Legilimens [Dramione]

Muggle clothes

As soon as his feet landed between the ashes of his bedroom fireplace, his knees slumped to the floor.

It had cost him an enormous effort to support his weight after what had happened, and only now was he finally giving his lungs the air they needed, breathing heavily. His eyes slid to the bulge between his trousers that was slowly diminishing, and that spot just above that he had fortunately managed to hide with the hem of his jumper.

God, what was he, thirteen?

No, he told himself. Because not even at thirteen had anything like this ever happened to him. Indeed, it was also true that he had never brought Hermione Granger to orgasm with his own hands when he was thirteen.  Perhaps his thirteen-year-old self would have fared worse in the same situation: rather than coming in his trousers, he would have directly died of a heart attack. He did not, however, exclude that option from his immediate future, given the way his heart continued to hammer against his rib cage. For a moment he seriously thought it was going to pop out, opening a gap between his ribs.

He remained there, like that, for several minutes, at least until he felt that his knees had recovered enough solidity to hold him upright. He got up slowly, changing his clothes with a flick of his wand, and threw himself onto the bed.

He would spend the whole night thinking about what had happened. Although he knew he could apply all the occlumency he was now a master's to block out the memory and let his mind drift off to sleep, and the blood return to his brain, he did not want to do that at all. He wanted to stay like that: lying on the bed, only the excitement and adrenaline chasing through his veins and into his brain.

And it was all due to none other than Hermione Granger. How on earth had he found himself in this situation? It had all started with a simple desire to free his father. Yet now he couldn't care less about that old bigot downstairs, and thinking about how he would react if he knew what his dear little pureblood son was fantasising about even made him smile.

Perhaps now, for the first time in his life, he was not afraid of tomorrow. He would have even dared to say that he was happy, and almost impatient, to discover what the days ahead would hold in store for him.

***

When he opened his eyes again the next day, the light flooding his room almost blinded him, suggesting that it was well into the morning. Quite a change since he was usually up at the crack of dawn - at best anyway, that is, when he managed to fall asleep.

He got up very slowly, deciding to ignore the groans of his stomach and not to go downstairs for breakfast. He would surely meet his father, as well as his mother, and that would ruin his unusual good mood.

He slipped under the warm water of the shower, mentally thinking back to what he had discussed with Hermione. He had promised her that he would help her, and she had agreed for him to search for Theo's help, so he dressed on the fly and catapulted himself into the fireplace.

He had not the faintest idea how he was going to get Hermione out of the complicated political and bureaucratic position she had found herself in, but he had no doubt that Theo, in this area, was a real strategist. And so, regardless of the time, and not even certain that he would find him at home, he flooed to Nott Manor.

Luckily for him, Theo sat bored, with a copy of the Daily's Prophet in his hands, in front of a table laden with so many delicacies that his stomach rebelled even before his feet were firmly on the ground.

The boy looked up from his paper, and could not hide his surprised expression.

"Were you expecting someone else?" said Draco, slipping out of the fireplace and going to sit at the opposite end of the table. His eyes quickly examined the goodness in front of him.