Draco is hungry. Hermione helps. A leisurely burn culminating in the library sex of your dreams. Featuring Sanskrit erotic poetry, a new DADA professor, and prophetic dreams.
Eighth year. Complete, with afterword. EXPLICIT - for mature audiences on...
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In eighth year Draco perfects a thoughtful little head tilt, chin pensively in hand, that makes girls approach him after class, thinking he has romantic thoughts to explore.
Behind his grey eyes, he's actually wondering what each of them would sound like while he sucks and guzzles her between her legs. How her hair down there would bristle and spill. How her thighs would rub against his face. Her scent.
Her taste.
Over the years, he's had trouble finding takers. Girls seem put off by it, or even embarrassed by it. When he kisses his way down their stomachs, they stop him. When he offers outright, they laugh nervously.
Then they beg him to fuck them the ordinary way. And half the time, though he's sensitive in bed and pays attention, he's pretty sure they're faking their way through.
It's boring. And now it is frustrating. As the professors drone on and on, Draco's mouth yearns sadly after wet cunts. School becomes a symbol of his unanswered hunger. Stone walls, dim lights. A lack of the deep, intimate touch he really wants. He is grumpier, quicker to withdraw and seek time alone. His eager tongue trapped without sanctuary.
He chews through several quills longing for his favorite treat. And what sharpens his anger, annoyance and restlessness is — who else — Granger. She's oddly set on persecuting him in class these days. Turning their old battles on their head.
"What does Malfoy think?" she'll say, turning to him and pursing her mouth disapprovingly for no reason at all. Annoyed that he exists. That he breathes. He doesn't feel the raw hatred he once did — he's clearly been extremely wrong about many things, but it doesn't mean she's right about everything. Always arguing for the shortcut, the fastest way to cast a spell, the most efficient.
Slow down, Granger.
The annoyance throws off sparks one day in Potions, where the topic of aphrodisiacs comes up among a few of them while the new instructor sleeps up front.
Draco, who's done quite a lot of reading on the subject, gets into it with Cormac McLaggen, who only grows more thunderously stupid with the years.
"Who has time for all that?" boasts McLaggen. "If you're man enough in bed, you shouldn't need all that nonsense."
Granger, standing a table over, turns her head and scowls. A few tendrils escape her usual messy bun. He notices dark circles under her eyes — too much studying again, probably.
Draco ignores her, stirring his amortentia without looking. "Sex isn't just about rutting, you useless oaf," he continues importantly. "It's about creating a mood. A mental state that helps both people release inhibitions, shed muscle tension, increase blood flow. And become more sexually free. If an aphrodisiac can help with that, why the hell would you turn it down?"
