long, dead-end row of junk. The larger of the two had a single, hairline crack down its center. If this had damaged the Mirror of Erised's unique ability, Draco could not see how. When he looked into it he saw himself, not as he was now but happy, almost carefree. Beside him stood his mother, smiling and at ease, with one arm wrapped around him in a tight hug. On his other side was his father, free and proud of him.
Remembering the rumors that had filled the castle at the end of his first year, Draco thought himself home free. If Potter could find the fabled Philosopher's Stone simply by wanting to, surely Draco could find out how to repair the cabinet by the same means. Unfortunately Draco's heart did not seem to be as pure as Potter's. The only variation in the reflection he could see when he brought the damaged lock before the glass, was the lock fully repaired.
This being almost no help at all, Draco resumed his original plan and turned to the other mirror. He could find no hidden magical properties in it and decided the faint magical aura surrounding it was due to its location in a magical castle. Even the most ordinary of objects couldn't help but soak some magic up here.
The only further thought he had given to the Mirror of Erised was to throw a cloth over it. The white cloth covered only most of the mirror, leaving the word "Erised" and the stretch of glass beneath it visible. So long as Draco's reflection was not caught in these few inches of glass, it could show him nothing. He did not need to be reminded what he was working towards, it weighed heavily enough upon his mind as it was.
Draco glanced at the reflected word in his own, unbroken mirror and sneered. What good were desires if he could not own them?
He ran a hand through his hair. If he was getting philosophical about the mirror again, it was definitely getting late. He began gathering up his tools. If he went to bed now he could be up before dawn and get in a few hours of work before classes.
"Malfoy?"
Draco turned and saw Hermione Granger coming towards him. How the hell had she gotten in here? And how had she found him in the midst of all this junk?
"What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to reign in his anger. He continued returning his tools to their kit. A confrontation without the possibility of interruption would most likely lead to a duel and he couldn't afford to risk that. The cabinet could be damaged, his work on the lock could be undone, or they could activate any number of deadly objects in the room.
"I- I lost my copy of Hogwarts, A History. Dobby told me all lost items in the castle eventually end up here."
Draco nodded. "As you can see, they really do."
She came up behind him and he could feel her watching him. "Why-" She paused before barreling on. "Why aren't you hexing me?"
"Why would I hex you, Granger?" he asked, keeping his head bent.
"Maybe because you hate me?"
He finally looked up and met her eyes in the glass. Her gasp sent a shudder through him and he felt a tightening in his groin. Her eyes were wide with surprise and confusion, and dark with a lust that matched his own. The reflected "Desire" seemed to burn above her head in the glass and when she swallowed, tongue darting out to moisten pink lips, he whirled, knocking the chair to the floor in his desperation to hold her.
One hand slid into her damnable hair - so soft, God, he knew it would be - while the other grabbed her hip and pulled her to him. Her hands went into his hair, kneading at his scalp and tugging and pressing him closer to her while their tongues fought for dominance. If he'd ever given it any thought - and he would face the Dementors before admitting he had - he would have thought her slow, shy, tentative in her kisses. But the girl wrapped in his arms knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't going to let a little thing like modesty get in her way. Her tongue slid over his, teasing and playful. She pulled back and nipped at his lip, causing him to growl in frustration. Two could play that game. He twisted his fingers in her hair and pulled her head to the side, allowing him access to her neck.
He trailed kisses down to her shoulder and bit her skin hard enough to mark at the same moment the hand still holding her hip moved around to grasp her bum tight. She gasped again, this time with a heady mix of surprise and desire that left him desperate to rid them both of clothes.
As he buried his face in her hair he remembered just who this was. Hermione Granger. Mudblood. Constant thorn in his side. He wanted her, had for over a year now, but he was a teenage boy, he wanted just about anything with a basic female shape. This desire he felt now was different from any he'd felt before and felt almost dangerous in the way it consumed them both.
Even while he opened the catch of her robes and slid the heavy fabric over her shoulders to the floor, he sifted through his mind, searching for some magical influence. He was too distracted to think clearly though and came up with only memories of Granger. The feel of her hand on his cheek hours after she slapped him. Watching her cheer, careless of who might see, in the Top Box at the World Cup. Seeing her pale and frightened during the attack later. The strange twist of jealousy in his gut when Krum danced with the most beautiful girl in the room. The perverse joy in getting a rise out of her during Prefect duties. Cursing the small twist of fate that had Millicent holding her captive in Umbridge's office.
"Do you want to stop?" he asked, realizing he was getting nowhere finding evidence of a magical influence in his own mind. Merlin, he hated her, but he wanted her too. Had the two emotions always been linked like this? Had his hate always fed his desire and his desire his hate until they were both too strong to ignore?
"God, no!" she moaned, pulling his shirt open with no mind for the buttons and forcing it over his shoulders.
"Good," he breathed, ripping the shirt off and throwing it carelessly aside. He barely gave a thought to the Dark Mark on his arm, only enough to be glad he'd taken to wrapping it and passing it off as an injury in case he was seen without his shirt.
He slid her tie from her throat, following its path as far around her neck as he could with playful nips that made her giggle. He wanted her to make that noise again. He wanted her to gasp and moan and scream. He wanted to learn every blessed sound that could come from that damning little mouth.
She was busy learning the planes of his chest and back, giving him time to catch her up in the undressed department. Before going any further he reached to the side, earning a disappointed mewl from her. She'd forgive him for the momentary lapse in attention, he was sure. He pulled the cloth from the Mirror of Erised, letting it fall to the floor while he returned his hand to her chest, undoing buttons while he fondled her breasts through her shirt. She wasn't wearing a bra. The lack was like a gift meant just for him. Had she been ready for bed when she realized she was missing her book and hastily dressed to come down here? He tipped her chin up and saw embarrassment in her eyes. He kissed her, chastely for the first time, a silent thanks as he pulled her blouse open and cupped her breasts in his hands. Her mouth flew open at the sensation and her head tipped back. He followed it, one hand wrapping around her back to dip her gently to the cloth he'd pulled from the mirror.
She was limp beneath him, out of her depth and overwhelmed. That was fine with him as he sat up and took in the sight of her naked chest. There was a scar beginning just below and to the left of her right breast and extending in a sharp, thin line to her right hip. It was silver in the light, like a spider web had fallen on her skin. He touched his fingers to it and her hand immediately caught his, holding it away from the scar. Fear sparked in her eyes and it took him a moment to realize it wasn't fear of him, but a mixture of many things. Fear that the scar ruined her, that it would bring the war between them again, and maybe a little that it would remind him he was supposed to be on the side of the man who had hurt her.
He bent forward, his hand disentangling from hers to fondle her breast once more while he whispered in her ear, "You're beautiful." What he really wanted to say was that he would kill whoever had done this to her but a pure and virginal Gryffindor would probably find talk of murder a turn off.
She turned her head to kiss his cheek. Her hands slid down his chest, pausing momentarily on his own breasts to tease his nipples as he was hers. The growl he made when she flicked one with her nail didn't seem enough to satisfy her though and her hands continued downward to his belt.
"You do know-" he asked as she pulled and pushed, making the rough fabric of his pants rub over his penis. He was already so hard and if the breached this barrier he knew they wouldn't stop until they'd breached the final one.
"I know," she said, breathless, and opened his belt and pants in one final tug. Her hand slid inside and he stilled, balanced on his elbow over her, his hair falling down to tickle her forehead they were so close. She met his eyes, asking permission and seeking guidance. Her fingers slid and crawled over the too-thin fabric of his boxers, exploring this strange new territory. He saw the moment her curiosity turned to perverse enjoyment. She knew she was driving him mad.
In frustration he removed his hand from her breast and leaned back on his knees. It was horrible to rob himself of her touch, maddening as it had been, but he wanted a little revenge. He toed off his shoes and hastily pulled the last of his clothing off, keeping his eyes on hers the whole time. She gulped audibly at the sight of him but his little Gryffindor wasn't about to run away from a challenge. She met his eyes, almost defiant in her determination. He smiled and reached beneath her skirt.
She jumped when his fingers brushed her outer thighs. He gripped the elastic of her underwear and tugged it down. Obligingly, she lifted her hips, allowing him to slide them all the way down her legs. He pulled her shoes off as well and kissed her arch, the inside of her opposite ankle. He made his way up her legs that way, kissing back and forth until she was shivering in anticipation - or maybe that was a little bit of fear. That she was ready for this at all, and with him, was miracle enough, he should keep it simple, traditional. Not that there was anything simple about a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, a Muggleborn and a pureblood having sex. Or anything traditional about two students doing it on the floor of the- well, that was probably more than tradition, it was possible the room was crafted for just this purpose.
He kissed her again and found his theory justified by the relieved sigh she gave. Her muscles relaxed and he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She was a world-class kisser and wasn't about to be outdone. She met him fire for fire, distracting herself while he slipped a hand up her skirt. She stilled instantly, her eyes going wide. He met them, trying his best to appear comforting and reassuring instead of mad with lust. Thank the Founders she was wet already. He rubbed her clit with the heel of his hand and slid a finger inside at the first twitch of her thigh. Her mouth made a small, silent O of surprise but she didn't seem distressed. That curiosity was back. He smiled, silently promising she'd have a lot more to be curious about before this was over.
He slid another finger inside and she jumped so that her skin ghosted over his erection. Tired of waiting he pulled his fingers out and placed his cock at her opening. She met his eyes.
"I've never..." She bit her lip.
"I'll go slow as I can."
She looked at him and he saw undeserved trust shine in her eyes. She nodded once, again giving him permission.
She was tight but after only a few centimeters he felt her body relaxing beneath his. Her eyes were screwed shut in concentration and he could practically hear her sheepishly explain, "The books said it'd help to keep relaxed." He would have laughed if he didn't know that would send all the wrong messages. Maybe later, when they were more used to each other.
The full impact of that thought hit him just as he broke through the last of her virginity and so was quickly discarded as she bucked up, taking him fully into her in one quick motion. She let out a strangled cry and he bent over her, kissing up the tear leaking from the corner of her eye and gently shushing her, promising it would get better. Slowly she adjusted while he moved in and out at the gentlest pace he could manage. Before he even knew she'd recovered, that curiosity of hers was back and he felt her tighten around him. He choked in surprise and it was her turn to move, lifting her hips to meet his. He didn't bother being gentle after that and it was sheer luck on her part that she managed to orgasm just before he did.
He carefully pulled out of her and wrapped an arm around her waist, rolling them over so that he could support her lighter weight. She didn't seem to mind and gave a small hum of contentment as she rested her ear over his heart. He kissed her head once and let his own fall back.
He'd just fucked Hermione Granger and, if her behavior was any indication, had enjoyed it at least as much as she had. That smell clinging to his skin was hers. That scream echoing in his ears was hers.
He lifted one arm from around her waist and ran it through his hair before letting it fall to the side. He turned in its direction and met his own eyes in the Mirror of Erised. From this angle the crack was more obvious and he saw two reflections of himself and Hermione branching out from a joined image of his hand. It took several seconds to realize what was wrong with the reflections. In both, as in reality, he lay on the white cloth, now stained with sweat and blood and the combined remains of their coming. Her head lay on his chest, ear over his heart, hair blanketed over them both, one of her hands drawing circles on his shoulder, one of his tucked protectively around her waist. He fisted his hand and the reflection did the same. In reality he couldn't see the muscles of his arm grow taut because of the bandage over the Dark Mark. In the reflections he could. The one on the left showed his forearm bare, the way it would never be again, while the one on the right showed the Dark Mark displayed proudly.
Draco focused on his heartbeat, trying to settle it for fear Hermione would ask what was wrong.
In the reflection on the right Hermione rose languidly and threw her head back, sending her hair streaming over her shoulders. The light glinted off a thin, metal braid, thinner than the rod of a quill and wrapped around her throat. Despite this symbol of servitude she smiled down at the mirror-Draco, her eyes dark with renewed lust. On the left Draco's arm rose from Hermione's waist to pet gently over her hair. After several seconds she lifted her head to smile lovingly at him. She ran the fingers of her left hand through his hair and he thought he caught a glint of gold on a finger there before she bent to kiss him.
Draco watched, mesmerized. On one side he and Hermione held each other close, content with chaste kisses and the simple joy of being together. On the other, Hermione wrapped her fingers around his cock, rubbing and pulling until he was hard again. When this Hermione tried to take the initiative and place herself over him, he rose up, slapping her hard. Draco jumped, the imagined sound of the impact echoing in his ears.
"What's wrong?" the real Hermione asked, her eyes wide with concern.
"Nothing," he said quickly, the word catching in his throat. Shame filled him and he felt as if she would see what he had if she looked into his eyes long enough.
"This is wrong," she said sadly, "I know." She pushed his bangs from his forehead, her touch gentle, almost loving. "We should hate each other and I know logically there's every chance something's affected us but ... does it make sense that I don't want it to stop? Even knowing all the pain it would cause?"
He wrapped both his arms around her, and rolled over so she blocked his view of the mirror. Even so, as he tucked her in close to his body he caught one last look at the two Hermione's of his desire: one happily sated in his arms, the other smiling wickedly as he licked blood from her chin.
"I'll make this work," he promised, "however I can, whatever I have to do. We'll be together."