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It Isn't Love Unless It Hurts by dracofan22
Chapter 7 : Not A Fly
 
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 51


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A/N: *Screams in shock then faints* *twitch* *Regains consciousness and does hyper happy dance* TWO TO TANGO MADE THE TOP 10!!!! OMG. I’m speechless. I really am. I had no idea that people liked my story that much! Wow, I’m so happy and touched right now… ninth most reviewed story on the site… I’m absolutely flabbergasted. I do not have enough thanks to ever let you all know how grateful I am to all of you wonderful readers who took the time to read my scribble-scrabble and then comment on it, the feedback and comments I have received has meant loads to me, really. Thank you so much. I didn’t even know I was on it until aradhana108 told me I had, and when I checked, WOW… Also, thanks to my WONDERFUL beta fear me101, she did a terrific job on this chapter. Okay well I’m sure you’re sick of hearing me confess my undying appreciation, so here’s what you came for in the first place, and so sorry for the delay (damned schoolwork)


The hand that gripped her wrist tightened even more as she was forcibly shoved into the wall, the door slamming shut behind her. Malfoy pressed himself tightly against her as he held her in place against the wall with his own vigourous body. His steamy breath tickled her cheek in an uncomfortable way; and she could feel the vibrations of his speech as he leaned in dangerously close to her ear.

“I am not a fly, Granger,” he said icily, “You can not shoo me away at your own pleasing.” He bit down on her earlobe hard, but not hard enough to cause real pain to submerge. Hermione wriggled underneath him in her fruitless attempt to loosen his grip. Her silly efforts to get free only provoked him to continue his sinfully seductive movements even more. Whilst he held fast to her arms, he moved his rather vindictive hips into her as he placed hot kisses on her collar bone. Tilting her head away from him, she did her best to regain what little composure she could muster from his forcefully impelling intentions.

“No Malfoy, you are not a fly,” she remarked. “You are a nasty, no good bundimun.” She hissed through gritted teeth. Malfoy scoffed.

“Fungus? Green fungus? That’s the best you could come up with? Really Granger, I thought you were the smartest witch of our time, and here you go with your juvenile come backs and petty resistance.” He smirked devilishly at her before continuing, “I thought we really had some thing Shnookums, how could you hurt me so?” he asked sarcastically, feigning offence.

“I am ridding myself of you Malfoy,” she said through tightly clenched teeth.

This is not going as planned. Is he truly so thick that he doesn’t get it, or is he just being a prat? Oh damn him to pieces for being so unreadable!

“Get that through your he-” Hermione was cut off when his warm lips captured her own, working their dark magic over her rapidly diminishing self-control.

“Tell me you aren’t walking away from that.” He stared deeply into her vibrant, vividly brown eyes with his cool blue ones. “Tell me you want this.”

Ron and Harry would kill you; Ginny would never speak to you again; your house would shun you; no friends. Who’s to say he isn’t just using you? Is he really worth it? Her mind reeled with perplexities. But this was supposed to be my only option!

“You forgot one thing, Granger…” he began as if reading her mind, “It could be our little secret… just you… and me… and the best snogging you have ever received in you pitiful mudblooded life.”

“Insulting me will get you no where Malfoy,” she snapped. He lowered his lips to a pulsing vein on her neck and licked it sensually before gently sucking on it. The heat from his mouth covering the sensitive, silky skin of her neck was enough to make Hermione gasp in ecstasy, and it took every ounce of restraint she had left not to moan out his name and beg him to keep going.

“Are you sure about that? Because I think it already has. Admit it! You love it when I mess with you; it gets you all riled up, nice and feisty... the way both you and I like it…” At this comment, Hermione shoved Malfoy away from her, a malicious fire burning in her dark eyes.

“Your mind is full of nothing but perversions and sick, filthy fantasies Malfoy, fantasies that I do not wish to be a part of.”

“I believe I could change your mind Granger, if you let me attempt to do so," he purred from spot on her neck. He was now softly nipping at the thin flesh, giving Hermione goose bumps and the shivers. He smirked, his actions having had the desired effect. She was breaking just as he had hoped she would. The nonsense about cutting him off had temporarily stunned him, but being the Malfoy he was, he quickly regained his composure and made light of the situation, wasting no time to return to his previously scheduled seduction of Miss Hermione Granger.

This is unheard of, Hermione thought, A Gryffindor and a Slytherin together, no matter how furtively ... is absolutely preposterous! I just… he feels so… nice.

“Conditions,” she choked out breathlessly. He stopped his ravishing intentions and looked at her. “There have to be conditions," She elaborated. A sly, sexy smirk settled on his face once again as realization swept in, and he knew he had won. Well, he had won this battle anyways.

“Name them," he said, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her skirt and pulling her closer.

“First, no public displays of…” she paused momentarily, furrowing her eyebrows. She couldn’t say affection, that’s not what it is. “Lust. Any and all things regarding us will take place in our common room, far away from any wandering eyes. Second, no one finds out. No one. If word leaks out, then I deny everything and say you forced yourself on me, which in a way, you have. Are we in agreement?” She asked.

Malfoy pushed a hand up into her long chestnut colored tresses and grabbed a handful of luxuriously silken hair. He tugged her face forward, and their lips met in a hastened kiss.

“Granger, I do believe that you have yourself a deal.” She placed her hand at his elbow, and then smoothly ran it up his forearm sensually to his hand. She covered the strong hand that was gripping her hair with her own. It relaxed at her innocent touch and allowed her to remove it from its sleek resting place.

“Well then Malfoy, I have class. Good day,” she turned around and slipped out the door, shutting it behind her. She took two steps out from the closet when a voice called out to her, startling her.

“Hermione? Is that you? What were you doing in that old broom cupboard?” Hermione turned to meet Ginny’s curious gaze and perplexed expression. Oh no! Think fast!

“Oh, I umm… well my skirt was riding up a bit uncomfortably, and so I err, I ducked in there to you know… fix it.” She fibbed, her slim fingers crossed behind her back.

“Oh, I see. Yes, I do despise it when that happens. You ran off so quickly from breakfast that I wanted to make sure you were alright and such. I’m sorry Ronald is being such a prat; I’m sure you had a good reason to check him.”

“Ginny as much as I would like to stay and chat, I must be going along to class now. It wouldn’t look good for the head girl to be late, now would it? And you should be going too; it would be rather shameful to have to deduct points from my own house,” Hermione said, desperately trying to move the girl along so that she could make her escape, and of course, so Malfoy could make his as well.

“You’re right, I’ll see you later Mione,” Ginny replied whilst turning and retreating. Hermione breathed a lovely sigh of relief before going her own separate way. As she rounded the corner, she heard the door to the closet clicking shut, and she knew Malfoy had made his exit.

If he weren’t such a bloody brilliant snogger, I would be regretting this already, she mused thoughtfully with a certain humorous hint of giddiness. She made her way to her first class of the day, which, as it had been almost every day since first year, was double potions with Slytherin.

This must be Dumbledore’s failing attempt to make the houses bond-- by forcing them into the most despised class with the foulest of teachers, she thought grimly to herself, mentally chastising the headmaster, Dumbledore, for one so powerful and intelligent, you can be rather daft sometimes.

When she entered the nippy, dimly lit dungeons that she had grown to despise, she saw an open seat next to Harry. As she crossed the room, weaving her way around the desks and perfectly placed cauldrons, she made to sit next to him. However, Snape had somehow swept in front of her, and was now looking down upon her past his greasy-hooked nose.

“Where do you think you are going?” he asked in a mocking tone, obstructing both her path to Harry and her vision of anything in front of her. Oh Merlin, he is a nasty brute of a teacher.

“I was going to take my seat, Sir,” Hermione answered, doing her best not to let the venom drip off her words too callously. Snape sneered at her in what Hermione supposed was the closest thing to a smile that she would ever see. Of course, even this rare, disgusting form of a smile only came out when torturing Gryffindors, or the occasional frightened Hufflepuff.

“Your seat, Miss Granger, is there,” he drawled, pointing to the very back corner with the least light. Hermione swore she heard a growl from his vile tone. “Next to your head boy.” His tight, thin lips curled in a wicked grin.

“But sir, I usually sit-”

“NEW SEATS!” he barked, causing half the class to jump in a stormy surprise. Hermione huffed, but grudgingly stomped off to her new seat in the back. She knew that he was putting her back there for two reasons: he could pretend not to see her when she raised her hand and because he knew placing her next to Malfoy would make her blood boil.

As she got closer and closer to the back of the eerie dungeon, she felt her body blend in with the dark shadows, and she gave an involuntary shiver. Setting her bag down on the two person desk, she dropped into her seat with a dreaded frown on her face.

“Unhappy with the seating chart, are you Granger?” the smooth voice she knew all too well said beside her. Hermione looked to her right and there was Malfoy. She hadn’t even taken notice of him until he spoke. Hermione found it to be in her best interest if she didn’t reply to that. With Malfoy, only bad can come of getting into a come-back war. So she did as she had learned to do from living with Ron for six years, and bit her tongue.

“Oh, I understand. You’re still speechless over that snog,” he said with a cocky grin. Her head snapped to look at him, her mouth hanging open slightly.

“I most certainly am not!” She spat through gritted teeth. “And besides, we had a deal Malfoy, not discussion of it in public,” she added, lowering her voice to a whisper. To her great surprise, he nodded in agreement.

“Right, of course. No talking about it.”

He turned back to his notes that Snape had just demanded that they take. Not wanting to ruin his moment of cooperation, she too turned to her notes.

Fifteen minutes later, in the midst of brewing a potion to cure infectious orange warts, Hermione felt a hand slide onto her thigh. Startled, she gasped and knocked over a vial of powdered hinkypunk toes.

“I know it is difficult for you Granger, but try not to be so bloody clumsy,” Malfoy said coldly with a hidden smirk relishing on his face.

“S-sorry,” she muttered. Pushing the hand away, she tried to concentrate on the ingredient list in front of her. The hand, belonging to a very stubborn owner, merely replaced itself on her thigh once more, this time giving her a little squeeze. Hermione’s startled breathing became faster and more erratic.

“Malfoy…” she said warningly as he looked at her innocently.

“What?” he shrugged. “You never said anything about touching in dark corners.”

“SHHH!!!” Hermione pressed a delicate finger to his lips. She quickly scanned the room to see if anyone had heard him and was giving them odd looks. No one was.

Merlin help me, she thought, Help me get through this faze.


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