Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/365165.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Hermione_Granger/Draco_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Hurt, Injury, Dark
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-03-19 Words: 2832
****** Just Kidding Themselves ******
by River_Malfoy
Summary
     Originally posted on FFN. She knew war was coming to her doorstep,
     and he knew he was in way too deep. She needed more than just her
     friends to feel ANYTHING anymore, and his very soul felt tainted.
     Will they save each other? Or is it too late. Contains reference to
     self-injury.
He watched her whenever nobody was looking. She practically shined with
innocence, purity and salvation. All of the things he was not. She seemed at
once to be everything he should hate and everything he needed to stop hating
himself. If he could just capture, for a moment, a bit of that light, maybe his
soul would be cleansed.
He thought, mistakenly, that she could purify him.
It was almost a joke.
Almost
The animosity between them was fueled by something more. He could feel it just
as he could feel his blood pumping through his veins. It fueled his self hatred
because he could not control his mind. It fueled his self loathing, because she
was dirty, filthy, but oh so clean. He took cold showers after they argued,
afraid to even look at his body and acknowledge how her proximity affected him.
So he covered his tracks. He thought of all the reasons he should hate her to
make up for all the reasons he could not. The hatred, loathing that they all
exchanged, barely veiled threats and an overall desire to hex each other into
oblivion, it came naturally, like putting on a robe.
But that was how it has always been. He remembers, he knows instinctively that
it began even before they all boarded the train to Hogwarts back in that
fateful year when the Boy Who Lived graced the famed school with his presence.
The year when he lost his final chance at redemption for sins not of his own
making. The hatred had only grown since then, turning into a burning desire to
see actual harm done, to see faces twisted in pain and to be able to gloat over
that pain, flicking his wand just so, just like Bellatrix does whenever she’s
enjoying a bit of fun. His body reacted to those visions as well. Except he was
always punishing people for taking away what should have been his. Punishing
them the way he would be punished if his wants, his desires, ever saw the light
of day.
 
There was something there, something that even he didn’t want to admit to
himself. A burning passion down in the depths of his soul that his off-again,
on-again girlfriend did not quench. Something that even scrambled floundering
in random broom closets did not remedy. Something that only one witch could
cure, something that only tasting the sweet kisses of her mouth would remedy.
It became an obsession.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
She was one third of the Golden Trio, destined to eventually face down
Voldemort and his ilk, saving the Wizarding World from destruction. She was
purity embodied. The perfect example of following the rules. She would be
there, at the end of the day, for better or worse, standing next to Harry
Potter as he went after the most notorious Dark Lords in recent history.
That was if she didn’t die of boredom. She felt helpless. On one hand, she was
bored, but on the other the waiting for action was killing her. She knew that
once Harry set off after Voldemort she would be needed, but there was nothing
she could do until Harry had more information. She couldn't even research
anything. So she was waiting, and helpless for not being able to speed the
death of Voldemort along.
It wasn’t that she didn’t have enough going on, with keeping Ron and Harry out
of trouble when they decided to seek it out, and class work and all, but there
had been this routine for quite a long time, and she was ready to spice things
up. Classwork did not hold her attention, not with the specter of the Dark Lord
always in the periphery. Ron wasn't around to argue with, busy conquering
females and Harry had retreated into a place of solitude, being trained by
Dumbledore and staying out of contact with regular society.
Pale scars lined an inner thigh, her attempt at feeling any emotion other than
hopeless boredom. But that remedy was only short term, the trill and rush of it
quickly dying off. She needed something better. Something spicier. Something
hotter.
And if she needed spice, he was a chili pepper.
Habanero. Her mind supplied. Scotch Bonnet. Thai Hot. She had learned about all
these types of peppers once, when she had taken a summer cooking class with her
mum, to bond. They both felt that she was slipping away, losing touch with what
made her unique. She barely saw her parents anymore, spending much of her time
among witches and wizards rather than the Muggles with whom she spent eleven
years.
She needed HIM. She needed him to taint her, to pull her back into reality, to
make her FEEL. She could practically see the taint of his soul. He was the
polar opposite of what she was, what she was supposed to stand for. But she
felt like a caricature of goodness, with no depth to it, no foundation.
She did not want to admit that she felt empty inside, and that the fiery
redhead she expected to fill her emptiness was nowhere to be found most often.
And she could sense that he was too good, nothing of what she needed. As much
as they quibbled and squabbled with each other, they were two similar. She was
good, innocent, caring and sweet. And so was he.
Some part of her craved danger, and not just the danger of being best friends
with Harry Potter, but the danger of being caught doing something she shouldn’t
be doing, of being somewhere nobody expected her to be with somebody nobody
would imagine.
So she planned. If she wanted to be most effective helping Harry defeat
Voldemort, she needed to be tainted, to be human, to feel passion about
something. She lured him in, baiting him as she knew he was baiting her.
She needed him to feel ALIVE.
000000000000000000000000000000000000
They stared at each other from across the Room of Requirement. He had gone in,
realizing that he was being followed by his prey. His task safely moved to a
different room, the castle allowed only those he wished to enter the room in,
and he was rewarded. Still, he had to keep up his part of the show. As soon as
she entered he began a barrage of spells that got darker, but not the worst he
knew. She kept up with the intensity and he would have raised an eyebrow had he
not know that the girl in question was preparing for something larger than both
of them.
“What do you want?” He spat.
“You’ve been following me around, and I want to know why?”
They were both breathing heavily. Exhausted after shooting spells at each
other.
“It’s none of your business you filthy Mudblood!” He spat.
“Oh sure, call me that now, but I double checked. You’ve been following me
around for a week at least!”
He took a quick glance at the door. It vanished. Good.
She looked worriedly at the door as it vanished. Damn her subconscious!
"You're delusional! I have not been following you around. If you had not
noticed, this is a school. We have classes together. Don't flatter yourself."
He responded.
They continued on this same vein until they were hoarse, hurling insults at
each other. Breathing labored, fiery intensity burning, but it seemed as though
the room itself was suppressing their magic, their ability to duel each other
into submission. So instead they yelled.
And then they crashed.
He had moved in close, and she had unconsciously started moving backward until
her back hit the rough hewn castle wall. Suddenly they weren't yelling, but
whispering and then just staring, only for a second. His eyes were dark and his
breathing labored. She began drowning in his dark mercury pools until her mind
went blank. She hadn't even heard the last thing he said, and he wasn't aware
of the words that had come tumbling out of her mouth because her eyes had
sucked him in just as thoroughly.
 
They were breathing with the same lung, tongues dancing for dominance as the
heat between them grew. He led her over to the couch that had suddenly
appeared. Somewhere along the way their outer robes vanished into a pool of
black and she sat perched upon his lap, linked together at the lips, never
separating. His fingers traced licks of fire along the back of her neck, and
her fingers worked through his perfect hair.
His shirt was the first to go, along with her sweater. Underneath he wore a
undershirt, and her short sleeved blouse dipped just low enough to make his
breathing even more ragged as they continued to touch each other, becoming
acquainted with each other as if they had never met before. She could feel
sparks as he didn't even bother with buttons, but magically separated her from
her clothes. She had the vague impression that she may have done the same,
since she never remembered his arms moving, but the clothing went just the
same.
 
Then she saw it.
The skull and the snake. The Dark Mark, nearly black and almost alive against
his porcelain skin. She broke away from his lips to study it. She touched it
with just a bare finger. She looked back deep into his eyes and saw a question.
“Does it bother you?” He whispered.
She wasn’t sure what to say about that. His molten eyes were dark with desire,
and she could feel the heat radiating off of him. She could feel his need below
her, grazing her womanhood through her knickers. She needed that fire within
him to consume her, to maker her feel alive. She felt the deep heat within her
own body that told her to close her eyes and FEEL.
She planted a searing kiss on his lips, and then in a bizarre move, kissed IT.
She ran her tongue lightly the Dark Mark. She could feel the magic of it
pulsing under her lips. She then looked back up to meet his eyes, shifting her
weight on his lap and causing a groan.
“I need you” she whispered.
And he could do little more than agree. The rest of her clothes vanished and
then he slowed down. A cloud parted in his mind for a second, and suddenly the
couch was a bed. He picked up the lithe body, maintaining lip contact and
allowing her to wrap her legs around him, but being careful not to do anything
before she was ready. He placed her on the bed and they continued the roaming
journey with hands and tongues. He broke a kiss off and heard her whimper and
sigh before running traces of kisses down her abdomen, rolling his tongue
across her nipple, bringing one into his burning mouth and enjoying as she
arched up to him. He kissed down again and put his face at her moistness,
blowing air on it and feeling her shudder around him. She subconsciously opened
her legs just a bit, and he took time to look at her perfect curls before
leaning in and dipping his tongue into the hot pool in front of him. He saw the
perfectly parallel scars on her inner thigh that could have only gotten there
one way and kissed them, the way she kissed his Mark. She sucked in a breath
and began to wiggle around on the bed, hands digging for purchase on the
mattress and also into his hair. He dipped his tongue, flicking at the bundle
of nerves just above her opening a few times, tasting her. He withdrew a bit
and immediately replaced his tongue with a finger. Slowly he began to build up
speed as she continued to thrash around on the bed. He added a second finger,
to get her prepared. Feeling her clench around his fingers he looked up to find
her staring, breathless, down at him.
"Are you ready?" He whispered.
She nodded, and he climbed back up, aching with the need to bury himself inside
of her. Still he took his time, brushing his head against her entrance until
she reached up and pulled his head down to her face. They rejoined, and she
licked her own juices from around his lips just as he entered her. She sucked
in a breath, and he waited for her to continue. Soon they were moving in
rhythm, expletives flying in sighs out of both of them as he continued to pump
inside of her. After a while she wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him
into her deeper and pulling herself up closer to him. He felt himself reaching
a climax and opened his eyes, prepared to communicate this fact to the witch
underneath him but all thought was wiped clean as soon as he looked into those
eyes and felt the fire within. They locked eyes, and he released deep inside of
her, her convulsions and the look of bliss a sign that she had reached a
similar state.
He collapsed bonelessly next to her, both panting to catch a breath. After a
while he could feel her moving next to him, taking his still throbbing manhood
into her warm, slick mouth and beginning to awaken the beast within him once
again.
9090909
The first time he slid into her with his tongue, she was unprepared for the
sensations and feelings she never got out of herself. Just that quick he lit
tiny fires along her skin with his tongue. Then his fingers had turned her
insides into molten lava, and that was nothing compared to the pleasant burn
when he finally thrust into her core completely. This was what she had been
needing, and her passion clouded brain ceased to comprehend anything for the
rest of the night.
90909090909090909
The Sunday morning sun peeked in, and he felt lighter somehow. It was barely
6am, if he was not mistaken. A body shifted next to him and he honestly took in
his surroundings.
The room was a tasteful blend of grey, green and blue, soft bed with softer
sheets, and a dark mass of chocolate colored curls. He looked over and saw the
Dark Mark peeking through the mass of curls on his arm. Did he?
Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked panicked, looking about for an
explanation. A moment later he could see the clouds part in her mind and she
blinked slowly, understanding filling the deep brown orbs and she closed her
eyes again, sighing.
“Morning.” He whispered.
“Morning.” She replied.
He shifted and she snuggled into his arms. Neither of them had any plans, nor
would be missed until noon at least. His mind flashed to last night. He began
to trace her bare arm, even as she pressed her backside into his awakening
manhood.
“Was I your first?”
“Yes.” She nodded and continued to snuggle down into his arms.
The weight of what he had done settled on his body.
“Don’t worry. I wanted that. I needed that.” She sighed.
He raised an eyebrow, not that she could see. He wrapped his arms around her
and she settled her head down on his chest.
She flicked her eyes to his mark and sighed. “You wouldn’t understand.”
But he did. Her proximity and willingness to remain in his bed meant something.
He was not a monster, he could be saved, would be saved. He was still capable
of passion, of consideration...
“Draco.” She commanded.
He opened his eyes and watched as she rolled over to face him. One hand had
snaked down to grasp him gently, the need burning in her eyes. She leaned in
for a gentle kiss on his lips, and then gave him a gentle squeeze in question.
He dropped his hands down to her arse and began to stroke her backside gently.
He could go again after a while, but he didn't want to push her.
“Hermione?” She shook her head.
“Call me what you called me last night.”
He paused. “Mudblood?” Her cheeks flushed hot and her eyes darkened further.
“Say it like you mean it.” She commanded.
He raised one eyebrow. “And why should I, you filthy mudblood?”
“Because.” And she lowered her head to plant another searing kiss on the lips
that had just been tainted with the foulest of insults. After a moment they
broke apart, and he whispered in her ear "Are you ready to come for me again,
you filthy little mudblood?"
She shivered, and felt her insides melting again. "Yes" She would, as long as
he filled her with this... boundless energy she would.
Maybe she was just as tainted as he was, just as twisted, just as in need of a
cleansing of sorts. After all, what kind of twisted person was she that she
enjoyed the insults he hurled at her on such a base level? It didn't matter.
She had what she needed...
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