Unintended Outcomes

A clear head in the morning is one of the best feelings. It sets a day apart with special promise. A magic appointed splitting of warmth as sleep falls off of bright eyes, blood coursed with purpose, destination invalid as the day rings its unknown adventure to the world.

There were fewer days than she liked that felt that way. Before the war, it was chaos. During, the horrors were all around, death the definite end for some, a feeling that never left.

Days after the war were much filled with anticipation. She only knew a world so divided.

That was part of the reason why she agreed to return to Hogwarts. She longed for stability. Space to rediscover herself not aligned in darkness. It was folly to believe she'd ever be the same. That was impossible. War changed too much, ruined, too, her innocence to believe in such lines as right and wrong.

For once, Hermione Granger found herself adrift in an uncertain world, even more uncertain of herself that she had been as an awkward adolescence with buck teeth and knobby knees. The very veil of straightforwardness that she always honored as a young girl was lifted to show just how jagged the line of the world was. White and black. It was not so defined.

The world, unlike the sky, was mostly gray.

Her conscious came alive as the sensation of light drifted across her face. This was not one of those beautiful mornings that she yearned for. A morning haze glowed with warmth and shined brightly in the room, so brightly that she whimpered out a soft groan.

She was not rested enough to withstand the vibrant light of a September morning in Scotland. It was blinding, harsh. There were no condolences for a hangover as the country saw it. Late summer beamed with sunshine until the sudden emergence of winter fell in white heaps upon the ground.

Hermione awoke slowly. She took stock of herself without opening her eyes, a sudden brightness might encourage a sudden upheaval of her stomach. Indeed, it rolled around in noisy sloshes.

Firewhiskey.

Why did she agree to sip from Pansy Parkinson's goblet? It smelled amazing. That's why.

She shifted gently beneath the rich fluffy comforter and her body awakened with fire. Her body was tender. Especially the apex of her thighs, that delightful spot never ached before. Thighs. They slipped together as she moved. The night before may be a fucked-up blur of firewhiskey, spin the bottle and those spiked potions that were passed around luckily, she realized it fast enough to not take any, but the slick on her thighs was something that was unexpected.

Cum. Not all hers, she guessed too.

Her pussy dripped with it. A bitter mingled sweet scent came from below. Sharp, almost pleasant, heat burned up through her sides toward her overly sensitive nipples.

It was astounding that sex, one cock, could impact her body, change it to a ball of fire and lust.

God. She ached for more.

And just like an answer to her mental desires, an arm snaked around her waist. Long, cool flesh rested against her naked body in familiarity, cupping her the curve of her hip on one hand. A chest pushed gently on her back, moaned slightly as he caressed his face into her hair.

He wasn't awake entirely. His breathing was too slow for it. But the noises, the contented sighs that came from his throat filled her belly up with unbridled hunger for what he gave her before.

Whoever he was.

Hermione ventured to open her eyes and froze. White. All white everywhere.

A small bedroom, not at Hogwarts, stood in unabashed luxury compared to any place she'd been. Coffers of ornate designs painted brilliant white. They flowed through arches toward a sitting room off to the right of the bed. The sitting room, too, consisted of white walls adorned with marble faces mounted in neat rows. An entire wall of French doors opened up to the world outside as gossamer curtains of white billowed in the warm winds of morning.

Two cream chairs sat near a side table carved in rich dark wood. A matching desk and shelf in the same shade were on the opposite end of the room behind a pristine lounge of, you guessed it, white.

Even the fireplace was made of impeccable white stone, shiny sheen. A giant mantle boasted two ancient paintings in shades of light blue, the color of a morning ocean as it awoke to the day. Both rested in frames of white marble. It was upheld by two white columns on each side topped with delicate molding.

A white stone floor, marble Hermione guessed, rested below rugs of royal and pale blue trimmed in gold and cream. Each looked centuries old. Patterns only seen in history books and museums. Intricate designs wove through the fabric in what had to be years of work over a loom.

It was breathtaking.

Hermione Granger felt relaxed in the strange place with a replenished sense of calm. It wasn't the shrieking shack nor was it Knockturn Alley. She was happy enough with that.

"You're awake," a breathy voice murmured.

She startled slightly, but the arm anchored her against his chest. "Oh," she moaned in sudden pleasure.

"That sounds familiar." His voice was a breath on the wind before his lips found the place he sought out below her locks: the soft nape. She gasped when his teeth nipped at the sensitive flesh. It was more pleasurable than she expected pain to be. Apparently, it pleased him, too. There was a smile against her flesh and a stiff poke in the thigh. "Mmm. I like that one better."

The grip on her hip tightened.

She noted the instant response from within her body. Tension pushed her nipples outward against the fluffy comforter and were disappointed with the soft caress. They wanted taut strength. Teeth. No, his teeth. Hard, pulling lust against a moist needy tongue as it pushed her to the absolute limit of sensation.

The motion of his chest as it rose in deep breaths against her back rocked her body slightly, rubbing the heightened bud between her thighs just enough to put that shudder in her breath.

Just once more. Again. Let her body feel so good in a way that was impossible solo.

Wicked need already took control. It brought her fingertips against the length of his forearm, gently dragging against his flesh in the ghost of a touch. The sparse hairs raised as she continued down toward his elbow. Heat radiated off him in waves. It guided her blind reach until she reached her objective. His abdomen.

It was low. Very low. A hard tip bumped against her wrist.

Wow. No wonder she was so satisfied despite the dull ache behind her eyes. He was gifted.

Hermione must have gasped in her sudden realization because he softly chuckled.

"Surprised?"

She swallowed and nodded. There was no strength to her voice. It'd be too filled with lust. If she opened her mouth, she'd beg to be fucked until the headboard smashed to splinters.

Wait. That was a good idea.

Though his motions were slow and filled with question, his hand withdrew from the grip on her hip and touched just below her bellybutton. The rush to her thighs flooded through every inch of them, rousing them from their serene coma of satisfaction to demanding, needy fingers grasping for more thus the excitement leaked through her folds onto already cum smeared thighs.

A moan was all he needed to delicately dance his fingers down to her center and even moaned as he felt her slick. It popped his cock into her hand, still against his frame, encouraging her to pump his shaft, surprised at how much he reacted to the action because his fingers slipped inside her with little resistance and pressed up against her sweet spot. She arched her back at his teasing.

Suddenly his raw voice was in her ear. "Can't get enough, can you?"

The throbbing pulse through his shaft pushed the flesh harder against himself, his excitement as noticeable as hers.

It made her putty to his will. His other hand swung over from his side of the bed and pulled her leg overtop of his locked in place by his ankle. Her vagina was exposed, filled with his frantic fingers as he worked them inside of her with purpose. She felt the fruits of his labor build inside. Muscle after muscle tensed. Her abdomen tightened and raised to meet his arm, not caring that she grinded against forearm with need.

She whimpered when he retracted his fingers from her depths. Full. She wanted to be filled, full, pushed to the edge of whatever complete madness that came from a right royal fucking. It had to be magic. Sex couldn't be a high for everyone, right?

"Not that I need to ask," he mumbled through ragged panting. "But I will. Do you want to fuck silly then get some breakfast?"

Hermione didn't like the idea. She loved it.

"Please," she breathed. "Please. Again."

He didn't need to be asked twice. His hands arranged her body away from him, legs parted so that his cock could slip inside her with ease.

The dense pressure pushed deep inside her belly, further than she thought possible. Instantly her toes curled as his shaft rubbed against her G-spot. She knew it was a real thing though she'd never felt it before, once it was touched, she knew that's what it was. A button that shuddered her thighs around him.

He pushed himself deeper and deeper. It bordered on mayhem inside her body as it retched and quaked and burned in waves upon waves of pleasure and pain. The intoxicating allure was too strong for her to resist.

She reached out for him. Any bit. Just a reminder that another was there, albeit a total stranger as she believed since she had yet to even see his face, but the moment only called for her surrender. Her nails dug deep into his forearm as he started to increase his rhythm. Their flesh snapped together as his hips thrusted his cock between her enflamed folds, eager and tender for what he could give.

But just as she'd grown comfortable in that pulsating life inside her, a tightening crossed her belly. She clenched down around him, and he loudly groaned in approval as he seemed to read the signs of her body better than herself.

"That's right, baby. Just let it go." His encouragement heightened her senses. She tried to focus on his instruction since he clearly knew better than she.

Let it go. Let it go.

Just as an urge to clamp her thighs shut came to her mind, she decided to release the tension she built in waves that she pushed over his cock without abandon.

He kept pumping, not strong as before, but just enough to push the mind-blowing orgasm to the absolute longest possible moment. Her grip released his forearm and instead, held onto his hand, lacing her dainty fingers inside his as she screamed and moaned and gently whimpered her way through until she was barely shuddering at his touch.

Warm silence fell over them. He'd stopped, breath just as hard as her.

She opened her eyes with afterglow, rose colored, as she observed the beauty of the flat once more. It felt surreal. A fantastical place for a coupling that would mean so much to her that he ever knew, because though it wasn't her first time, it felt like it was. The first time she'd enjoyed with such immense pleasure.

Her mysterious partner was more than a wizard. He was a genius.

"Are you alright?" His voice was softer than fine silk. He sounded concerned.

"Yes," she breathed. "I'm just…overwhelmed."

Slurp. A gush dribbled out of her aching pussy as he withdrew his hard cock from inside.

She turned to face him, curious just whom was her knight with a shining rod and froze as her eyes landed upon a head full of silver blonde locks. He hadn't noticed her yet. Yet.

Oh my. Oh my. Sweet Merlin, Godric Gryffindor, and the bloody Hippogriff.

Hermione counted down the seconds until a major tantrum erupted from the otherwise reformed.

Draco fricking Malfoy.

The new school year brought many surprises to Hogwarts. One was the arrival of some Slytherins fresh from their out of country estates with eager eyes back on the prize of their N.E.W.T.s. Truly, they couldn't amount much in the wizarding world without their scores.

Amongst the fresh haired, perfectly laundered robes of green and gray was the sullen return of the Slytherin Prince himself. His arrival was quiet, very unlike the usual arrogant demeanor he boasted as he scared first years or taunted fifth years.

No. He was different. Softer. Humbled.

'Eighth' year students, as Hermione's group was called, were welcomed into their old houses with welcoming, awe inspired arms. However, a few days revealed just how unfit the eighth-year students were for their houses. The war soured their devotion to their houses.

Instead it provided an undying respect for one another.

As a group, Malfoy included, the students proposed accommodations were made for their displacement, meaning their own space together, apart from their childhood houses. It was a first for Hogwarts. Students didn't just refuse their houses; they welcomed their placement where they belonged. But, these students were not children. They were grown. Most had seen the worst of war at their own hands, unable to return to their child-like wonder that filled Hogwarts halls.

It was unexpected for the houses to come together as they did. Slytherin especially. But Malfoy led the way of the other eighth years in his house to join their true classmates in a place that was better suited.

She'd watched his transformation in disbelief. Hermione knew he was different. He always had been. Cruel and misguided, yes. But a devout follower was not Draco's style. He'd been Shang-haied into the cause and done his very best to aid their efforts in the ways safest to him.

But she hadn't budged from the habit of regarding him with indifference. Not until he'd noted her presence with a dignified nod and the slightest smile on his face as he entered his room one night as she poured through study materials in the common room.

His suite and hers were actually right next to one another in their new housing units in an abandoned tower. Each were given single rooms. It was only fair. There weren't many of them there, and personal space was greatly revered. The headmistress created rooms meant for single occupancy and left them to their own accord. There were no rules regarding the grounds. If they wished to Apparate to their homes or families, they were welcome. Hogsmeade was at their disposal.

The entire world for them.

That'd given the group the idea to host a party for themselves. They'd survived a war. It was reason enough to celebrate. If just to breath a bit of happiness into themselves once more rather than remain sullen figures under names of fallen personalities. A party was a decided action they needed.

Each person provided a bottle of something. Draco provided two. He'd even paid for the venue: the largest room for rent in Hogsmeade. It was a great surprise that he was so pleasant. Not pleasant in terms of conversation. He was still a prat. That would never change.

Oh. Merlin.

Hermione cringed at the alcohol fueled memory of a pathetic plan to repay Draco for his actions during the war. That was how, she guessed, she landed in bed next to him with his cum inside her.

She's panicked for too long. The next thing she knew, two gray eyes aligned with hers. They didn't widen in absolute horror nor did they narrow accusingly.

"Some party, huh?" was the best she could come up with.

Draco Malfoy rose to his elbows and touched her shoulder gently. "Holy bloody Salazar. It's actually you. Granger." He looked lost for a moment. "I thought that was a dream."

"Uh, yeah. Me too. Which means…" A thought pained her. "I'm guessing the Shrieking Shack incident was also not a dream."

Through the fuzz of firewhiskey, she knew what pants around his ankles and her on her knees meant.

Shit. That meant most – probably all – of her memories were correct. The scary blowjob. Astronomy Tower, specifically the railing and being bent over it. Oh Godric. Please tell her the Quidditch locker rooms was not real. The last thing she wanted to know was that the benches were the perfect height for Malfoy's face to bury inside her pussy.

She glanced through her long lashes over at her companion, lost in thought. No doubt reliving each moment he could summon through his drunken haze. Of course, his tolerance for the bottle was much higher than hers.

He finally exhaled softly. "Wow. A productive night. Don't get too many of those from the whiskey."

"Productive? I can't even – are you – wha – ugh!"

She buried her face in a pillow with the entire intention to never look up again.

"Don't be that way, Granger. You accomplished something, too," he replied coolly.

He'd been remarkably placid until that point. It was commendable in all honesty.

"Of course, I accomplished! It's, like, impossible not to." She was bordering on hysterical with embarrassment. A fact that she refused to share with the ego maniac. "What is it, a foot long? I couldn't do anything but accomplish."

Hermione hated that she was committed to the pillow in her face, because she wished to see this face at the statement. He was completely silent. Was it disgust? That impeccable Malfoy sneer? Could he just be nonchalant, ready to leave bed for an entitled breakfast?

"Which is not my fault," she added quietly.

There was a soft rustling. A shift through the comforter as he moved up to sitting.

He struggled to clear his throat. "That is not what I meant when I said accomplish, but, uh, well, um."

It was a rare occurrence to find Malfoy unable to speak in the typical ungrateful yet collected tone. He hadn't become riled once since the start of term. He was so laid back.

Hermione peered at him from the fluffy (what did they stuff these pillows with? Actual clouds?) folds of the pillow to steal a glance which was met with a gaze back. A gentle pink blush flared on her cheeks. Caught staring at Malfoy. That was mortifying.

"You actually kept grumbling about payback. I assumed you were trying to piss off Weasley." He fingered the edge of the comforter, gently pulling up. Hermione felt the material cross her nipples.

She gasped, wrapping the fabric around her entirely. Oh gods. She'd forgot she was stark naked. In bed. With Draco Malfoy!

"What'd Weasley do you piss you off anyway?" Malfoy asked. "He cheat on you or something? Always knew that oaf would screw it up."

Hermione jolted. "Huh? No. Ronald and I have not nor ever dated. No, no."

Malfoy was intrigued with the news.

"Really?" His eyebrows furrowed lower on his face. "You haven't dated anyone since Krum then. Don't tell me that even more brainless dolt fucked you over?"

"I wasn't dating him either!"

"Then who was the payback for?"

Payback. She didn't remember that. There was much she didn't remember from the night, beside the parts that included a vast overstepping of her comfort zone politely blurred by half a bottle of whiskey.

She groaned, placing a forearm over her eyes. "When did I say it exactly?"

"Right away. You grumbled something about payback when we left Hogsmeade," he explained. "Then again at the Shrieking Shack."

Hot damn. The idea clicked. Her heartbeat pounded in her chest. Flush turned a violent red as she knew just what he heard.

The damn plan!

"The plan giveth, the plan taketh away," she murmured in embarrassment, still eyes shielded.

Malfoy remained silent. It was unclear whether he was disinterested in the truth or just bored with the interaction. It was truly the longest conversation they'd ever had. Civilly or otherwise.

Hold on. Why wasn't he furious? Even though he just got laid all over the place, he still slept with a Muggleborn. Not even a dignified half breed, but a full on Muggleborn. That must be the worst stain upon the Malfoy record. The fact that it was Hermione Granger made it infinitely worst.

She opposed their side of the war, fought against them actively, and imprisoned their friends and family. Lucius Malfoy sat in Azkaban because of her efforts! The younger Malfoy worshipped his father like a god.

The lack of reaction unsettled her nerves.

"I planned this," she blurted.

"This?" He repeated with suspicion. His eyes were narrowed, intent to view as much of her as he could.

She nodded, now unashamed. The plan worked. She did pay him back. "Yes. I owed you for all that you did for me in the war. It isn't right to have unsettled debts."

Malfoy scoffed. "Right. This is all just payback for that? A debt of war that was extended to everyone who benefitted, not just herself. Normal people just say thank you or just testify at the other's trial to keep them out of eternal damnation in a cell. No. I don't buy it. That leads us to option two. We have just fallen into a drunken night together because we've actually gotten to know each other as people and not enemies."

Her jaw fell out of socket as he hopped out of bed like nothing happened, slid into a pair of silky blue boxers and turned back to her with a hazy grin. "So, breakfast?"

In his eternal confidence, or over confidence as she believed, he marched out of the room to find whatever passed as a room service menu. He hadn't even paused for her answer.

Hermione fumed as she slid into some loose fitting sweat pants beaded at the ankle and low on her hips, that she transfigured from her favorite jeans. She waved her wand over the shimmering rose top and it slowly morphed into a cropped jumper smeared in splatters of pink and purple. It left her middle exposed, but she hardly cared.

She hadn't thought it inappropriate since Muggles wore the fashion trend constantly, yet when Malfoy's eyes bugged out of his head, she second guessed her physique.

Not that she'd ever tell him.

Hermione titled her chin high, pulling on her ratty baseball cap. "You're an insufferable git, Malfoy. You know that?"

"How? I just ordered you a damned breakfast," he snapped. "And gave you the most mind-blowing sex you've ever had if not the only."

Her eyes narrowed. "Quite the compliments to yourself if you think that was the best I ever had."

"I know it was, despite the constant murmuring that it was," he sneered. "You really are a loose lipped drunk. Could have pumped you for secrets and gotten anything in return, couldn't I have? Did I? No. I took you all around to screw in your school girl fantasies, took you to my family's ancient villa in Rome and let you sip a bottle of the most expensive wine I own."

It hadn't hit her that she was throwing pillows at him until one finally hit him and he fell to the couch with a sudden drop. He chuckled softly as he did. Hermione seethed.

He, of all people, could not laugh at her. He had nothing. He was nothing, but a pretty boy with money. He had no substance. No worth beyond what his pretty face could say.

She slammed herself closed within the bedroom, noticing to doors she'd not seen before, and locked it as she scrambled around for her other things like bra, knickers, shoes, a purse perhaps?

Wrapped in the sheets were a pair of split lacy knickers. Her sexy confident pair. The only ones remotely enticing.

And he'd ripped right through them. Why wasn't she surprised?

They were shoved into her pants pockets along with her bra. The cups bulged the pocket in an obvious shape. She tried not to blush. Hogwarts gave them a direct Floo within the eighth years common room. She'd go straight there, avoid everyone and cower in her room until the mortifying reality left.