Work Text:
Firelight flickers warm against Hermione’s cheek. She spots silk cushions from the corner of her eye, reminding her of the secret sessions of Dumbledore’s Army. As she turns, the grey walls stain gold. The ceiling bows into a dome with rings of floating candles and two dozen dancing couples materialise around her. The masked guests are nattering and laughing alongside a zealous string quartet, and Hermione walks deeper into the press of heat and sweet perfumes.
In her periphery, she sees her own red mask appear, matching her dress and the high-heel peeking from the long slit.
The grand doors ahead bang open. The dancing couples halt in place, turning their heads. Hermione’s heartbeat lurches.
Draco Malfoy stalks in, flanked by Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini. The Death Eaters wear dark robes and are the only people in the room without masks. As Theo snatches a blonde witch by the cheeks and makes their lips meet, Blaise swipes a drink from another woman in passing and glares at anyone who dares to look his way.
The guests part for Malfoy and his wicked smile. His gaze is honed in on Hermione, and it makes her breaths shallow and sets her heartbeats into a squall.
He ends before her, wretchedly handsome and with an insatiable glint in the greys of his eyes. “I've missed you, love.”
Hermione crosses her arms. “You've missed my cunt.”
“Such a dirty mouth, Granger.” He thumbs at her bottom lip. “Perhaps we should put it to good use?”
Swiftly, she recalls herself on her knees, throat deliciously full with the salty taste of him on her tongue. But Hermione ignores the urge to fold for Draco Malfoy. She told herself she was done with the Death Eater.
She raises her chin in challenge. “Why are you here?”
“Well, it's a celebration during these dark times, isn't it?”
She tilts her head with scepticism.
“A ball seemed far too fun to pass up.”
Malfoy closes the distance with viperous speed. He's a sudden assault on her senses: fiery hot palm cradling her cheek; commanding arm belting her waist; sharp fresh scent dulling the sweetness of the room. He hums as his eyes dance across her face then he moves in, lips hovering just above hers, hot breath at her cupid’s bow inciting an anticipatory parting of her mouth.
But before he lays his lips on hers, Malfoy sweeps a scowl around the room, hurriedly sending the guests back to their dancing. The chatter picks up and fevered music returns. He kisses her fiercely, swallowing Hermione’s small moan as his whiskey-flavoured tongue brushes against hers.
Draco Malfoy is the devil reincarnate, but Hermione can’t recall why she ever cared.
With his heated touch roaming her body, he nips at her bottom lip. Their kisses are hot and bruising, and although her body is hurriedly responding to him, Hermione recalls where they are.
She nudges him away. “Malfoy, I can’t be seen kissing a Death Eater in public.”
“Look around, Granger. Is anyone watching?”
Suddenly, every person in the room spins to face the walls with military precision. One loud clap of a footstep echoes into the ceiling as the guests form a perfect ring around Hermione and Malfoy. She begins to understand what is happening, but doesn't mull over it, not wanting to sharpen her perception and surrender the fun.
“They’re all too busy dancing,” he says simply.
Now, the couples spin in a perfectly choreographed waltz, sweeping in circles around the two of them. Hermione’s consciousness awakens a little further. She thinks on it for too long and finds static at the edges of her vision. But she doesn’t want that. She wants to stay.
Malfoy captures her hand in his and, with the other at her lower back, pulls her flush against him. With the prowess expected of a pureblood wizard, he leads her in a dance.
“You look ravishing tonight,” he says. “Good enough to eat.”
“We're not doing this, Malfoy.” Hermione’s eyes dart between the couples who are ignoring the Death Eater dancing in the middle of the room.
“It can be our last night.”
“You said that last time.”
He smirks in a way that reminds her he's dangerous. But it's the danger that always stokes her pleasure.
“Tell me you don't enjoy this.”
Hermione firms her chin because she is incapable of telling a lie.
Malfoy’s smirk is emboldened. He pulls away to stalk around her.
Suddenly, she’s wearing an emerald green dress. The dancers’ eyes linger as they spin by. When Malfoy stops behind Hermione, her breaths hasten. She can feel the heat roll off him. His exhale ghosts her neck, inciting a frisson, and then all at once his palm is heavy on her stomach and the hard lines of him press against her behind. As she darts her eyes around the guests to ensure they’re none the wiser, she arches her back, wanting to feel friction lower.
Hermione's abstention is faltering. Her skin prickles with thrill. She feels her cheeks colour.
Malfoy’s palm skates up the silk until it's on her breast. His fingers massage. Tweak her nipple and make it harden. His other hand is at her thigh slit, fingers snaking beneath her dress and quickly finding she wears nothing beneath.
Hermione feels like she is on fire. She’s waiting to be found out as Malfoy toys with her in the centre of the dancefloor.
“Do you think they’re jealous, Granger?”
“Jealous?” she breathes.
“That I can touch you in this way?”
A fingertip finds her centre, featherlight, and Hermione grasps at the hand he leaves heavy on her abdomen. Malfoy strokes a single line along her folds, pausing at her wet opening, and Hermione closes her eyes, momentarily forgetting where she is. His lips are on her pulse point, tongue tasting, teeth nipping. Her breaths are shallow. Then she holds a breath as she waits. And waits and waits...
Hermione gasps softly as two fingers finally press inside, but she hurriedly learns it's no more than a tease. Malfoy remains unmoving.
“Already wet for me, Granger?” His whisper is honeyed. “I knew you'd enjoy my interruption tonight.”
Hermione surveys the dancers, but they appear preoccupied. Her breaths tumble out unsteadily. She finds it difficult to care about the indecency of it all and rolls her hips, desperate to feel friction.
Malfoy’s free hand grasps her throat. “Granger, did I say you could use me?”
She clenches around his fingers and Malfoy chuckles. As he slips away, she whimpers in protest.
“Patience.” She feels the heat of his body dissipate as he steps backwards. “You like knowing they watch, don’t you, Granger?”
Every single masked face in the room turns to view Hermione.
She hears his thoughtful hum. “But maybe we don’t need such a large audience.”
Theo emerges from between the dancing couples, who all suddenly send their attention away. “You’ve found one then?”
Blaise curves around from behind. “This is a droll affair,” he says in passing before he stops before Hermione.
She is trapped in a triangle of three bodies. Dwarfed by Death Eaters and shot with a novel desire.
“Needs more eligible witches,” says Theo.
From behind, Malfoy’s fingers delve under the triangle of silk at Hermione’s chest and play with her perked nipple, firing her arousal.
Blaise glances at Malfoy’s infiltrating touch before sliding his gaze to Theo. “‘Eligible’ meaning women you haven’t sampled?”
Malfoy’s other hand finds Hermione’s entrance again and he thrusts his fingers in so abruptly that her hand flies back to grasp his thigh. He strokes in and out before moving up towards her clit, and with one indecently slow circle, her eyes flutter closed.
“You’ve always been good with the words, Zabini,” she hears Theo say.
“You’re drenched, Granger,” Malfoy whispers hot against her ear. “Is it Nott? Or Zabini? Both?”
Blaise’s mouth tips up. Theo’s cheeks dimple, mischief in his eyes.
Hermione’s clit throbs, impatient for more attention.
“Too bad I don’t want to share,” says Malfoy, and Theo and Blaise suddenly vanish. “But maybe you'd like to watch?”
The golden walls and her green dress dissolve, and Hermione faces her naked reflection. Malfoy, still cloaked in black, stands behind. He takes a devilishly languid perusal from her mask to her tear-drop breasts and then between her legs. Hermione can see every angle in the reflective walls of the small space and it stirs something different in her.
Malfoy’s fingers dance along the crease at her thigh, and she’s so needy that she squeezes her legs together just for her neglected clit to feel a semblance of anything.
“Look at you.” His lips twitch with amusement.
Just as he nears where she wants him, his hand flies to her breast, fingertip circling around her nipple. Her centre throbs. Aches. She craves his touch so desperately that her body might do away with her if it doesn’t get its way.
She sends her own hand down, but he snatches her wrist.
“Did I say you could touch?”
“Please.” Her chest heaves with her impatience.
He grins into the mirror. “This is not the last of us, is it, Granger?”
As she hears him down the zipper of his trousers, she shakes her head, ready to tell him anything he wants to hear.
He relinquishes his hold on her wrist and finally—finally—she feels the head of his rigid cock sweep along her slick folds. She angles back and the tip of him grazes her clit. Hermione pulls in a breath like he’s given her new life.
Malfoy’s expression takes on a curious tilt. “I miss seeing your beautiful face.” He loiters at her entrance and she squirms. “Why don't we swap?”
Hermione’s mask disappears, revealing her pink cheeks, matching the flush of her chest. A beat later her eyes widen at seeing Malfoy’s face covered in a silver mask, and he laughs low and gruff as he sheaths himself in one punishing stroke.
Hermione cries out. She attempts to fold in on herself as he drives into her again, but his arm clamps her close. With every merciless delve, she witnesses the shudder of her breasts, the glinting of his mask and her permanently brittle expression of pleasure. Her heart riots for the thrill of finally feeling him inside.
The mirrors suddenly dissolve.
They’re in the Room of Requirement, filled to the brim with odd ends, and Hermione knows their time is running out. She glimpses a four-poster bed before Malfoy spins her and invades her mouth with his tongue and her cunt with his fingers. She feels his heated skin against hers as he strokes into her without abandon, focusing on her front wall with a divine pressure. Heat builds. Her centre quivers.
Suddenly, he’s pulling her down to the bed. She’s straddling him, palms upon the inky black snakes wrapping his torso and curving around his arms.
His fingertips dig into her thighs. “Ride me, witch.”
Hermione doesn’t need to be told twice; but as she rises to sit on his length, he pulls her up his body like she weighs nothing at all, and her cunt ends firmly atop his mouth. His scorching hot tongue meets her needy, neglected clit so forcefully she lets out a reedy moan.
Malfoy licks hungrily. Tongue lashes. He digs his grip into the flesh of her arse and drags her closer, as though he has a death wish. She fists his hair, undulating her hips, and when he groans into her cunt, she throws her head back to grind out “fuck” to the ceiling. Hermione is close. So close. The addition of his fingers inside—stroking, caressing, persuading—nearly coaxes her release.
Then he lifts her away, shifting her back over his hips.
He slots a palm behind his head and smirks. “Use me.”
She shows a pointed look. “Finally.”
“Without the impertinence, Granger.”
Hermione smiles sweetly, holding his gaze as she slowly sinks onto his length. But only a couple of inches.
The tendons in his neck are straining as he watches and waits for her to envelop him, but she does exactly what he tells her and uses him.
Hermione rides up and down, using only the head of his cock to chase her release. She pants with every dip. Her body tingles with heat, and as she swirls her own fingers at her swollen clit, Malfoy’s composure cracks. His exhales are sharp, eyes trained on the way she tends to herself. Pleasure and pressure build at her centre, mounting and mounting again. Hermione suddenly recognises the sensation and knows she's going to make the stoic Death Eater fracture. Just as she feels it coming, she pulls off his length and with a desperate whine, gushes.
As her fluids meet his stomach and drip onto his cock, Malfoy gives a ragged groan. “Fuck," he grinds out. "I love it when you do that.”
Finally, she slides down his whole length and stretches wide. Feels him devastatingly deep. Malfoy sits up to meet her, his palm coasting up her thigh, waist and then breast before he whispers against her mouth. “I like the way you use me.”
“Good.” Her eyes flick between his. “Because I’m going to do it again.”
His eyes narrow before he threads his fingers into her curls and slants his mouth over hers. When Hermione is done with his tongue, she pushes him back and has her way. She rides him hard and then harder again, the motion of her hips and the delicious pressure of his cock making her delirious. She is hot. Tingling. Her cunt quivers as her orgasm is upon her and it’s a distinctly beautiful feeling.
Malfoy bundles the sheet in his fist as Hermione draws a groan from his lips. His shattering composure undoes her too, and they break apart together. Their twin moans meld. Hermione halts, overcome by the hot snap of her release, but Malfoy grasps her hips and fucks her through it from below.
The remainder of their imagined surroundings dissolve, giving way to the perfectly real view of Malfoy beneath Hermione, breathing heavily. His tattoos fade to leave nothing but silver scars and a slick of sweat beneath her palms.
Panting, Hermione raises until she slides from his length and his cum seeps out, joining the sopping mess on his stomach. She angles her head. “Death Eater Draco showing me off? That’s your fantasy?”
He laughs briefly. “Thanks for playing along.” They haven’t even caught their breath when he asks, “Want to show me yours?”
He floats over a small square tab and Hermione sends out her tongue to catch it. “Do you want sweet or wretchedly filthy?”
Malfoy bucks his hips and she folds down, her lips meeting his.
He smiles against her. “Show me anything you desire, Professor Granger.”
Malfoy’s tongue sweeps into her mouth to share a new dose of mandrake hallucinogen, and the Room of Requirement dissolves all over again.