Remain Nameless

Chapter 45

June 2009

It was only for a brief moment, but Hermione had the strangest sensation, akin to an out-of-body experience. For just a minute, she allowed her mind to wander away; carried along on a thread until she felt as if she viewed the scene around her as an outsider. Draco and she hosted a dinner party for his recent birthday with some of their friends and only half of them were pureblood.

She'd only acquiesced to leaving Harry, Ron, and the rest out for tonight because she already knew that the dinner at the Burrow the next evening would include a birthday cake made by Molly Weasley herself, just for Draco. Let him try and refuse that woman's determination to lavish him with maternal affection and criminally delicious chocolate gateau.

Draco had allowed Hermione to plan a simple get-together with the restricted guest list of Theo, Sasha, Astoria, and Dennis. He resolutely refused to allow any Potters or Weasleys on his property for his birthday.

"I'd rather not spend the evening fighting the urge to stab Weasley over his abominable table manners and for the last time, all I asked for this year was to shag you in the Transfiguration section of my library." She'd already delivered that present this morning.

Hermione knew he'd meant the shagging quip as a throwaway joke, but she hadn't forgotten his confession about his Amortentia scent being partly made up of her in his library. Earlier, as Draco sat at his desk answering a few letters, Hermione wandered down a row and around the corner, out of his line of sight.

"Malfoy?" she called after a few minutes. "I need a few of these titles from the top shelf and I've left my wand in your room."

She had not left her wand in his room.

"Would you be so kind as to reach them for me?"

Hermione heard a sigh and the scraping of the chair legs on the floor as he pushed back from the desk. The click of his shoes drew closer.

"Granger, honestly, how do you go through life this vertically-challenged?"

He rounded the corner. "And really, leaving your wand, I mean—"

He stopped when he saw her at the end of the row. She wore nothing but sheer, blush-colored knickers.

"Happy birthday," she said with a grin.

"Indeed," Draco exhaled and stalked towards her. He backed her into the nearest shelf and pinned her there with his hips. For a few frantic minutes, he kissed her breathless with his hands buried in her hair.

Hermione felt him grow hard against her and trailed her hands down to his belt buckle, but Draco intercepted her. He took both her hands in his and held them above her head, pressing their bodies even closer together. He interlaced their fingers and ground into her, the friction against her barely-covered core making her writhe desperately in search of relief.

Draco kissed along her jaw, down her neck, then sucked the skin of her collarbone. He could perform that same pleasant journey as many times as he liked, and at varying speeds, and it never failed to make her whimper.

Gods how she wanted to touch him; to grab, caress, and clutch at him in a manic display of pure need.

She flexed her hands but he tightened his hold.

"Can I trust you to behave and keep your hands up here? Or do I need to restrain you with magic, since I do have my wand on me?"

He increased the intensity of his grinding against her pelvis and she understood the implication perfectly: any disobedience and he'd stop all delicious contact.