Quiet Times

The first night after Draco spent the day in the quarry was a quiet one. He slumped down on the bench, completely exhausted from the day's labour. Where the first day with the scythe had left him frustrated and sore, the first day in the quarry left him demoralised mentally and physically. Draco couldn't help but lay his head down on the table and let his eyes close.

"Not like the fields, is it?" Hermione asked as she put her materials on the table in her usual orderly fashion.

Draco's only reply was a grunt. He was so exhausted that he couldn't even open his eyes.

"I take it you don't have the stamina for verbal practice tonight." Hermione stared at him coldly.

Draco tried to push himself off the tabletop, but couldn't. His arms quivered, and one hand slipped, scraping the underside of his wrist.

Hermione sighed. "Fine. Go and sleep, but you'll do double tomorrow."

Hermione turned and cleared her things away, leaving him without a word. Hearing her feet quiet in the distance, Draco succumbed to his exhaustion and fell asleep with his face on the table. He stayed until the middle of the night, when he woke up with a start to find Isova waiting to take him back to the initiates' house.

A few days later, Hermione was wrapping up what could easily been called the best co-operative study session of her life. Draco was clearly approaching his task with renewed vigour, and Hermione was reminded of the pride that Severus had always shown in Draco's potions all those years. She had always chalked it up to Slytherin favouritism, but now she truly felt that Draco's intellect was formidable.

Hermione could feel herself being impressed by that, and she scowled at herself, her mouth pinching closed. She would not entertain any further reasons that Draco Malfoy might be something more than the Ferret of her school days.

"You told Ariulo everything about that night, didn't you?" Draco's quiet voice suddenly broke Hermione out of her reverie.

"What?" Hermione shook her head slightly to clear her thoughts. She didn't realise that moves like this tossed her hair gently about her face. It was maddening for Draco to see those soft curls bouncing around her eyes, her little nose, her perfect lips. She was so unconsciously pretty; that was one of the things he loved about her. Luckily, he saw her mouth begin to move, so he turned the audio back on in time to hear her say, "Of course, I have to report back to the council about your progress, only slightly more so than the other initiates."

"I could tell. Ariulo was... reserved at breakfast." Draco turned away and looked at the water where the sun had just set.

"Reserved?" Hermione's damned curiosity prevented her from holding her tongue.

"Well, he would look at me, and it was like... I don't know. It made me feel uncomfortable."

"It's called guilt, Draco." Hermione huffed, pulling her satchel onto her shoulder. "It's what keeps most people from behaving atrociously. I can see how that might be unfamiliar to you." Turning away from him, she flounced away, feeling unsettled for some reason she couldn't quite put her finger on.

The next evening, Draco picked up where they'd left off. "So, you tell Ariulo everything?" he asked as he worked out a lengthy translation he needed to have done so he could advance to the fourth level. He'd been stuck at the third for weeks longer than he thought was reasonable, especially when Hermione let it slip that it had only taken her twenty-six days to complete this phase.

"What?" Hermione said distractedly. She had just received a wire brush via post, and she was brushing Acara thoroughly. Huge clumps of fur were blowing away on the breeze.

"You tell Ariulo everything. You have no secrets from him." Draco's quill nimbly worked as he spoke.

"Nearly, but no, there are things that I don't tell him. Harry and Ron are still my best friends. And Luna and Ginny."

"You could tell me things." Draco's nonchalant declaration stopped Hermione's hand brushing suddenly. She looked over at him, mouth unabashedly hanging open and her eyes wide in shock. She stared for a full two minutes before the sting of Acara's tail slapping Hermione's thighs pulled her out of it.

Hermione gently thwapped Acara's belly in response before restarting the brushing. "Yes, since we have so much in common."

"I'm glad you see it my way." Draco fought hard to keep the smirk off his face, having clearly ignored her heavy sarcasm.

"Malfoy, listen..." Hermione started to say, but Draco's head jerked up and he stared her down. Hermione scowled back at him. Draco matched her scowl. However, his was more practiced, and Hermione lost her nerve in short order. She rolled her eyes. When she looked back at him, she found him stalking toward her.

"I'm sorry, Princess, but I don't think I heard you correctly." Draco squatted gracefully in front of her, his forearms balanced on his knees. The undertones of correction and discipline in his voice were not missed by Hermione. He wouldn't touch her again, no matter how he longed to hold her chin with his thumb and forefinger, but that was a non-issue. Force is the weapon of the weak, and Draco knew he could get his point across without it. "What did you call me?"

Hermione looked at Acara. She didn't care for what Draco was doing, but was it worth a battle? She had genuinely slipped up; he'd been 'Draco' for only a few weeks and 'Malfoy' nearly all her magical life. She shook her head. "What difference does it make?"

"We aren't at Hogwarts anymore, Princess. Why keep up bad habits?" Draco began to lean into her, closer and closer until there were just millimetres between the tips of their noses. She could feel his breath on her chin, and even surprised herself when she inhaled his scent deeply. Her nostrils flared, and she noticed that he noticed.

"Go finish your work, Draco," Hermione conceded, desperate to him away from her.

"One question first?" Draco leaned back only far enough to run his eyes down her neck and up over her face.

"You mean in addition to that one."

Draco couldn't help but smile softly at her swottiness. "Yes, Lady."

"And then you'll go over there and finish your work?" Hermione flicked her eyes to the table. Draco nodded softly. Hermione turned her face to his in silent acknowledgement.

"Don't you miss tea? In the mornings, Earl Grey with just a splash of milk and honey?" Draco watched her for a reaction. He knew Potty and the Weasel didn't know how she took her tea in the mornings. Frankly, they didn't need to, since he did.

Hermione didn't know how to answer that question. Sometimes she did get the bug for a nice cup of tea made properly, but it wasn't as though she was wandering about in search of one. Besides, Draco's proximity was getting to her.

"I get by," Hermione finally muttered and tried to wave Draco away with a pointed look at the table and a few flicks of her wrist. She then set herself to the task of finishing with Acara, determined to ignore Draco looking at her appraisingly.

"What's the most interesting sexual position you've ever been in, Hermione?" Draco asked quietly over his translation work.

"What?" Hermione asked with a furrowed brow, totally confused by the seemingly random question. She was a few feet away from Draco, curled up with Acara in a low chair, reading, while Draco worked. Hermione liked studying with Draco; he had drive and caught onto things quickly. He did not blather about Quidditch. Although, with whom would he blather? Better to reserve that judgement for now.

Draco carefully set down his quill and turned to look at her, letting his eyes look her all over. Hermione had been late coming from the library expansion, so she hadn't changed out of her work clothes. His transfer into Paruin's watch three months ago had been... fruitful. Even though Paruin had just had the baby, she was back in charge with the baby slung across her chest after two weeks. She lost the weight quickly, and for the first time ever, Draco was sort of relieved that he had agreed to copulate with the lady mages. Paruin was lovely, she made no excuses for wanting the young wizard, and Draco was starting to be curious as to what his child would look like coming from her womb.

Isova, who he saw in the afternoons, was lovely as well, and for the first time since the Dark Lord fell, Draco was free to consider all his basest instincts. Apart from the endless stream of lady mages, he would have Hermione in his bed nightly. Draco was feeling very optimistic about life in general.

It was nearly four months into his training, he wasn't breezing through as quickly as Hermione had, but Draco was getting through his training at an accelerated rate. In the mornings he did the physically hard work with Paruin. Afternoons were spent with Isova, trying to re-route his magical wirings. Maybe because Draco had always known he was a wizard, it was harder for him. Hermione hadn't known for her whole life what magic she could do, so she was used to acquainting herself with new ways. Then, in the evenings, he would sit after dinner with his fiancée until the sun set. Life was good.

Draco cleared his throat, ready again to broach the question that had been nibbling at his conscious and subconscious minds more and more lately. "I don't want to know about the Muggle. However, I am interested in what you have done and what you would like to try. I'm sure my uncle... kept you on your toes." Draco still hated thinking about that Muggle and his Hermione, but had gotten over the information as much as he could, considering how much it had shifted his universe.

"You want to know what Severus and I did?" Hermione asked incredulously. "I thought you were disgusted by how I whored around with him." Hermione gave him a look he knew well from that time when the Weasel had latched on to Brown via their faces. He was in the doghouse. He knew he should feel guilty, but just knowing that she had a doghouse for him meant that he was slowly seeping into her heart.

Draco strained to keep a straight face. "Well, Hermione, I must admit that I put you on a rather high pedestal. However, in light of various new factors, I think I prefer to let you tell me first and accommodate myself to what is actually pertinent to you."

Hermione muttered under her breath something that sounded like, "How novel!" She looked out over the cliffs. "Fine, what was the question again?" Hermione had grown accustomed to giving these little scraps to Draco when he'd been well behaved. Not having to deal with him all day like she had before was nice, and she was able to settle into a routine. It was almost as if she were dating him. She'd go out in the mornings to work in the field or play with the kids, help the council, work on the library, and come here after dinner for quiet time with Draco. There were worse ways to spend an arranged marriage, she supposed.

"What is the most interesting sexual position you've ever been in?" Draco asked again slowly, drawing out the words.

Hermione's eyes focused on nothing in particular, and she licked her lips slowly. Draco had to breathe very slowly to keep himself from getting a full erection just watching her, knowing what she was thinking about.

"For him, or me?"

Oh...Draco hadn't considered the implications of his question. Of course something might be more interesting for one partner than the other. "You...and when I say interesting, I mean in every sense of the word: stimulating, provocative, everything."

Hermione blushed, and Draco knew it would be good. Virgins were all well and good; being able to pick the cherry was a prize in itself. Also, the opportunity to train her and discover her while she discovered as well would have been excellent. However, if she already knew what she liked, he wouldn't have to waste time on faulty experiments.

"I used to have..." Hermione hesitated, looking away from Draco, blushing furiously. "I can't say; I really can't."

"Bollocks! Gryffindor bravery, yeah? Come on, then." Draco walked over and crouched by where Hermione was sitting. He wasn't about to let her back out now. Seeing that she wasn't going to budge, Draco was willing to play dirty. "Please?" Draco looked up at her with the perfect blend of shy interest and lascivious intent. Hermione blushed again.

"Fine. Fine. I used to have this outfit." Hermione smiled, looking very young, as she really was, once the authority and focus were taken away from her face. She was about to continue when Draco interrupted...

"What did it look like?" His eyes sparkled, trying not to imagine, lest he miss what she actually said.

"Oh! I can't believe I'm even considering telling you this!" Hermione had found the ensemble in a Muggle lingerie catalogue about a month after she'd started with Snape, and she'd got it as a laugh... sort of. Looking back at Draco, Hermione rolled her eyes. "It was satin, and Slytherin green, all right? There was a bra that barely covered my nip..." Hermione stopped talking a second as Draco's eyes got wider. "...Nipples, and there was a little skirt that barely covered half my arse, and there were the shoes."

Draco swallowed loudly. "Shoes?"

Hermione was feeling her face flush over and over again, and she tried to keep her breathing slow. "Yeah, well, boots, really, black stiletto boots with rivets up them, and green laces. And..." Hermione was interrupted as Draco turned his head to the side, eyes closed, picturing Hermione, hair down her back in such a get-up. Merlin, his hard-on was nearing painful proportions. Draco sighed and turned his finger in a circle, gesturing that she could continue.

"And Severus would spell my wrists and forearms to the wall, at shoulder level, and he'd pull my hips back until my back was to an angle on the wall. My tits would start to fall out of the bra, and my arse would stick out a little bit..."

Draco touched her arm gently, and Hermione jumped a little at the usual jolt they shared when they hadn't touched in a while. "That's quite enough." Draco dropped his head down to look at the ground and catch his breath.

Okay, so he'd asked for this perfect hell. If he had just kept his fool trap shut, he would not have the image of sixteen-year-old Hermione falling out of green satin with her arse out ready to be mounted. Of course she wouldn't give him a simple 'doggy-style' or 'bent over a table.' No, she would paint a picture of her image in everything a nineteen-year-old man would wank off to.

"What? You don't think that's kinky eno..." Hermione retorted indignantly only to be interrupted by his hand clapping down on her arm.

"No, you daft bint, I'm just trying to let my cock soften enough that I can stand up." Draco didn't even look up as he talked, knowing that to see her would loosen all his control, and he'd take her on that chair, damn the cat, the colony, and the contract.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed softly, now feeling embarrassed for him. "Should I, erm, go?" Draco swallowed and nodded his head softly. "Okay...well, um, finish the translation for tomorrow, and um... goodnight, Draco." Hermione skittered out of the clearing and up to her cottage with Acara sauntering beside her.

Once he couldn't hear her any more, Draco fell on to his back, his cock making a giant tent in his loose initiate's pants. Snape in a tutu. Dumbledore in a bikini. Weasel in a thong. Crabbe and Goyle snogging. McGonagall's saggy tits. Trelawney naked. At last, relief!