July, 2013

A VERY IMPORTANT note regarding ratings, sexually explicit content and trigger warnings. PLEASE READ THIS.

Please do not read this story if dub-con or non-con scenes pose a trigger danger for you. I apologise if you've gotten this far without seeing my warnings on the profile page.

I have a love/hate relationship with this story. It's the first completed multi-chaptered story I wrote in the first ship I ever considered myself to belong to. I wrote nearly the entire thing, over the course of nearly five years, in secret, during lunch breaks at my various workplaces (sometimes, in an actual broom closet). I wrote it for myself, for readers, but mostly, I wrote it to prove that I could write fanfiction if I bloody well wanted to (I couldn't write it freely because of problems in my personal life).

So basically, large chunks of the story were written during some really dark times and in a hurry. It shows because the story needs a serious beta editing and perhaps it also shows in some of the subject matter and character portrayals. Seven years after I finished writing it, I now have a problem with the first chapter, in the way it depicts non-consensual sex. I have problems with how Draco treats Hermione in general. His being eighteen and troubled doesn't excuse it. I do not endorse or support his behaviour. I am not attempting to idealise it. DB is just a story. It is not a manual for relationships. I attempted a re-write of DB about two years ago, but ran out of time and patience. One day, maybe! I've been asked by others not to re-write it; not to tone down the more explicit stuff because, well, it is what it is and many readers want it the original way. It would be a dick move to pull the story from the internet, but I have considered it. Not because I want to be an ass, but because of the above-mentioned reasons. I'm leaving the story as it is, with its messy formatting and typos, and with that first chapter unchanged. DB's a piece of very personal history for me, but I just wanted to let you readers know that I am aware of the unsavoury aspects of this story and it is not my intention to gloss over it. As for rating, I'd give it a hard R or NC-17 and if you are under-aged, please do not read this story.

That being said, consider yourself notified/warned and let's get on with the show.

Soundtrack: community . livejournal deaconstick / 368 . html (remove all spaces)

Chapter One

Saturday morning

Draco

[7am.]
Ouch. Groan. Double ouch.

Actually, make that triple.

Where the fuck am I, and why does my head feel like two horny, rampaging Hippogriffs have been pounding about in it all night?

Argh. No. Too much to think about. Best to sleep it off.

Got drunk again.

Obviously.

[8am.]
No! Stupid brain! Go back to sleep.

Light starting to peek through curtains. This is a good thing. Means I'm indoors. Fell asleep in gutter last time.

Smell took days to wash off. Bad thing, that.

Need to piss badly. Need to sleep even more.

Am curiously, pleasantly warm. Sheets smell like tea rose and vanilla…and something else.

Nice.

Good brain. Lights out.

Hermione

[8.30am]
Holy Mother of God.

I hurt. Everywhere.

Eyelids welded to face.

Sleep now. Dissect and analyse later.

Ah. Good brain.

[10.30am]
Water.

Someone. Anyone. Will kill for glass of water.

Head hurts, joints stiff. Legs feel like custard pudding.

Am tremendously sore…

In places that have no business being that sore.

Oh God.

Graduation party…

Draco was the first to awaken.

He sat up against the pillows and opened bleary, bloodshot grey eyes. He blinked repeatedly, licking his extremely dry lips in an attempt to moisten a mouth that currently felt and tasted like sandpaper. Waking up with a hangover after an evening of partying was nothing new to him. After all, he was eighteen, good looking, popular and possessed of vast amounts of disposable cash and personal tabs at all the best drinking establishments in Britain (and two or three in France). As such, he was no stranger to the heavy headed feeling of a still-fresh hangover.

Three things occurred to him almost immediately.

First, he was in a hotel room, and not a particularly nice one at that. The drapes - drawn, thankfully - were a lurid shade of lime green, the carpet was nondescript brown shag and the few pieces of furniture were either made of plastic, chipboard or some hideous alloy of the two.

Second, he couldn't help but notice that the room was in absolute shambles. A chair was overturned in a corner, one leg had been almost entirely snapped off. It swung drunkenly in the light, dusty breeze created by the whirring of the ancient air conditioner overhead.

An empty bottle of Ogdens was lying on its side on the dresser, a large, wet patch still drying on the carpet just below. Clothing was strewn about, like victims of some sort of frenzied, laundry massacre. The formal robes he had worn the previous evening lay squashed in a corner, green and silver Slytherin crest just visible in the crumple.

There were other articles of clothing too - not his - Draco noted with a raised eyebrow. A deep blue set of robes lay inside out, draped over the edge of the bed. A lacy, peach-coloured brassiere hung from the knob of the bathroom door. His own underwear was draped over a lopsided lampshade.

Well! Things were looking up already, Draco concluded, as he leaned heavily against the pillows. His head may have felt like it was bearing a kilo of molten lead, but hey, a shag was a shag. And when one was a healthy, young wizard, a shag of any kind was a reason to be cheered.
It wasn't until he turned his head to greet the lucky recipient of his inebriated attentions, did he make Observation Number Three.

Bloody. Buggering. Hell.

Hermione Granger, stalwart Head Girl of Hogwarts, bearer of detentions aplenty, giver of pinched looks, insistent warnings and the champion of beleaguered House Elves everywhere, was curled beside him in bed, seemingly fast asleep and very much naked.

And that wasn't all. As sense and sensibility returned to his body and brain, respectively, Draco registered the fact that Granger's hand was currently wrapped around his equally nude, upper thigh, in an unmistakably familiar gesture.

Now, Draco considered himself to be a worldly young man. He had had his fair share of romps, dalliances and other pleasurable school time diversions. But the current situation still rendered him stunned for a good five minutes.

It wasn't until the glitzy gold clock on the wall ticked over to forty past ten in the morning, did Draco finally acknowledge the sordid fact that he had engaged in sexual intercourse with his recently graduated fellow classmate. And not just any old sex either. It appeared that they had humped the stuffing out of each other, judging from the state of their accommodation.

Pushing aside the sudden, belated waking of his penis (and all other logical thought processes), Draco examined the sleeping girl beside him with a fascination that was nearly unholy.

Granger lay on her side, towards him. Her long hair was a tangle of mellow, cognac-colored curls, partially obscuring her face. The sheets were twisted around her legs, wrapped around a slender thigh. She slept like a wrestler in the throes of a championship dream. The rest of the blankets were pillowed under her cheek. Indeed, it looked like she had stolen most of the bedding, while Draco had commandeered the pillows.

Merlin's painted toenails. If word got out that he'd been dipping into the Muggle-born bane of Hogwarts, his housemates were likely to pelt him with rotten fruit upon his return to school. After all, they may have just attended their graduation ball, but there was technically a full two weeks left of school before the year officially ended.

Then again, perhaps bedding Granger wouldn't turn out to be such a bad thing, Draco pondered. He could dress it up as a final, do-or-die bid to take the insufferably know-it-all down a notch or two. To climb up to her on her great, white pedestal, and charm his way past the heavily guarded pearly gates.

But damn, if only he could remember how it had happened.

Somewhere in Britain, Draco was certain that a flock of pigs was currently in flight. It wasn't that Granger was a troll. She was passably attractive. Any Hogwarts male senior who wasn't partial to playing hide the broomstick with his fellow dorm mates had realized this after fourth year. It was just that besides Granger's dismal luck of being born a Mudblood, the girl was also possessed of the most annoying, most grating personality ever to befoul a person.

They attended a co-educational school, which of course meant that a wealth of dirty, teenaged daydreams tended to clog the air around the dorms, classrooms and hallways. Draco could not deny that there had been moments over the years when he had contemplated bending her over the edge of a cauldron during Potions and giving her a good, hard poke, in the hopes of loosening the infernal stick that was surely lodged deep up her arse.

But of course he had never really considered following through with any these musings. Apart from being a harpy, there was also the fact that Granger would have likely de-balled him if he even so much as rubbed against her in a crowded corridor. She was nice enough to look at, but she wasn't worth that.

And yet she had slept with him, all the same. And unless a particularly nasty bout of Imperious had been involved, it looked like she had dropped her tightly starched knickers quite willingly, too. A part of Draco was eager to Disapparate from the dismal hole in the wall they had managed to procure, and report his scandalous escapade to his classmates. Another part of him, however, was beginning to remember.

And with this hazy recollection came arousal. Buckets of it.

Draco was acutely aware that he was still intoxicated from their previous night's binge. He blamed the devil's brew then, as he placed his hand against her shoulder, wanting to remember more about the ways he had touched Granger's lightly freckled, golden skin. His palming of her shoulder was instantly met by her burrowing deeper against his side. She pressed her slightly open mouth against the skin on the curve of his shoulder and sighed in her sleep, sending Draco's already groggy brain into a tailspin. His erection twitched insistently against his abdomen, demanding to be seen to, as was often the case most mornings.

As carefully as possible, he pulled his hand back and obediently wrapped it around his aching penis. One practiced tug eased the tight sensation in his balls. Another tug intensified it again. The skin of his cock fairly burned. It was chafed, raw, and not a little bit tender. There was no mistaking the signals his body was giving him.

They had most definitely shagged, and shagged more than once, it would seem.

Granger made a sleepy, protesting sound at the loss of contact. With a great deal of muttering (trust the Mudblood to nag even in her sleep), she dragged her left leg over him, bringing the lower half of her body flush against his side.

A well-bred, well-regarded wizard might have chosen to be a gentleman at this point and shake the girl awake. But Draco was scum and he was well aware of the fact. With a mounting sense of anticipation, he slid down lower along the bed, careful to pull her leg up over his waist as he went. It wasn't an entirely natural position or particularly conducive to comfortable sleep, but sleep on she did. Although she was beginning to make a great deal of small, huffy noises.

Each moist exhalation was keenly felt by Draco. At that point, it no longer mattered who they were, or where they were. It didn't matter that he had found her to be entirely repellent on a daily basis for nearly seven years. All that mattered was that Granger was a soft, warm, girl in his bed and that a rather insistent part of his male anatomy was begging for an encore. Placing a hand on her arse, Draco brought her hips closer to him and tentatively pushed the blunt head of his cock against her lower belly.

Granger's skin was cool to the touch, and so very soft. She furrowed her brow in her sleep, pursing her lips slightly. Her right hand remained between their faces, palm up and fingers curled. She looked innocent in sleep, and that thought sent a fresh wave of arousal spearing through Draco.

Quim was quim, Draco told himself, and from the extremely eager state of his penis, this one had been rather good.
The grinding of his hips against Granger's dragged the crumpled sheets further under them, offering Draco a first (sober) glimpse of her breasts. They weren't overly large, as he was partial to. On the small side really, which was a shame.

He was vaguely aware that a snotty little voice at the back of his head had been shouting for some time now, "Hey! You're looking at Granger's tits!"
Yes, welcome back brain. Where were you six hours ago?

He indulged himself by cupping her right breast, squeezing it and then watching interestedly as the light pink nipples quickly hardened and flushed. The sudden change from sitting upright, to lying on his side caused a dizzying rush of blood to flow to his head. For a moment, Draco fought the urge to give in to nausea. The foul taste in his mouth and the stale smell of cigarette smoke and old carpet was not helping matters. Without giving it too much thought, he closed his eyes pressed his mouth and nose against Granger's hairline, breathing in her scent. Something, anything that would take his mind off his roiling stomach.

There it was again- vanilla and roses. But there was also sweat, and the unmistakable musk of sex. Feeling fortified, Draco hitched her leg up further over his hips. With a careful hand, he reached once more between their bodies and slowly guided his cock between her legs. The sensation of his own hand on his aching flesh was heavenly enough, but once he had tucked it snugly against the damp, curls between Granger's thighs, the sensation was heightened.

She was well prepared for him; sticky, coated with her own lubricant and what Draco assumed to be his previous contributions to the cause. This worked well to his advantage as it provided a smooth glide right into the heat of her.

And still she slept.

Draco's eyes rolled back into his head as he grunted softly. All the stupid, tacky words he had heard associated with the female sex sang through his head. Granger was incredibly swollen, and tight beyond description. Glove, velvet, snug, grip, pull, tug, friction, suction, cunt. It all applied.

More flashes of memory. Of Granger's laughter muffled into his shoulder as they hurriedly walked away from the festivities in the Great Hall and followed the trail that would lead them to Hogsmeade. Granger calling him a bigoted, waste of magical talent and then shoving him away from her. More fuzzy, distorted shapes, the feeling of minor triumph at an accepted kiss, and the thrill of anticipation that followed.

The sound of an Apparition 'pop'. A faint feeling of danger, dulled by excitement.

Another memory dislodged itself from the repository, this one even more pristine that the rest. Granger seated astride on the chair that now lay broken, her curly head bobbing up and down over him, his slow, steady instructions as his hands fisted in her hair, as he used her mouth with more care than he would have normally shown with his partners.

This particular image succeeded in separating Draco's mind from his body for a split second, and his hips took full opportunity to thrust into Granger forcefully enough to push her back along the bed.

"Ow," she whispered in a raspy voice, her brow now furrowed. She licked her lips in exactly the same manner Draco had done minutes earlier. Her eyes were moving rapidly under her closed eyelids.

Watching her face carefully, Draco thrust hard again.

"Uhhn." Her furrowed brow re-doubled. She was waking up.

For some unknown reason, which didn't bear thinking about at that point in time, his mother's voice sounded in his head.

"These dalliances with every pretty, young witch you happen upon will not last." Narcissa Malfoy had told him the previous summer. "This period will pass, whereupon you shall find yourself a witch of good standing."

Well then. Best to get the first part over and done with, Draco decided. Ignoring what was developing to be a headache of epic proportions, he flipped Granger onto her back, simultaneously sinking his cock an inch further inside her.

It took a bit of willpower not to fall on her, cover her mouth with a hand and rut until he exploded. The muscles of his biceps felt like jelly, and it took some effort to still the quivering of his arms.

She felt deliciously warm, like a thousand silken threads tightening and loosening over the entire, sensitized length of him. To leave that would be criminal. To pull out would have been a travesty. He was only a man, and as such, was a helpless slave to the ancient rituals of mating.

What goes in must come out, and oh…bloody fucking oath, that felt ever so brilliant.

His lower body was too fatigued to engage in any rhythmic, deep thrusting. It was less than artful, but it was still bliss. Another two movements were all it took.

Draco bit down hard on his lower lip and miraculously emptied more of himself into her.

It was at that precise point, that Hermione Granger's brown eyes snapped open.