certainfiction

close encounters of the related kind, chapter 8

2008-06-13T18:57:27Z

Title: Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Chapter: Chapter 8 Of First Times and Lessons Learned
Author: certainswagger
Rating: M (for this chapter -- I know, you're excited, right?)
Warnings: canon Peter/Claire
Spoilers: Up through "How To Stop an Exploding Man"
Notes: School is over so hiatus is OFFICIALLY over! Here it is. CeotRK, chapter 8. I think you guys are going to enjoy it.

Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Of First Times and Lessons Learned
Frantic. That's how it begins.

They're tearing at each other's clothes and clawing at each other's skin. His breath is coming out in groans and hers is coming out in short, high-pitched whimpers.

"Wait, wait..." Peter mumbles against Claire's neck. "Can we just...can we slow down?"

He knows without looking that she's saying 'yes' without speaking. So he slows it down.

Slowly, Peter pushes himself up to look at Claire. "Claire. I know this is fast and unexpected and...I just want you to know that I love you." The movement of her hands on his chest stop and he can't help the smile spreading across his face. "God, I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since the moment I laid eyes on you. I can't believe I've been so stupid, denying how I feel for so long."

Claire's hand slides up his chest to his cheek and turns it toward her. "You have no idea how happy that makes me."

He can feel his cheeks burning and he glances away for a moment before returning his eyes to hers. "That's all I've ever wanted. I just want you to be happy." He leans in toward her, nuzzling his nose and lips against her cheek.

"I'm happy." She murmurs. The thought of him caring so much about her that he's willing to give up his family for, well, his family - but that's not the point. Overcome with not-so-familial urges, Claire uses all of the strength in her and flips Peter over on to his back.

He lifts an eyebrow. "I thought we were -"

He can't get another word out because Claire presses a hand over his mouth and smirks at him. "We have time to take it slow later. Right now, I just want to..." she trails off as his hips gently buck upwards.

Peter's eyes are wide with surprise and delight. Slowly, she removes her hand from his mouth and runs both of them over his chest. "God, Peter, I can barely wait." His hips are moving toward hers faster and faster and she can't help but think what it will be like when they're actually doing it.

As if she was practiced in the area of sex, her fingers flick toward the button of his jeans and she's pulling them down within seconds.

"Claire, how are you..." he motions toward the two of them, trying to ask her how she's so good at this.

She laughs softly, sliding down his body and taking his jeans with her. "Relax, Peter. Reading those silly romance novels has certainly helped me out in certain ways. Now, how about you sit back and we'll see how much I've really learned."

His mouth falls open just slightly and she decides that she wants their first time to be one of their best times; not awkward and tangled like people always claim a first time is. She steps off of the bed and stands at the foot of it while Peter raises himself on his elbows to watch.

Flashes of words from romance novels appear in her mind husky whisper, tantalizing, coy.

"Have you imagined this, Peter?" Claire reaches up and pulls the elastic band from her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders.

She knows that at this moment, he is incapable of words.

"Have you ever drawn me in such a..." she giggles softly, glancing down and then back toward him, "state?" She bends slightly to grab the hem of her dress, pulling over her head, leaving her in a strapless bra and black panties.

"Peter..." she murmurs, unhooking the bra. "Peter have you ever drawn..." she slides her fingers into the sides of her underwear and pushes them down until they're around her ankles. "This?"

Claire's eyes survey him. Clearly aroused, sweating, and gulping for air. "Claire..." his voice is strangled and his toes are actually curling.

"Well, have you?" Claire moves toward the bed, finally sitting on it with her knees on either side of Peter's legs. Still waiting for an answer, she hooks her fingers over the band of Peter's boxers and pulls them down, finally releasing his erection and seeing his body for the first time.

She crawls up him, holding eye contact the entire time. Thank you, thank you Harlequin. Raising herself, she positions herself just above Peter.

"Yes." As he says the word, she lowers herself onto him, letting a moan tumble from her lips as she gets used to him. "But I never could have imagined it being like this."

"Ah." It's a small squeak from the back of her throat. Peter stares at her in amazement, her head thrown back and eyes shut. "Okay." She murmurs, finally adjusting to Peter.

He begins to move, attempting to flip her on to her back, but she stops him. "No. No...this is perfect. This is good."

Her hips move in small circles, testing different angles and how it affects both of them. Finally, she finds that if she leans over him, the angle is perfect for her.

"Now, you, stay there and enjoy the view." She laughs softly and lets out a small gasp as his lips cover her nipple, biting and tasting at the same time.

Their bodies are rubbing everywhere and Claire thinks to herself that she had no idea friction could so pleasurable.

She can feel something building in her stomach and she knows she's getting close. Peter, apparently, is getting close too as they're both panting hard and clawing at each other.

"Claire. Claire...oh God, Claire." He says her name over and over, wishing he could find release.

All she can do is keep saying "Ah...ah...ah...Peter...ah..." His hands are gripping her hips so hard, she's sure that if it was possible, she'd have bruises there.

Without her noticing, Peter slips his hands between their bodies, and before she knows it, his fingers are touching her just right and she's falling over the edge.

She's screaming at the amount of pleasure swirling within her, yelling his name. The sound of his name coming from her at that moment and the way her nails are digging into his shoulder sends him tumbling with him.

They lay together, shuddering and breathing hard.

"Peter. I was thinking..." She rolls over and looks at him, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. "Well, both of us can heal, meaning we never have any scars or markings, so I was just wondering...how rough do you like it?"

close encounters of the related kind, chapter 7

2008-06-13T18:55:23Z

Title: Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Chapter: Chapter 7 Of Memories and Tough Decisions
Author: certainswagger
Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter (still))
Warnings: canon Peter/Claire
Spoilers: Up through "How To Stop an Exploding Man"
Notes: Not quite four months of a break, but still longer than I was hoping to have this up. Silly computer breaking!

Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Of Memories and Tough Decisions
Four hours ago, he had been watching Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom on the giant screen in front of him. And then Claire, his niece, leaned over and started whispering that they should give the imaginary paparazzi a show. Her breath on his neck and her fingertips grazing his thigh had already been too much for him to handle and then, before he could catch his breath from the slight contact, her mouth was on his; somewhere it should not have been.

But his body and heart defeated his mind trying to tell him to pull away. Before he could say no, his fingers were pushing through her golden locks and the tip of his tongue was pressing against hers. He kept telling himself Peter, man, this little fantasy is over. You cannot be kissing your niece at a family movie - you can't be kissing your niece at all.

And the kiss. The kiss was, for lack of better description, life changing. Of all the women he had kissed, he had never known a kiss to make him feel so wonderfully sick to his stomach or so emotionally stimulated. With her lips on his, he wanted to scream in joy and cry in amazement but the only reaction he could manage was to press his lips harder to hers.

Inevitably, the kiss ended resulting in an absurdly awkward hour and a half of sitting in the dark. Peter's body was on fire and he was surprised at the amount of willpower within him. He wanted to reach over and kiss her again and again and again but the moment (the great but oh so wrong moment) was over and now the only thing he could do was stare straight forward and pretend that he wasn't affected.

Peter told her in the limo; nothing could ever come of that kiss. The only relationship between them was as an uncle and his niece that got along really well.

Claire shrugged it off, putting on a brave front like she always did. She never let people see how much she hurt and if anyone ever got a glimpse, it was just that: a glimpse.

As Claire walked up the stairs, Peter nearly fell into the armchair in the sitting room. Dropping his face in his hands, he replayed events between him and Claire. The moment they met, how she saved his life three times, the way she looked at him while he sat on a filthy bed in jail, the way his heart swelled when she said You're totally my hero.

Those were all of the good moments, he reminded himself. What about when she met West? She introduced the two men with a cheerful smile on her face and he remembered wanting to rip West's fingers off as they rubbed her hip. He wanted to sock him right in the face when he made a stupid joke and grinned at everything.

He thanked his lucky stars the day they split up, despite Claire being heartbroken. He, her uncle, had been there to comfort her when West decided to cheat on her with some tramp from NYU. He had known something was wrong the moment she walked in and sat next to him without a word.

What's wrong? He'd asked, resting his hand on her hair. A moment passed before she let out a heavy sob and continued to cry for an hour straight. And as much as it hurt him to see her sad, he couldn't help but feel jealous that her tears being shed were over another man and not over him.

But Peter knew that he would never give Claire a reason to cry. Not while he was alive.

He heard her crying upstairs, heard her hitting things, heard her heartbeat getting quicker and then slowing down and speeding up all over again.

He thought and thought and mulled over the matter at hand. Morally, it was wrong. It was morally wrong that he was attracted to a close relative.

Peter tried to picture it; having Thanksgiving and pretending that seeing her cooking in the kitchen didn't make her any more appealing; having a family interview in which the interviewer asks what it was like to discover that he had a niece or how their relationship was; keeping this horrible secret from Nathan and never letting on that all he wanted was to be with his daughter, with his own niece.

He felt sick to his stomach, imagining a life without Claire the way he wanted her. Unable to deal with these thoughts, Peter found himself racing up the stairs only to end up right in front of Claire's doorway.

He breathed in heavily. Could he do this? Should he do this?

His skin felt hot and his telekenisis, as though acting the part of his consciousness, sent the door crashing open to reveal the only thing he wanted to see.

Claire.

"What? Is something wrong?"

Standing there, looking at Claire, Peter found that his mouth had gone dry and that he hadn't thought of what he was going to say.

"No. Yes. I...I don't-" Idiot.

He took a deep breath and decided that right now, words could not fully describe how he was feeling. So he took three big steps toward his niece, toward the young woman he loved and kissed her for the second time that night, and the second time ever.

Before they get too far, he objects and says that what they're doing is wrong.

Claire, in response to his objections, ambiguously agreed but he knew that she wanted this just as much as he did.

He thanked God silently over and over for giving them an empty house before all he could see was Claire, saying Peter, please, and dazzling him with her smile.

Close Encounters of the Related Kind, chapter 6

2008-03-16T14:52:45Z

Title: Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Chapter: Chapter 6 Of Apologies and Broken Doors
Author: certainswagger
Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter)
Warnings: canon Peter/Claire
Spoilers: Up through "How To Stop an Exploding Man"
Notes: It's been forever. Here's the next installment of CEotRK

The rest of the movie (a grueling hour and forty minutes) was spent in total, utter, stunned silence. It wasn't the kind of silence that said 'Hey. Shut up. I'm trying to watch a movie,' and it wasn't the kind of silence that said 'I hate the person next to me so I just won't talk.'

In actuality, it was the kind of silence that only occurs when a niece and her uncle kiss. Full on, tongue, wandering hands kiss.

Claire made it through the rest of the movie with her body turned away from Peter, legs crossed with one foot bouncing up and down at any given moment.

Peter, on the other hand, sat staring at the screen, entire body tense and rigid.

The walk outside and back to the limo was made in silence as well. Even when Peter held the door open for her, Claire's throat was completely closed off though she wanted to say 'thanks.'

This time, Peter sat across from her in the limo rather then beside her, clearly hoping that zero physical contact would amount to everything being less awkward.

"So." Claire began, sick of the deafening silence roaming over the velvet walls and the leather seats.

"Yeah." Peter responded, looking at everything but Claire. "So."

She thought about what to say. Should she talk about the movie? No. Who was she kidding, she was so busy thinking about the kiss she didn't even know what was happening on screen. Nathan's newest project? Hell no. That would only remind them that Nathan is her father and Peter's brother.

Fuck it, Claire thought and then spoke up. "I've been wanting to do that since the day I met you. I know you're my uncle but when I met you, you were just some guy. Some really hot guy who saved my life. You were there for me when I didn't have anyone else to rely on." She could see his fingers grasping his knees tightly; whether it was in anger or passion, she wasn't sure. "I'm not going to bother denying it, Peter. I'm attracted to you and I don't think it's going away. I'm sorry, but that's the truth and I'm not going to act like that kiss..." she trailed off dreamily, "that amazing kiss didn't happen."

Claire could hear her heartbeat in her ears. It felt like a century between every beat and Peter still hadn't looked at her. She finally turned her eyes upward to stare at the ceiling of the limo.

"Claire," Peter started softly, looking at her though she couldn't look back at him. "Claire, you have no idea how...wrong this is. On so many levels. You're my niece and I'll be honest in saying that when I first met you I thought you were beautiful - I mean, you are beautiful. Even more so than the day we met. And even then it was wrong; you were in high school! But my brother is your father. I am your uncle. This just...this just can't happen."

Tears were welling up in Claire's eyes. What the hell did I expect? That he'd throw himself at me and tell me we'd figure it out? How deluded can you get, Claire?

She nodded twice, sniffling softly and hoping he wasn't aware that she was about to cry.

"You get that right? You get that this just can't be, right?" Finally, she looked at him with tears falling over her cheeks. He leaned forward and brushed them away, smiling at her. "Even if that kiss was..." searching for the right word, all he could do was give her a broad smile and sit back.

On cue, the limo pulled up to the curb having arrived back at the house. Peter, a gentleman as usual, opened the door for her and helped her out.

Before they got to the door, Claire stopped and pulled Peter in for a hug. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to..."

Peter pulled her tighter and stroked her hair. "It's all right. And you don't need to apologize. It was a good night to say the least." Claire laughed in response and pulled back to look at him. "A little awkward, but good."

They walked in and Claire immediately headed for the stairs but stopped at Peter's voice. "Hey. Do you want to order some pizza? Maybe watch a few episodes of Friends?"

Sadly, she shook her head and continued to walk up the stairs. "Thanks, but I think I'm just going to stay in my room. See you in the morning."

For an hour, Claire sat on her bed and cried (as quietly as possible, of course) and punched all of her pillows. She had wanted him to tell her that they could be together - even if it was in secret. That they'd figure out a way to be together and that he didn't care that she was his niece.

But no. He had to be stupid, logical, completely rational Peter. Well, that Peter could just go straight to hell. She wanted rebellious Peter. He was sweet and flirtatious but just a little bad. Not uncle Peter.

The thought of it made her cringe. So much so, that she dried her eyes, shook her entire body, and stood. She walked over to her dresser to take off her jewelry and change into her pajamas.

She had placed her necklace and earrings in their rightful places in her jewelry box and was just beginning to unbutton her top button, when the door slammed open to reveal Peter, panting. The force of the door was so intense that Claire knew Peter had used his powers - the crack in the door was a huge giveaway.

"What?" Claire asked, shock clearly on her face. "Is something wrong?"

He glanced away for a split second. "No. Yes. I...I don't -"

He took three giant steps toward her and pulled her to him, pressing his lips against hers. They kissed furiously, tugging at each others hair and pushing their bodies against one another, wishing they could just turn into one person.

Peter pulled away, breathing heavily. "Oh shit." He wiped his bangs away from his forehead. "Claire...Claire. We can't. We cannot do this."

She nodded against his chest. "I know." Her fingernails raked down his back and she wished that she could just tear his tee shirt off him.

"This is wrong. This is so, so wrong. We're not even a functioning family, how could we possibly...how could this ever...?" His whole body was shaking and he couldn't look up from the floor.

"I don't know, Peter. Before...before this happened this was all just some fantasy and then it happened. I'm just as surprised and unsure as you are. Maybe...we should just take some time?" No. Say no. Do not walk out that door. Not now, not like this.

"Yeah..." Her face fell and he stepped away, finally bringing his head up to look at her. "No." Before she could ask him what he meant, her back hit the bed and they were tearing at each others clothes without a single word.

"What about -" He lost impatience with the buttons of her blouse and resorted to the cliché of just ripping the shirt off her.

"He's in Chicago for the entire week, remember?" Finally, she got his shirt over his head and proceeded to get a feel for his wonderfully lean torso.

"And -" Her jeans came off smoothly and Peter proceeded to throw them across the room haphazardly.

"Also in Chicago." Before she knew it, they were laying on her bed, her beneath him running her hands all over and him bracing himself above her, taking in everything in front of him.

"Peter." Claire groaned, her hips gently thrusting upward to relieve the sensation building up. "Please."

Nodding slowly, Peter kissed her lips before kissing his way down her neck and abdomen while deftly removing her bra. His lips met her hips as his fingers hooked under the sides of her underwear and began to tug them down.

Four and a Half Months or How a Relationship Blossomed Over the Changing Seasons

2008-03-16T14:50:37Z

Title: Four and a Half Months or How a Relationship Blossomed Over the Changing Seasons
Author: certainswagger
Rated: PG
Summary: "I'm leaving." She says it like she just said I'm hungry. He holds back his reaction. It's only been four and a half months, after all.
Notes: No background information, not written for characterization, more or less just this vision I had in my mind and it just wouldn't leave. Also, written to the songs "To Build A Home" by The Cinematic Orchestra and also to "I'll Be Waiting" by Lenny Kravitz. I recommend both to enhance reading pleasure.

[Spring]

Draco trudges down the grassy hill toward a head of hair he would recognize anywhere. She doesn't budge as he nears her and pauses.

Should he sit down? Should he say anything to her? If he does say something, what should he say?

He sits. "Didn't think I'd see anyone else here."

She turns her face away and breathes out. "Yeah. Surprise."

Draco gazes up, squinting at the sun burning high above. He shouldn't have sat down and he shouldn't have said a word. He realizes all of this too late and the nerves start bubbling up.

"So...what are you doing here, Granger?"

Her face is still turned away from him and she shrugs. "Didn't feel like being at home. McGonagall said she'd put me up 'til I found somewhere 'suitable' to stay." He sees her look up to the sky and squint as well before she finally turns to him. "And you?"

He shrugs, picking at the grass between his legs. "Same, I s'pose. I didn't exactly feel like being cooped up in the manor all summer while Aurors politely raid the place."

She nods without looking at him and leans back against the grass. "Tell me again why you're speaking to me?" He nearly laughs but refuses to.

"Dunno." He sighs, still picking at the grass. "Just being Slytherin."

Her eyes slide to the side, trying to figure out what he means by the statement. She decides, though, that she doesn't really care. It has been a week since anyone has attempted to carry on a conversation with her; they're all too busy, all too terrified, or all too "starstruck."

"Well, all intentions aside, I think I'm going to get something to eat from Dobby." She stands and brushes off her butt before turning to leave. "Would you like to come along?" She asks Draco without turning back to look at him.

He smiles to himself before responding. "All right."

[Summer]

Hermione and Draco, in return for having been put up by McGonagall at Hogwarts, have been assigned some research in the library. The Headmistress gave them permission to use the library after hours and access to the Restricted Section as it would give them total freedom to look up whatever they needed.

"Do you think she gave us this research just to torture us?" Draco inquires without looking up from the book he is currently skimming.

"Yes." Hermione agrees, also not taking her eyes off the book in front of her.

He sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes. "All of this seems..." he trails off, searching for the right word.

"Futile?" Hermione supplies, shutting the book and looking up at him. They look at each other, studying one another, before they both push out their chairs and stand up.

Smiling at one another, they both move toward the bookshelf to grab new research materials.

Hermione glances at Draco. "This is nice. Having someone...someone to talk to." He doesn't look at her but continues to walk beside her toward the row of books. "It's nice to find out that we do get along. I just wish we'd realized it sooner, y'know?"

They reach their destination and Hermione pushes apart two books to make room for the one in her hand. She places itwhere it belongs and begins running her fingers across the spines of the books, searching for the next volume of useless information.

Draco stands behind her, looking over her head at the row above hers. "Hermione." He murmurs softly and she turns to look at him.

Her face is quizzical and she's just about to ask him what it is that he wants, when he takes a careful step forward, bends just slightly, and tilts his head. She feels frozen in place as he leans in and their lips touch. They're still the entire time, Draco's hands remaining at his sides and she can hear him inhale heavily through his nostrils.

She doesn't know how long his lips stay on hers. It's a moment in her life where the only thing that she is aware of is this one thing; Draco Malfoy kissing her.

He pulls away just as slowly as he moved in.

Her mouth falls open and her eyebrows furrow. "Why did you do that?"

She waits for a reply; maybe something dazzling or something completely stupid but all he has to say is because I wanted to.

[Fall]

They sit in what has come to be "their place" or what others may know as the Quidditch Pitch.

She's squinting like the day they started talking, only today isn't all sunshine. Today, the sunshine is hidden behind grayish clouds and it's the kind of light that hurts your eyes no matter what - even if you're not looking right at it.

"I'm leaving." She says it like she just said I'm hungry.

He holds back his reaction. It's only been four and a half months, after all. "Leaving?"

"Yeah." She pauses and turns away. "I'm going to stay with Ginny. I just...I can't stay here. And I feel like I'm imposing on Minerva."

His heart is racing and his mind is flooded with all kinds of questions. When did you decide this? When are you leaving? Why don't we find a flat together? And most importantly, he wants to ask her What about us?

But he doesn't. He bites his tongue for whatever reason. He just nods and looks away as well, squinting at the sun furiously trying to break free.

She leaves one week later. She gives him one last lingering kiss and tells him to write, gives him her address, even tells him that they should get together sometime. His gut is telling him to stop her, tell her not to leave, they can find a place together, tell her that he's in love with her. But she goes and he lets her.

[Winter]

He stays at Hogwarts for another three months, letting the cold sweep in and staying in denial. He didn't love her. He couldn't love her. Not after four and a half months. Not after a relationship that was never defined it just...was.

He throws out the circled ads for flats in the area he'd had since July.

He burns all of the letters he wrote since the day she left.

He tears up the notes she'd leave for him whenever she left their room to get all of the basic necessities.

He washes anything and everything to get rid of her smell. The constant scent had vanished about a month ago, but every now and then, he'd stand in a certain spot in the room or he'd open a particular drawer and it would surround him.

He tries to forget everything until he reaches for his wallet without looking and instead, finds the paper that she wrote Ginny's address on.

Draco stares at it for a long time, looking at the curve of her y's and the way the curl of her g carries to the left to dot the i.

From 5:30 PM to 7:15 AM, he sits on his queen sized bed staring at the piece of scrap paper and debating. And just as he stands to toss the piece of paper in the wastebasket, he steps into one of those spots. Her smell consumes him and his eyes flutter shut.

He packs that morning, scrawls a quick note of thanks to Minerva for letting him stay so long, and leaves with his suitcase in one hand and her address in the other.

So Jealous

2007-11-26T23:06:26Z

Title: So Jealous
Author: certainswagger
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: canon Peter/Claire
Spoilers: None, really.
Summary: Peter hated seeing Claire with any other man - even if it was just a single kiss.

"Do you really have to do that?" Peter growled at her as soon as they entered his apartment. He had encountered Claire at a party sharing an intimate kiss with some frat guy in a dark corner. If it hadn't been for her leaving immediately after the kiss had ended, Peter would have gone nuclear on his ass.

"Peter," Claire sighed, setting her purse down on the couch before leaning against it, "you know that I have to act like that. If people got wind of us," she pushed herself off of the couch and sauntered toward him, tugging at the top button of her blouse, "we'd be disowned and labeled 'immoral.' I have to act like the 20 year old congressman's illegitimate daughter who kisses everyone...they just don't know that everyone also includes her uncle." Her tongue flicked out against his neck.

"You should really watch what you do with that tongue of yours." His voice was serious, angry. But she knew better than to let his temper get the best of him. Her fingers trailed down his chest, settling on the button of his pants, before she bit his earlobe and spoke.

"I think that right now..." she dropped to her knees and unbuttoned his trousers, lowering the fly at an agonizingly slow pace, "you should pay very close attention to what I do with this tongue of mine."

Before he could retort and unleash his malicious words on her, her mouth had enveloped him and he let out a shocked, guttural moan. His hands found her hair immediately and gently pushed her head forward, taking him in even further.

"Claire." His voice was broken in pleasure and his hips were thrusting slightly as she worked him with her tongue and lips.

He looked down to watch her skill at sending him over edge only to find her gazing up at him with hooded eyes, studying him as he began to fall over the edge.

"God, Claire, I'm..." he couldn't finish the sentence as she licked him clean and swallowed every drop that came from him. "Ooh..." he murmured softly, pulling her up from her knees to capture her in a kiss.

He tasted himself on her and as odd as it was, he could feel himself growing hard again, unable to contain his urge to take her.

"Clothes off," he managed to tear his lips away from her momentarily to give her the simple command. "Now."

Without another word, Claire pulled her clothes off while he did the same before he shoved her against the wall.

"You know I hate it when I see you with another guy." He grabbed her hands and pinned them against the wall, causing a small squeak to escape her.

"I know, I know...I'm sorry." Her breath was ragged and her body was moving as if on its own accord, pushing itself toward Peter to feel his skin against hers. "Please..."

"Please what?" He leaned down and sucked at her neck, biting her roughly. "Forgive you?" He gripped her hips and leaned against her, letting her feel how hard he was. "I'm not so sure. I get so jealous..." His hands shifted from her hips to her ass and pulled her flush against him.

"Peter, God..." she gasped, moving her body at absurd angles, attempting to get him inside of her. To no avail, he evaded all of her attempts as she pleaded with him verbally and physically. "Peter, fuck..." her head was already lolling around, "Peter, if you don't do it already I'm going to -"

Before she could continue, he was inside of her, thrusting into her so hard her back was smacking against the wall.

"You're going to come, screaming my name and only my name, aren't you?" She could hardly get the word 'yes' out but he managed to hear her. "No Steve, no Dave, no Kevin. I want to hear you screaming 'Peter' over and over again." She mumbled something incoherent and he continued pushing himself deeper and deeper.

Finally, he hit her at just the right angle as deep as she had ever felt him and her whole body gave out. "Peter, Peter, oh God, Peter..." she called, clawing at his back as waves of pleasure washed over her. "I love you, Peter." His voice calling her name mixed with her screams drowned each other out until both sank down to the floor, clinging to each other.

Claire knew she would never kiss any other guy because as far as she was concerned, nothing like what she had just experienced could ever compare.

Close Encounters, Chapter 5

2007-11-26T04:53:18Z

Title: Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Chapter: Chapter 5 Of Pirates and Paparazzi
Author: certainswagger
Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter)
Warnings: canon Peter/Claire
Spoilers: Up through "How To Stop an Exploding Man"
Notes: My muse deserted me for the last 4 months? I think it has. But here I am, back to it with Paire deliciousness. Oh, and be aware, something might actually happen in this chapter. But you'll have to read to find out, won't you? The fact that they're going to see PotC is a bit outdated - just go with it.

Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Of Pirates and Paparazzi

"Please tell me you didn't really get the limo for tonight. It's just you and me, going to see a Disney movie. We could have taken a cab." Claire folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes at Peter. Tonight was the night they would be going to see Pirates of the Caribbean together. In Claire's mind, it was a date. In Peter's mind it was...the hell if she had any idea what he thought of it.

"How could I not get the limo?" He flashed her a half-grin and stared right into her eyes. "We'll be like rockstars getting out of the limo. People will be snapping photos of us like we're a hot new Hollywood couple." They both realized what he'd said and Claire was positive he wanted to stuff the words right back into his mouth. But they were out now and there was nothing he could do.

A moment of stunned silence passed between the two relatives before Claire spoke.

"Well," she began, walking up to the limo and opening the door, "we do look damn good together." She didn't dare turn back to look at Peter but she knew his mouth was wide open as she crawled into the leather seats.

The ride to the theater was a nice mixture of awkward, tense, and charged. Claire took note of everything that happened during the 10 minute drive to the theater. Peter, who could have taken his own seat on either side of the limo sat next to her - complete with thighs touching, shoulder rubbing, and the occasional hand brush. He smelled amazing - better than usual if that was even possible. And when she bent over slightly to flick something off of her shoe, she heard a sharp intake of breath as she gave him a nice view of her cleavage.

Once they arrived at the theater, she opened the car door to no flashing lights and no paparazzi.

Claire instantly groaned upon seeing the empty sidewalk. "I was really hoping to get my picture on the cover of Star magazine."

Peter glanced over at her with a smile on his face. "I'm sure you could achieve that pretty easily. Just go to the hottest club in New York, take part in some dirty dancing, and voila! Instant Star magazine starlette." She threw her head back and laughed, all the while thinking that the only person she wanted to dirty dance with was him.

When Peter approached the ticket booth, he pulled out his wallet and paid for both of them before she could even open her purse.

"You didn't have to do that, Peter." She grumbled. She hated it when people paid for her.

"I wanted to." He shrugged and held the door to the theater open for her. Chivalrous, another quality to add to why she wanted him so much.

"Well that's stupid. I could have just as easily paid for myself." She smiled sweetly at the younger boy tearing tickets and murmured 'thanks' as she passed by.

"You're forgetting one thing," he looked at her seriously before continuing, "we're a sexy Hollywood couple. If I hadn't paid for you, that would have been the headline on Star magazine and we couldn't have that, could we?" His voice was low and he leaned into her and on instinct she licked her lips.

"No." She was frozen in place as he gazed at her. "No, that would be terrible." If she just stood on her tip toes and leaned forward a bit...

"Here we are." Peter's announcement broke her miniature daydream as he pulled open the door.

Not quite an hour into the film, Claire leaned over and whispered in Peter's ear. "Do you think we should give them a show?"

His eyes remained on the screen as he leaned close to her and murmured "Who?"

"The paparazzi. I think they're waiting for us to do something ridiculous." Not that he could see her in the dark, but her cheeks were on fire as was the rest of her body. She could feel the sweat pouring out of her. This was it; this was the moment Peter Petrelli found out that his niece wanted him in way no niece should. She wanted to taste him on her lips. She wanted to feel his skin on hers. She wanted to hear him calling her name while his body shuddered over hers. She wanted him and only him.

Please Peter, go with it. This is the best I've got without telling you how I feel.

"Claire, there's no one in here." He was right. The theater was completely empty. Apparently, no on in New York wanted to see Pirates of the Caribbean at 11:30 at night. But he was being stupid: couldn't he see what she was doing? She was practically telling him kiss me without actually saying it. She was creating a situation for him where he might be willing to kiss her.

She was going to have to go all out for this one.

"Peter, you can't see them? They're just waiting. They're salivating," he was looking at her now, eyes widening as her voice grew husky with every word, "over us. They're practically begging us to give them a front-page shot."

"Claire, I..." her hand falling on his thigh silenced him and he actually choked back his words.

"Peter," she leaned close to him, her breath tickling his lips, "Peter, can't you hear them screaming at us to just..." her lips met his to show him what the invisible paparazzi was screaming, what her body and mind was screaming.

Her other hand, the one not busy dancing on his thigh, curled into his hair. She moaned along with him at the touch, it was something she'd been wanting to do since the first day she ran into him.

The kiss was innocent at first, their lips touching, no movement at all. She hoped to God that this hadn't been a mistake, that he wouldn't pull away disgusted with her. The stillness of their bodies lasted liftimes before she felt his mouth open to let her tongue in.

She put everything she had into the kiss, tasting him and finding out what he liked when it came to kissing. Claire let out a surprised groan as Peter's teeth tugged at her lower lip and pulled it gently downward.

"Oh Peter," the words were hardly audible over the crashing waves in the movie and their panting. If she had known how incredible a single kiss with Peter would be, she would have done it the day she met him.

His hands were pushing through her blonde curls. Then they were splayed across her back, pulling her as close to him as possible before becoming frustrated at the armrest between them. Her back arched slightly as his hands ran down her sides, just barely grazing the side of her breasts and she let out a soft gasp.

She could feel the heat pooling between her legs and she wanted so badly to throw herself across the armrest and tell him to take her, right then and there.

A sharp gun shot in the movie resulted in both flinching away from each other, breathing heavily, eyes wide with shock at what they had just done.

Claire knew deep down that what they had done wasn't wrong. It had been building up for months. The way he had responded had been surprising and at the same time, she wasn't as surprised as she actually should have been. The way their lips had moved together had felt so right, like they were magnets meeting perfectly. And the way he knew just where to touch her - and they had been fully clothed and just kissing! She could only imagine what it would be like when the clothes came off.

For now though, they both sat in stunned silence staring at one another.

Had that really just happened?

Close Encounters, Chapter 4

2007-11-26T04:51:52Z

Title: Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Chapter: Chapter 4 Of Temptations and Tongues
Author: certainswagger
Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter)
Warnings: canon Peter/Claire
Spoilers: Up through "How To Stop an Exploding Man"
Notes: I know this took me forever to put up (it's not that great and it's not very long) but I've been without my muse for quite some time now. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it - I'll try not to take as long to finish the next chapter.

Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Of Temptations and Tongues

His hand crept onto her knee, gliding upward until his fingertips were tickling the sensitive skin on her thighs.

"Peter! We're at a children's movie!" Claire scolded him but smirked despite how wrong the entire situation was. He'd been looking at her as though he'd wanted to devour her all night.

Her uncle turned back to her and mirrored her smirk. "I don't see any children, Claire. It is 11:30 at night. Most children are in bed by this hour." He leaned into her, his teeth grazing her neck and then her ear. "I wouldn't mind being in bed right now." Claire gave an involuntary gasp at such a declaration and sank even lower in her seat, turning her face to meet his lips with her own.

"Whether there are or aren't kids here isn't my point." She mumbled against his lips, pressing hers to his before speaking again. "This is a Disney movie, Peter!" Her whisper was quiet but loud enough that he understood how adamant she was about kissing during a Disney movie.

She could feel him smirking against her lips and she could hear him laughing softly in the dark. "If you think you scolding me is going to stop me from getting this," his fingers brushed lightly over the cotton of her underwear, "you're out of your mind. So, I guess you're just going to have to punish me when we get home."

Claire sat up in bed, gasping for air and clutching her chest. Her dreams of Peter had never been so vivid or real. Angrily, she climbed out of bed wishing she had never woken up from that dream. Still half asleep and dazed from the dream still running through her mind, she realized that she'd be in a similar though less sexy situation later tonight.

"Tonight." She breathed the word into the calm air in her room. She closed her eyes for a moment, recalling Peter's voice and face in the dream. If only something like that would happen tonight. If only Peter wasn't Nathan's brother. If only her mother - her real mother - hadn't told Nathan that he was a father; specifically hers.

Grudgingly, Claire rolled out from the covers and slipped her feet into her slippers. Quietly, she crept out of her room hoping not to wake anyone else who was sleeping - especially the boys. Those two were a handful whenever they were awake. As she entered the kitchen, her hands found the handle to the refrigerator and opened it.

"Bacon. Eggs. Cheese. OJ. Mmm..." she whispered aloud to herself, taking the food out and setting them on the counter to the left. Once everything was out, she shut the door and began picking out eggs.

"You're up early." A familiar voice broke the silence in the kitchen, making Claire drop the egg where it splattered all over the linoleum floor.

"Jesus Christ, Peter." Her hand flew to her heart and she took a deep, shuddering breath. "What are you doing up at this hour?" She whispered harshly at him before grabbing a towel to clean up the mess.

"I had a crazy dream; woke me up. So, I figured I'd come down here to get something to eat." She turned her back and bent down to wipe the egg off of the floor. "Looks like you had the same idea. Bad dream?"

She smirked knowing he couldn't see her face. "Something like that." Another moment passed before she stood and flung the towel into the sink.

"You sit, I'll cook." Peter commanded, placing his hand on her shoulder. Their eyes made contact for a brief moment before she nodded and walked over to the breakfast table.

Once he'd beat the eggs, Peter was picking out ingredients for an omelet. "What do you want in your omelet?" He didn't look up as he spoke.

"How about some jalapeños?" This caused him to look up, eyebrows raised and an amused smile playing at his lips.

"Jalapeños? They're pretty hot." He warned her, laughing softly.

"I like hot food."

"Aren't you the wild one..." His gaze lingered for a moment before he began chopping up the peppers.

"You have no idea." Claire whispered softly. She noticed as she said it, however, that Peter stopped the knife mid-air before continuing.

Finally, after what seemed like forever and multiple stomach rumblings later, Peter placed a hot omelet in front of her. Claire dug in quickly, shoveling a second forkful in her mouth before she'd swallowed the first one.

"Pe-uhr. Thish ish sho goo'!" She exclaimed with the yellow egg still in her mouth. Rather than saying "Thank you" or "I'm glad you like it." He leaned against the counter facing her and smirked.

She swallowed what she had in her mouth. And then it hit her all at once.

Her mouth was on fire.

"Peter! Holy crap, Peter!" She stuck her tongue out into the air, hoping maybe that would lessen the spiciness. "Those jalapeños..."

"They're hot, I know. I tried to warn you." The smirk stayed on his face as he stepped closer to her. His voice dropped and he stepped right up to her. "Maybe you just need something to cool you down." She saw his eyes trace her lips before meeting hers.

Before she could speak (although with the shock of his statement and the fire in her mouth she probably couldn't anyway) he thrust a glass of water in front of her face. She snatched it out of his hand and drank the entire thing.

"Hot enough for you?" His eyes stayed fixed on hers as she finished the water.

She moved closer to him as she spoke. "Not in the least. You could do better, Peter." Claire stepped to the side and walked out of the kitchen with more than just her mouth on fire.

Close Encounters, Chapter 3

2007-11-26T04:41:40Z

Title: Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Chapter: Chapter 3 Of Bare Bodies and Hot Showers
Author: certainswagger
Rating: M (just some allusions to sex. Nothing too graphic.)
Warnings: canon Peter/Claire
Notes: An Invitation to Sin is a real book by Suzanne Enoch. This chapter isn't quite as humorous as the past two; I figure you need a good balance of comedy and angst (it also doesn't help that I wrote this listening to Damien Rice). Aaaand, we get some Peter POV, too. Enjoy!!

Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Of Bare Bodies and Hot Showers

Upon arriving back at the house, Claire promptly yelled a 'goodnight' to everyone and raced up the stairs to her room. In typical girlish fashion, she flung herself onto her king size bed, groaning and muttering about, "Peter, you stupid ass."

She put her hands under her bed and pulled out a medium size brown package with the Amazon symbol in the top left corner.

"Yes!" Claire grabbed the sharp nail file on her dresser and tore open the tape placed over the middle of the box. Setting aside the nail file, she gently pulled the flaps open and brushed aside the packing peanuts. She pulled the book out slowly, revealing a pink paperback with the title An Invitation to Sin written in purple curly letters on the front.

"It's like my impure thoughts follow me around..." Claire muttered before opening the book up to Chapter 1 to begin reading.

After three hours of Lord Zachary and Caroline petting and touching each other, Claire had finished her most recent Amazon purchase. Embarassed, tired, and hungry, she shuffled out of her room quietly and began walking toward the stairs. Before she'd taken more than three steps, the door to the bathroom opened without a noise and Peter stepped out without having noticed her.

Claire tried not to let out an animal-like growl as Peter emerged, steam rising from his torso and a very small towel threatening to fall off of his hips. If that book hadn't made her wet, she knew she was now. While she was enjoying the view immensely, she silently begged that Peter not turn around to see her staring at him and licking her lips Her eyes traveled over his shoulders, broad and strong. His hands were running through his wet hair, pushing it away from his eyes. And she could just see the curve of his thighs to his butt. Claire, stunned and more turned on than she'd ever been, rubbed her thighs together and bit her lip.

Thankfully, he turned and walked toward his room, giving Claire the chance to check out his full backside. She gave a (delighted) shiver and made her way down the winding stairs. Her feet felt cold as she softly padded across the marble floor toward the kitchen.

Claire flung open the refrigerator and grabbed a cheesecake bar from that night. Taking a bite, her mind began to conjure images of her mouth around Peter's finger...her mouth on Peter...her mouth on Peter's lean, but still nicely built torso...her mouth on...she finished the treat and raced up to her room.

Needless to say, Claire didn't sleep very well that night.

Peter rested on his bed, staring at the ceiling recalling what he had felt just moments before. He'd just finished taking a hot shower - he'd had a slight problem after that limo ride back home.

He knew it was wrong. It was sick and twisted and yet there he'd been, getting off in the shower to the vision of his niece, taking him in her mouth like she had that piece of cheesecake. Her blonde head bobbing up and down, humming while she pushed him over the edge. He'd had to brace himself against the wall as he came, murmuring her name even though she wasn't there to hear it.

He'd toweled off and looked at himself in the mirror, scolding himself out loud. "You're a sick fuck, you know that? She's your niece, Peter!" He looked at himself, brow furrowed, eyes aflame and all he could say was, "She's your niece." He opened the door and stepped out, pushing back his hair and thinking angrily.

But he'd felt her presence. God, he always knew when she was looking at him. It was like a room of piercing gazes; picking him apart, studying him.

It would have been so simple. All he needed to do was turn, look at Claire and smile. What are you doing up so late?

It would have been so perfect. All she would need to do is turn and say something like, I couldn't stop thinking of you, Peter. I never stop thinking of you.

It wasn't that simple though, was it? Lord knows, she'd been disgusted like she probably always is. Well aware of her pervy uncle; the way he watches her and invites her to movies where he'll keep her out all night as he'd so gently put it.

So he ignored her and walked to his room, completely unaware of her aching heart and body.

Close Encounters, Chapter 2

2007-11-26T04:40:19Z

Title: Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Chapter: Chapter 2 Of Possible Innuendos and Accidental Flirting
Author: certainswagger
Rating: PG (for this chapter)
Warnings: canon Peter/Claire
Spoilers: Up through "How To Stop an Exploding Man"

Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Of Possible Innuendos and Accidental Flirting

After being blinded by paparazzi for nearly twenty minutes, the Petrelli's slid into the stretch limo that hauled them everywhere. Climbing in, Claire wished with all of her might that Peter wouldn't seat himself next to her. If he did, she'd have to worry about their hands brushing against one another, which, under normal circumstances would lead to hand holding, or if their knees touched, or if he could hear her heart getting ready to burst out of her chest. But just her luck, he plopped down next to her and turned his head to smile at her.

"Hey." She nearly groaned on the spot. Only Peter Petrelli could make the word hey sound sexy and dangerous. He really didn't say all that much unless something important was going on. On any normal day, it was short sentences and one word answers.

"Hey."

The pair glanced at Nathan and Angela, currently immersed in a heated discussion about...well, it could have been about politics or what they'd be eating for dinner the following evening. They were always arguing about something; Angela's eyes narrowed at her son and Nathan pacing, or in this case, twisting toward and away from his mother.

Finally, after what seemed like centuries, Peter leaned toward her, whispering near her ear without looking at her.

"I snagged a ton of those cheesecake bars before we left. I figure, they're just going to throw them out anyway. Why not put them to good use, right? I put them in a box and gave them to Frank (the driver) and told him to hang on to them until we get back to the house. Now you can eat them to your heart's content."

Great. Just what she needed. She had a feeling that every time she ate one of those things she'd picture herself with her mouth around Peter's finger. Great.

"Yum." Claire opened her eyes wide and smiled with all her might. She couldn't deny that they were delicious even if they now had an...interesting memory attached to them.

"So, I was wondering, Pirates of the Caribbean is showing tomorrow night and I thought maybe we could go, check it out, have a giant," he spread his hands wide to show what he meant by giant, "bag of popcorn...that is, unless you have some big college party to get to." He nudged her. Nathan and Peter were always dropping the word college into their sentences, giving her pointed looks and smirking.

"No." Claire was sure she had actually cut him off before he'd finished his sentence. "Uh, nope. No parties. Tomorrow night is free. Free as a bird." Mentally, she slapped herself on the forehead. Could she sound any more desperate.

"Well, not any more." He leaned in close to her and suddenly, his hand was on her knee. That skin on skin contact...there was nothing relative about that. But his face didn't give away any hints that he was thinking along the same lines as she was. "You're stuck with me all night."

And just what did that mean? All night? Not that she minded but the fact was, that could mean anything. That could mean:

A: The movie is ridiculously long.
B: Not only are we going to go to a movie, we are also going to get dinner, ice cream, and walk around the city until the wee hours
C: We are going to going to go to the movie and then we'll sneak off somewhere so that we can get it on.

Claire smiled, despite herself, and hoped with every fiber in her body that C was the answer.

"Speaking of college," nudge, smirk, "how's it going? Classes all right?" His body turned to her and he leaned in just slightly, but removed his hand from her knee.

She shrugged and glanced away for a moment. "Oh, you know. It's college." Only a little vague.

"Yeah...so have you been to any wild parties yet? Any special guys in your life right now?" Just you, stupid.

"I kind of outgrew the whole party thing in high school." She turned her head to see his reaction. He raised his eyebrows and a slow smile spread across his face.

That was a new one. Peter had certain smiles and this one...Claire hadn't seen this one up until now. She wasn't entirely sure how to describe it. Interested and stimulated.

"Is that right? I guess I can see that." He tilted his head, like he was actually trying to picture her tipsy with a drink in her hand. "Well, you were a cheerleader. I shouldn't be all that surprised."

And then the words flew out of her mouth before she could hold them back.

"You don't know the half of it."

It took everything in her not to clap a hand over her mouth. Instead, she looked him dead in the eye and gave him a playful smirk.

As if on cue, the limo came to a stop in front of the Petrelli mansion and the driver opened the door. Nathan and Angela got out of the car, still going on about whatever. They looked toward one another, debating who should get out first when Peter spoke up.

"Ladies first." He motioned toward the door and raised his eyes to meet hers as she started to get out.

She was pretty sure he just wanted to get a look at her ass, though.

At least that's the last thing she prayed to God for before she went to bed.

Close Encounters, Chapter 1

2007-11-26T04:37:32Z

Title: Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Chapter: Chapter 1 Of Brushes and Glances
Author: certainswagger
Rating: PG (for this chapter)
Warnings: canon Peter/Claire
Spoilers: Up through "How To Stop an Exploding Man"

Close Encounters of the Related Kind
Of Brushes and Glances

God, I hope no one chose that moment to take a picture of me. Claire Bennet (though really a Petrelli) thought to herself. Peter Petrelli (her uncle) had just leaned in towards the microphone with a clever quip tumbling out of his (adorable peach colored) mouth. The audience, full of the press and Petrelli supporters laughed. While they had been laughing and looking toward one another, Claire had her eyes set on her uncle, gazing at him with a feeling she could hardly begin to identify.

And just as the thought crossed her mind that a photographer might have captured that...feeling, Peter leaned back and away from the microphone, turning his head to look at her. Gasping softly, Claire twisted her head away quickly and flashed a smile to the dimly lit room in front of her. Even though her eyes were completely avoiding Peter, she knew that he was looking at her still, head tilted and a curious (slightly crooked which only made it better) smile playing at his lips.

She'd read of women who got all hot and bothered over a man just staring at her, but she always took it for a load of crap. But now, under Peter's penetrating stare, she could practically feel the beads of sweat gathering along her brow line. Her eyes were begging to look at him, make eye contact and see his face. But she fought the urge and denied herself the satisfaction of seeing him looking at her.

Nathan - her father - had his hands on either side of the podium, leaning forward and saying something about how, now that he was back from his "family emergency" he was ready to get this city back to its "original splendor." Claire held back a snort as the words "family emergency" floated through the room. Yeah, your brother blowing up and you saving him just in the nick of time before I had to shoot him. I'll say that's a family emergency.

As of late, Claire had started to hate that word. Family. She loathed it so much, she'd refused to use it in any vocabulary at all. What was family, anyway?

She'd looked it up, just to see what Webster had to say about the word. She found that the definitions tended to work in her favor.

First off, she'd decided to regard it as a noun.

Definition 1: a group of individuals living under one roof and usually under one head
Definition 2: a group of persons with common ancestry
Definition 3: a group of people united by certain convictions or a common affiliation

It wasn't hard for Claire to let herself mold these definitions to her liking so that her guilt wouldn't eat away at her day after day.

Definition 1: Claire and Peter live in the same house and...well, like it or not, Angela seemed to run the whole damn place.
Definition 2: Technically, if you believe what the bible says, we're all related.
Definition 3: Claire and Peter wanted to save the world and make it a better place, easy as pie.

Her guilt lessened considerably after compiling the "family" list and reciting it to herself dozens of times.

When the speech was over, everyone who was anyone met in the back for punch and cookies and other delicious, overpriced food and drink. Claire cautiously made her way toward the table full of cheesecake bars. She had yet to encounter a bad tasting cheesecake bar.

"Aren't those the best?" Peter's voice stopped her hand inches from her mouth. Turning slowly, she set the treat back on the red, white, and blue napkin. He was leaning over to grab one himself, but his eyes were peering at her from the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah." She laughed softly and looked down at the floor. She used to be able to talk to him, to say whatever in front of him. But now that he'd started having such an intense effect on her, it was hard to get a word out. So, rather then making a fool of herself, Claire crammed as much of the bar into her mouth as she could and smiled weakly up at her uncle.

After a minute munching (and finally forcing down the giant piece of cheesecake) he laughed.

"What?" It was that laugh. He had a distinct laugh when he was amused by someone or something completely unaware of how entertaining they were being.

"You have a piece of..." he trailed off and hesitantly brought his hand up toward her mouth, a finger crooked to swipe at whatever bit of food was near her lip.

In a painstakingly slow motion, he brushed his finger across the corner of her mouth to show her a piece of cheesecake that had found a home there. Then, he did the most incredible thing. He held his finger out to her, more importantly, towards her mouth. Never breaking eye contact with Peter, Claire moved her face forward and enveloped his pointer finger with her mouth, closing her eyes and letting her tongue dart out to taste his finger tip.

I wish. Claire grumbled silently to herself.

Claire came out of her reverie as Peter brushed off the crumb on her cheek and smiled at her. "Got it."

Yesterday Never Tomorrows

2007-11-22T23:22:57Z

Title: Yesterday Never Tomorrows
Author: certainswagger
Rating: M
Disclaimer: JK owns everything.
Summary: They go to the room every night to forget. Even if just for that short time, the horrors around them fade away and they are free.

Some things last forever, why can't this last forever?
Nothing lasts forever, I hope this lasts forever.
- The Stills "Yesterday Never Tomorrows"

His fingers grazed my arm so lightly, I couldn't be sure if it had been he who touched my arm or if there was a draft in room number 10 at the Leaky Cauldron. The latter was more likely, but everytime I felt something of the sort, I hoped it had been him. My eyes scanned the room in the dim light and recalled the first time we had rented this room.

We'd been sitting at two different tables in the pub, trying to rid or minds of the monstrosities we couldn't stop no matter how hard we tried. My eyes were half shut and my fingers were wrapped around the handle of a glass. I don't recall what I was drinking, but whatever it was, it was strong. I glanced up momentarily, praying that I was not the only one who couldn't handle everything that was going on. I saw a few other people, mostly men, fragile and decaying before my eyes, before I noticed someone else; someone my age; someone who looked just as broken as me.

Malfoy.

Our eyes locked and without so much as a wink, a hand gesture, or a come hither look, we both stood and walked towards Tom. He observed us carefully, very much aware of the fact that we were on opposite sides and hated one another. He shrugged and pushed us a key, which Malfoy paid for with a nice tip included so that he might keep our secret.

After that night, we met every day. He didn't care; he could afford it. I didn't care; I could forget for just a while, for as long as I could.

"Again?" He looked at me, his eyes were dead, his hair was filthy, and his heart was hardly beating, but he was alive and he was hurting...just like me.

"Again." I rolled on top of him and bit into his neck, illiciting a moan from him. It was nice to know that at least this, at least I, could make him feel. We didn't bother with foreplay. We came here to forget and that's what we did. My mouth moved over his body before he grew restless and flipped me over. He pushed into me and dropped his head so that he was breathing into my ear. I clutched at his back and wrapped my legs around his hips.

My eyes shut and for once, I didn't see my friends, my teachers, and my family dying. I saw bursts of light, every color of the spectrum, etched into my eyelids. My eyes shut and for once, I didn't hear my friends, my teachers, and my family begging for their lives. I heard his shaky breathing and his moans mixing with my whimpers and my pleading for more! Harder! Faster!

I came and my entire body went limp and I fell back into reality and remembered. He came and he lowered his body onto mine, tucking his head into the crook of my neck. I ran my fingers up and down his back, enjoying the fact that someone so hard and callous could feel so soft.

I took in the room again and remembered that Harry often stayed in room 11 when at The Leaky Cauldron. I wondered what he would think if he'd heard me and Draco Malfoy going at it in the room next door to his. The bedpost smacking against the wall, my high-pitched pleases, and his "Oh Gods" barely escaping his mouth.

He wouldn't have cared, he was like a zombie now. He moved through the day without so much as a smile or a pleasantry here or there. Ron, Ginny, and his baby had been killed. If Voldemort couldn't kill Harry Potter, he'd kill Harry Potter's baby and make him live through all of the pain.

Malfoy and I didn't talk much. And if there was one thing we didn't talk about, it was tomorrow. Who knew if we'd make it through the night? If we'd be able to throw ourselves out of bed, get dressed, only to come here a few hours later, get undressed, and to throw ourselves back into bed. Tomorrow. Another day to get through. Another day to just stay alive. Another day to try and forget.

Camouflage

2007-11-22T23:20:16Z

Title: Camouflage
Author: certainswagger
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: JK owns everything.
Summary: Mysterious notes begin showing up at Hermione's house on Valentine's Day that make her do the strangest things.

Find the story of your own,
I'll take in anyone who's taking off their camouflage
- Third Eye Blind "Camouflage"

9 AM. February 14. Valentine's Day.

Tiny pink and red hearts danced around the date on Hermione's calendar. "Wonderful." She murmured, anticipating another boring Valentine's Day. It was the same thing year after year. Go to whoever was hosting a Valentine's Day party, eat homemade, typical, heart-shaped cookies that said words like 'Be mine' or 'Kiss me' (a few years ago she'd charmed them to say things like 'Sod off' and 'Stupid Half-Wit') Imagining other short, loveless phrases to put on the cookies this year, she pushed her feet into her frog-face slippers and went to her kitchen to brew some tea.

Her eyes were half shut as she made the tea, finally used to the kitchen and more than used to this morning ritual. Once her tea was made, she fell into a seat at her small table, ready to read the Daily Prophet. However, upon opening up her newspaper, a small envelope fell out.

Ready for a singing card inviting her to a party that evening, she braced herself. Her eyes shut and nose wrinkled, she was met with nothing. She opened one eye slowly to make sure that it wasn't a delayed singing card but saw only a small white piece of parchment in her hand.

Sometimes, I get out of the shower, put on my boxers, and dance around my flat listening to Def Leppard.

"What?" She looked around, waiting for something weird to happen. This note was out of the ordinary so something had to be going on. She waited. She looked. She read it. Ten times. "Who sends notes like this? Does anyone honestly feel so guilty that they should need to send such a statement to a perfect stranger?" She tossed the note onto the table, finished off her tea, and went to take a shower.

'That's so weird! It's probably a practical joke or maybe someone's owl delivered it to the wrong person? I don't know why anyone would ever mean to send a message like that intentionally, though. I mean Def Leppard...well, not that I don't mind some Def Leppard on occasion.' She thought and thought and scrubbed and cleaned, completely thrown off by the weird note delivered to her on this (odd and so far interesting) Valentine's Day.

Upon stepping out of the shower, Hermione stopped. After a moment's consideration, she grabbed her wand and flicked it towards her stereo. A few spells later and she had the song pounding from her speakers. Easing into the song, her head started bobbing, wet hair sticking to her face. She combed her hair out, quietly singing the words to herself. She could understand the note now.

She hooked her bra and pulled on her panties. "What the hell?" she laughed reached for her brush and began singing.

"Oh! Look what you've done to this rock 'n' roll clown! Oooh! Look what you've dooooone! Photograph...I don't want your..."

She flung open the bathroom door and strutted through her halls, enjoying this moment to its fullest. Stopping at her doorway, she put both hands on either side of the door frame. Swaying her hips and pouting her lips, she considered, singing to an imaginary someone. She twirled to her bed and sat down, snatching a pair of socks along the way. Though socks are not at all sexy, she pulled them on in the most sensual way possible. Once they were on, she exited her bedroom and stopped. Staring straight forward, her smile broadened and she took a deep breath. At just the right moment in the song (2:26), she broke into a quick run and then slid on her socks (Risky Business style) into her living room.

Her dance continued until the song ended and she realized that so far, this was the best Valentine's Day she had ever had. She didn't care that she was alone. She didn't care that the party tonight might be horrible. She didn't care that while people around her would be smiling, she would be filled with self-pity. She did however care that she had left her blinds open and that Mr. Fredericks, the 54 year old man who lived directly across from her probably saw her entire performance. She plucked her bathrobe from her closet and shut the blinds.

"The newspaper!" She proclaimed to no one in particular (perhaps Crookshanks) before returning to the table to get the paper, only to find another envelope just like the one she had opened earlier.

Sometimes, I suddenly have the urge to rearrange one of the rooms in my flat (sans-magic) because who says Feng Shui isn't real?

Knowing full well what she was about to do, Hermione peered out into her living room. The couch was...positioned all right. The telly...eh. But that chair! What was that even doing over there? She glanced once more at the small note resting on her table; she hoped she wasn't going crazy. One had already tempted and made her dance around almost entirely naked to 'Photograph' by Def Leppard and now she wanted to rearrange her living room?

"Might as well." Smiling again, she moved towards her couch. Taking in the layout of the room at the current time, she considered how to move everything. Finally settling on an arrangement, she began tugging the couch with all of her might.

After a measly six inches of movement, Hermione sighed. "Since this person is obviously a guy, he must be much stronger than I...so, maybe I'll use a little magic." She used her wand to make the heavy pieces of furniture easier to move around. The couch moved from the center of the room to right against the window. The telly from the wall of her front door to the wall of her kitchen. The chair from the corner of the room to the other side near the couch. And her coffee table from the front of the room right next to the couch. That left the entire front part
of her living room free. Now she could put something new in there!

She wiped her hands against one another and took in her work. It was a definite improvement; more spacious, cozier, and very...Feng Shui'd. "The Prophet!" Turning back towards the kitchen, she spotted yet another note. Without a moment’s hesitation, she rushed to the table and tore open the envelope.

Sometimes, I sit down and make lists.

Lists. Lists had her name written all over it. She loved being organized and keeping everything in a certain order.

"Oh, the lists I could make! Books I've read!" The grin fell quickly. "Not enough parchment or ink. Books I want to read!" It fell again. "Not enough time. Every boy I've ever liked." Again. "Too embarrassing. What if Ginny found it? I'd never hear the end of it." The topics in her mind rolled around and were given up on. She thought hard about what to list. She didn't want to pick anything too easy, like groceries. But she didn't want to think of anything too difficult, like the meaning of life. "People I'd like to give a second chance to. Perfect."

Selecting a piece of parchment from her large stack next to her desk, her favorite quill, and a bottle of ink, she wrote the title at the top and began her list.

1. Cho Chang - Harry liked her and she seemed smart. I felt really awful for her when Cedric died.
2. Millicent Bulstrode - A Slytherin, yes, but she really could have used a friend. Harry made that awful comment about her looking like a hag and I could have punched him. Honestly.
3. Blaise Zabini - Well, he is a total jerk much like Malfoy but...he's gorgeous.
4. Draco Malfoy - Intelligent. Attractive. Ass. Two out of three isn't that bad. Maybe he's changed.

She picked the list up with two fingers on each side and held it out. Tilting her head slightly, she decided she'd have to work on this more when she got a chance. Picking the quill up once again, she penned 'H.G' at the bottom right hand corner of her paper and set it aside.

Rising from her chair, a movement caught her eye and she turned quickly. Right there, trying to creep into her house unseen was a beautiful black owl, a very familiar envelope in its beak.

"Well, well...you must be the mysterious bird that's been bringing me the notes. You sure are a pretty bird, aren't you?" She moved towards the bird, speaking in her most soothing voice so as not to frighten in. It dropped the note in her hands as she approached. Smiling at the bird she asked it to wait for just a moment while she got it a treat. But as soon as she turned back around from getting the treat from the midnight colored owl, it was long gone, probably given orders not to be seen no matter what.

Hermione rushed to the window, hoping to at least see which direction the bird had flown off to. Alas, it was gone and could no longer be seen even in broad daylight. She glanced at the clock, seeing that it was now just a few minutes past noon. Carrying the envelope back to her bedroom, she flopped onto her bed and opened the letter.

Sometimes, I think about my first kiss and replace that girl (boy in your case) with other people to try and figure out how it might have been different.

Her eyes flew back to the part that read 'boy in your case' and blanched. This person knew exactly who they were writing to. It wasn't some random person sending notes to some random someone else. It was some person she couldn't identify sending notes to her. Why her? On Valentine's Day of all days. But the note was interesting. She'd never considered her first kiss being someone else or what it would be like to kiss anyone else for that matter.

Here it was though, the idea had presented itself and it was intriguing.

The first boy. Ron, of course. She closed her eyes, crossed her legs Indian style, and breathed deep.

Red hair. Molly's sweaters. Nutmeg and male sweat. Pink lips. Lips. Lips. Kissing. She could feel his lips on hers. Tentative, unsure. Closed tight. Want. Not a sexual want; she wasn't aroused. It was the want for Ron to elicit some kind of feeling from deep within her. It wasn't there though.

Brown hair. The cold feeling of glasses skimming her skin. Mint and some kind of calogne she couldn't put her finger on. Soft lips, the light feeling of his tongue. She could feel his hands moving to touch her but it wasn't right. It felt okay - nice. But it wasn't right.

More red hair. More of Molly's sweaters. Spicy was the only word to describe this one. More red hair? Lips touching her neck and lips touching her mouth. Experienced. Weird. Not that she didn't love the twins she just didn't love them at the same time; which was not to say that one at a time would not be good. It felt like fun.

Blonde hair. Much taller. Well dressed and arrogant. Definitely experienced and eager. Adventure and trouble was radiating off of him. But something was off. Imaginary-First-Kiss-Hermione opened her eyes and gaped. Gilderoy Lockhart?!? Her eyes snapped shut.

Blonde hair. Still taller. Well dressed, arrogant, different. Experienced and gentle. He smelled like clean clothes and vanilla. The softest lips she'd ever felt and his tongue rubbed against hers. His fingers moving from her face, down to her shoulders - not leaving her body once. His fingers stopped at a button on her blouse as if to say "Is this okay?" He pulled away from her, waiting for her response. She struggled to breathe and open her eyes. Finally a "yes" escaped from between her lips and her brown eyes met with grey.

"Draco Malfoy?!?" Her eyes - her real eyes - flew open and her hand clamped over her mouth. "No way in hell." Her voice shook for a moment, surprised at her reaction to just thinking about Draco Malfoy kissing her, touching her.

She jumped from her bed, anxious to move and try to get her mind off of Malfoy. The clock in her room read 3:30. That had been an awful long fantasy.

"Fantasy?" She whispered aloud to herself. Was that what it had been? A fantasy? She wasn't sure but she knew she had to do something. Perhaps another note had arrived while she was preoccupied with the thought of multiple males kissing her. To her delight, she spotted a new envelope on her coffee table.

Sometimes, I make this sandwich: grilled chicken, bacon bits (which I cut up myself), lettuce, (slightly melted) American cheese, and honey mustard on Italian bread.

He'd gone from dancing in his underwear, to moving furniture, to writing lists, to fantasizing about his first kiss to...making sandwiches? She shook her head, disgruntled and let down. This whole 'mystery admitter' was starting to get on her nerves. All day long she'd been looking forward to a new note as they became increasingly more interesting. But this! A recipe? He had to be kidding.

Sighing, she flung her refrigerator door open and pulled out raw chicken, raw bacon, lettuce, American cheese, bread, and honey mustard. She laid everything out on her countertop and began preparing. Five minutes later she was set to begin. "Grill. Check. Stove. Check. Lettuce. Check." Now, all she had to do was grill the chicken. Fry and cut up the bacon. And slightly melt the cheese.

Twenty five minutes later, the sandwich sat in front of her, ready to be eaten. "This had better be the greatest sandwich I've ever had." Picking up the sandwich, she took a big bite. Chewing thoughtfully, her taste buds took in every flavor of her creation; his recipe. "Oh." She swallowed. "Oh, this is delicious." She smiled and took another huge bite. She continued eating, like if she stopped she'd die on the spot. No more than seven minutes later, her eyes were shut and she was licking her lips. "I have to put this recipe somewhere I'll never lose it."

Though she wanted to keep the taste of the sandwich in her mouth forever, she knew that the little bits of lettuce and chicken stuck between her teeth would drive her mad if she didn't brush her teeth. So, she trudged to her bathroom, ready to freshen her breath and clean up her teeth. After 'pasting' the brush, she flicked her wand and smiled as Def Leppard filled the flat with lovely sounds yet again.

"You gah so' kina hol' on me, you're awl' wrapp' up in a myshery." She butchered the words while she brushed her teeth, enjoying the music and the bits of food that would not be bothering her all day long.

With a final spit and a quick gurgle, she was ready to move on to the next activity. Unfortunately, when she looked at her kitchen table for the next envelope, not one was to be found. She stomped her foot, throwing a tantrum at someone who could've been over in the States for all she knew. She opened her window and peered outside. No black bird, no handsome man on a broom, just cool air and blue sky all around. Cursing quietly, she shut the window and sat down on the couch.

The next thing she knew, she was waking up on the couch. After rubbing her eyes for at least 30 seconds, she managed to focus on the clock.

"Seven! I slept for three hours!" She bolted up from her sofa and looked around. Her eyes fell onto another envelope right next to her on the coffee table.

"He wrote again." Heart racing, she came to a horrible realization. This mystery writer had captured her. How seriously? She didn't know. But she knew that all day long she'd become increasingly more excited as she opened the envelopes. And she knew that she wanted to meet him. He'd capture some part of her.

Opening the envelope, now nervous about what it might say, she pulled the note out.

Sometimes, I go to the The Three Broomsticks around 8 'o' clock wearing a red robe, hoping to meet someone again for the first time.

Was that an invite? That had to be an invite. What else could that be? It didn't matter; she'd been doing everything the notes had been saying all day so why not this one?

"Because he might be a Death Eater." She murmured and mentally slapped herself. "He's not a Death Eater. He sent me a recipe for Merlin's sake!" 7:10. It was 7:10. "He might be someone I detest or don't want to be with on Valentine's Day. Like Marcus Flint." She shuddered before realizing she had only 50 minutes to get ready for some weird kind of blind date.

She chose something new to listen to and rushed to the bathroom. After ten minutes of fiddling, she decided to style her hair in a chignon. Twenty minutes, her eyelids had a light purple color brushed on top of them, her eyelashes black and long, her lips a peachy-pink color, and her cheeks were rosy. She put her last ten minutes towards dressing. Sliding clothes back and forth on the rack in her closet, her eyes fell on a violet dress she'd forgotten about. The dress reached just past her knees, had a modest V-neck, and a low back.

This moment was significant enough for her that she decided to use the Mirror Critic she'd used only once before (Yule Ball.) She whispered the incantation to show the woman in mirror that would tell her if her outfit was 'fit' for the occasion.

"Granger! It's been ages, doll. And look at you. It must've been much longer than I thought!" The woman took in Hermione's appearance. "I don't know where you're going but I know it's Valentine's Day and I know that if you leave there without a Valentine then every man there must be blind!" She laughed and disappeared from the mirror.

Spinning around nervously, Hermione looked at her clock for the last time. 8:03. Perfect. With a pop! she apparated to The Three Broomsticks to meet her unidentified writer.

She landed gracefully in front of the door to The Three Broomsticks. With a calming breath and a quick hand-held mirror check, she pushed open the door.

Hermione took in the scene in front of her. A sea of reds and pinks crashed around her. Valentine's Day! Of course there would be people in red robes! Either this bloke took note of this or he had failed to realize the color most often associated with Valentine's Day.

"Bugger." She muttered to herself, bowing her head and stalking towards the bar. Finally finding a seat, Hermione fell onto the stool and sighed. Typical. Of course something like this should happen to her; just when Valentine's Day was starting to look up for her. Unbelievable. She motioned with her hand to the bartender, hoping she could get even a dribble of alcohol flowing through her system. "Just one drink. A sip. A drop." Her hand fell on to the table, defeated and depressed. Her eyes searched, hoping that someone would see her and wave at her in an I'm-The-Guy sort of way. Such a wave never came but the bartender finally did. "A Firewhiskey, please."

Once the bartender had left to get her drink, a "finally" escaped her lips. She checked her watch 8:10. Not too early to be getting drunk.

"Sometimes, I get nervous around women and decide to come up with a plan so that in case I should actually lose my nerves, I can still bail out without coming off like a Hufflepuff." Her body stilled and her eyes widened as the soft and obviously nervous words fell onto her ears. He had shown, he had found her.

'What do I do? What do I do?' For a moment, her entire body was frozen and she felt like if she moved, every bone would break on the spot. Once she'd gathered her confidence she turned to meet her note-sender.

"Draco." Her voice hitched and she could feel herself growing warm all over. He licked his lips, trying to calm himself down, and Hermione took special note of that. All normal thought was overcome by the thought of kissing him like in her fantasy earlier. "Those notes..."

"Yes, those notes. They did in fact come from yours truly and are to remain between us." Us. Her mind was spinning and she was on fire. She needed that drink now. Her neck craned to seek out the bartender and demand her Firewhiskey. She couldn't wait any longer.

"Yes." 'Come on, Granger! Something witty right now would be nice.' She looked down to see that her drink had arrived while she was busy making a fool out of herself. The drink was pulsing through her veins faster than she could say 'Merlin's Beard.' "So, all of that stuff..."

"Was true." His eyes focused on her. He was the sun and she was ice cream in a cone, melting all over and making a mess.

"Why did you send the notes to me, though?" She couldn't help it. It was the one question she'd been willing herself not to ask but it came tumbling out before she could stop it. He laughed, a deep, throaty laugh and smiled at her.

"Why you? Because." He grabbed a stool and pulled it towards him before sitting on it. "Because, if there's ever been anyone not afraid to be herself, it's you. Even if I did call you a Mudblood - sorry - you just let me have it." His eyes raked over her body with the last part. "You never pretended not to be a bookworm and you never acted as though you liked someone when you didn't. I've always respected you for that, Hermione. Even if it wasn't obvious, I did. So, I figured if anyone could appreciate my...quirks, it would be you." He smirked and took a drink of whatever it was that she had ordered.

"But what does that have to do..."

"I mean that for the most part, you know me. I'm an arrogant jerk. I am as Slytherin as they get. I am a Malfoy. But I'm not a heartless, selfish, killing machine. Sometimes...we can't be ourselves, not our whole selves. That stuff...it's me, it's just not stuff I tell people normally or ever for that matter. Until tonight, that is." Hermione watched him run his finger around the rim of his glass. Such a simple gesture made her want to know what the rest of his body looked like, felt like. "So, tell me, what did you think of those notes?"

"They were...thoughtful." She swallowed hard, trying to control herself. She figured she was still in shock that Draco was the one who had been sending all of those truths. Never in a million years would she have guessed that Draco Malfoy danced around in his boxers...Draco in his boxers...Draco...boxers... "Oh, ah, I tried some of them out."

"Really?" He turned towards her, reaching hand out to brush her forehead. "Which ones?" His head tilted to the side, willing her to say something shocking.

"All of them?" Whether or not the answer was actually audible or not, she wasn't sure, but he understood her.

"And?" His fingers grazed her cheek and moved down to her collar bone slowly.

"And...that sandwich was delicious." No way was she going to admit that the simple notes had made her take most of her clothes off and dance around to Def Leppard. No way.

"And?" Apparently, Draco was feeling frisky that night as his skin touched hers, inching down to where the material of her dress met in a sharp V.

"And," she turned back towards the bar, drinking the new shot in front of her. "And my living room is finally centered."

"You danced around in your knickers to Def Leppard, didn't you?" His eyes were sparkling and his mouth spread across his face in pure amazement.

"I most certainly did not." She opened her purse and began rummaging through it to find the correct amount of money. Did she even remember to bring any money?

"You did too. I can tell. I can always tell when someone was taking advantage of an empty house and a wonderfully awful 80's band. And you...you've got the look." He beat her to the money and threw it on the counter. "So what color are your knickers, anyway?" His hand gently touched her stomach and she flushed.

"I'm not telling you what color my knickers are!" She looked down, paused, and looked back up at him. "Tell me what color yours are first." She lifted her chin proudly, unwavering and feeling bold. He leaned forward and placed his mouth by her ear.

"Black. Satin. And I've got plenty of pairs just like it so if you should feel the need to tear them off of me, you needn't worry about paying me back...well, at least not with currency." His tongue flicked out and grazed her earlobe, sending shivers all over her body.

"And who says I would ever want to tear your knickers off of your body, Draco Malfoy?" 'My heart is going to burst out of my chest. It's just going to explode out of my chest cavity and fall onto the ground.' She made her way to push past him and leave The Three Broomsticks. This Valentine's Day had proven much too intense as far as she was concerned.

"I don't think you can deny it. Especially not after you thought about me being your first kiss." She stopped in her tracks just outside the door of The Three Broomsticks. No way could he have known about that. "It's okay, I thought about you, too. And I'm wondering, was your fake first Draco kiss as good as my fake first Hermione kiss?"

'Do it. Do it. Just say it. It's Valentine's Day and ass or not, Draco Malfoy is looking deeeeelectable tonight. You've been celibate for months now and he's standing in front of you, obviously waiting for you to make the real move.' She wasn't sure how long she was silent, arguing with herself about whether or not tonight would be the night she snogged Draco Malfoy.

"Why don't we find out?" There it was. There it was! She'd said it! Now what? What happens now?

It didn't take long to find out when his lips were pressing against hers, better than she could have ever imagined. She inhaled. Clean clothes and vanilla, just as she'd imagined him. Her fingers tangled in his hair, surprisingly soft after all of those years of excessive gel use.

"Do you want to dance?" He spoke softly against her lips, breaking the kiss before she wanted him to.

"Right now?" Before he answered her, he'd apparated them to what she assumed was his (immense) flat. "Merlin, is this place yours?"

"No, I just took it upon my self to apparate into someone else's house." His voice was covered in sarcasm and at her stern look he rolled his eyes and responded seriously. "Yes. This place is mine. Now, how about that dance?" In a matter of seconds, he'd removed all of their clothes leaving only their undergarments on. She smiled, hoping she'd caught on to his game correctly. Her smile broadened even more when she heard the music.

They both broke out in ridiculous dance moves instantaneously, laughing and yelling along to the music. He grabbed her hand and twirled her, adding some...ah, saucy dance moves in there before pulling her in close.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Hermione."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Draco."

"Oh and Hermione, there's something you should know about me," she braced herself. 'He's going to admit it. He is a Death Eater and this was all just a ploy to kill me.'

"...I'm an animagus." Her eyes widened in horror. He couldn't possibly mean... "A pretty bird, as a matter of fact.

The Valentine War

2007-11-22T23:12:18Z

Title: The Valentine War
Author: certainswagger
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: JK owns everything.
Summary: It's Valentine's Day and an unexpected someone might just warm up Hermione's loveless day.

Hermione Granger glanced up from her immense stack of papers to look out through her office windows, only to be greeted with an inevitably bothersome sight. Sure enough, just as she had suspected when she rolled out of bed that morning, miniature Cupids, arrows of love, and hearts were fluttering throughout The Daily Prophet headquarters. She sighed in annoyance, which she assured herself was only because people had no sense of responsibility anymore. It could never be that the Gryffindor feared that she would once again spend Valentine’s Day all on her own.

As she contemplated possible ways that all of the Cupids might lose their wings – completely on accident, of course – her least favorite co-worker greeted her from the doorway.

“What’s the matter, Granger? Weasel just not cutting it as your Valentine this year?” He smirked in a not-so-cruel, although still Malfoyish manner and strode to her desk. Hermione glared at him, then rolled her eyes and set down the article she was editing.

“Perhaps if Ron,” she bit out the name, still irritated by the fact that Draco couldn’t stop using stupid school names, “had ever been my Valentine, that might be the case. However, as you most certainly ought to know after all of the years we’ve been regrettably around one another, I neither celebrate nor enjoy Valentine’s Day. In fact, you could say that I despise this holiday – if you can even call it that.” She huffed and turned back to her papers, thinking about every word she could possibly muster to describe her attitude towards February 14.

“And everyone says that I have no heart! Come on, Granger, you have to admit that it’s sort of fun.” The smirk was still plastered on his face, though it had turned into a sort of strange smile.

“No, I most definitely do not have to admit that it’s sort of fun.” She had only recently noticed that while the two enemies had grown up and matured, they still had petty fights like this constantly. Less violent and harsh, but silly fights nonetheless.

“I’ll tell you what isn’t sort of or even remotely fun – you!” Hermione burst out laughing as the door slammed shut, unsure of whether or not that had been Draco Malfoy or a four year old child speaking the words.

A light tap at the door shook Hermione out of her intense concentration on the paperwork still spread out in front of her. Her eyes narrowed at the impish Cupid grinning back at her.

“What do you want, you naked boy faerie?” She cringed at the insult she directed at her visitor. She mouthed the words to herself as a disgusted look crossed her face.

“It has come to my attention that you’ve come in contact with an infection. Your heart is cold, covered in mold, but deep down you know that love is like gold!” The disgusted look remained on her face as the Cupid rhymed ridiculously.

“Is it necessary for you to rhyme? You do it very poorly.” She sneered before standing to turn her back on him.

“I rhyme wherever love may take me, maybe if you tried it out you’d see.” He made a small whooping noise before fluttering out of the door and shutting it quietly. She had hoped for years that she would never have to deal with a Cupid. Alas, she’d received a visit from one and in her opinion, she couldn’t grasp why people actually liked them.

Turning back to her desk now that the uninvited guest had left her office, Hermione found a giant Valentine looking back at her.

“Bloody hell! I wish Ron would figure out that I do not like him!” she yelled at no one in particular before snatching the card and opening it up to read the lovely message inside.

I thought it was time that you and Cupid met.

Hermione’s eyes flicked up and glanced around nervously. Who had sent it? Who was under the impression that she had ever or would ever want to personally come in contact with a Cupid? She walked to the door and threw it open, leaning out to search for someone laughing or chatting with her cherub. However, as soon as her eyes fell upon Draco Malfoy, his eyes widened to the size of saucers and he slammed his door shut.

“Ha, ha, very funny. Who knew that Draco Malfoy had a single funny bone in his body? We’ll see who’s laughing later on…” A very small, uncharacteristically evil smile crossed Hermione’s lips as she sat down to devise a plan.

Draco Malfoy looked up, startled, as roughly forty charmed paper hearts burst into his office. They settled on his desk, looking at him expectantly, before one cleared its throat.

“A one, two…a one, two, three, four!” one of the hearts yelled out before all of them burst out singing. “Draco Malfoy, hair so white/It’s such a shame that you’re not that bright! Ladies left and ladies right/it’s no wonder that they all took flight! You’re not too bad at Potions, I guess/But you know that I’ll always be better nonetheless!” The magicked paper hearts exploded into tiny hearts before disintegrating in the air.

Draco Malfoy sat flabbergasted. Shocked, irritated, and impressed by the song that had just been performed for him, he laughed out loud as the words sank in and he began thinking of a retaliatory Valentine of his own. He rubbed his hands together, ready to get to work on the corrupted “love” note.

Hermione Granger thought she was ready for the next one. She knew that Draco Malfoy wouldn’t give up without a fight and she had been counting on something. But this…this was total lunacy! She had been sitting at her desk, making plans for the next step in whatever this strange game was, when a man she did not recognize stepped into her office.

“Ah, can I help you?” she asked, mystified. He was dressed in business attire so she wasn’t sure whether or not this man was here on business or if he was here on mischief.

“Oh, no, I’ve already been told what to do. Just sit back and your office will be finished in a matter of seconds!” The small wizard smiled politely before conjuring what looked like paint and other room decorations.

“I’m sorry, but you must have the wrong building…or room at the very least.” Hermione shook her head, dreading what he would say next.

“You are Miss Hermione Granger, are you not?” The little man quirked his head at her, already dipping the brush into the paint.

“Well, yes, but you see, my room doesn’t need any redecorating…” She trailed off, not necessarily meaning that it couldn’t use some fresh paint she just didn’t want…this paint.

“Says who? You just sit back, pretty lady, and get ready to be amazed!” he yelled and finally moved towards a wall. Hermione made a motion to stop the wizard from doing something terrible but it was all over in the blink of an eye. She shook her head to make sure that what had just happened had really happened.

Her once simple office had turned into a shrine to Draco Malfoy; images of him in Quidditch robes, formal attire, day clothes, and… a nude shot. And they were all grinning at her, as though they knew what their purpose was in the room.

“I…I…get rid of it! This instant! If you don’t get rid of these…despicable and unwanted images on my walls, I will call your employer and have you fired faster than you can say ‘Merlin’s Beard!’ Now, clean this up and get out!” Her hands flailed as she shouted at the “artist.”

“Sorry, miss, it’s already been paid for and there’s nothing I can do about it. It will wear off in about…oh, I’d say two months give or take. Oh! And this was to be delivered along with the office revamping.” He stepped up to her desk and dropped a small card.

Hermione picked up the card and hesitantly read the words scrawled across it. Just in case those magazines stashed in your top drawer aren’t fulfilling their duty.

Hermione dropped the card, horrified that Draco Malfoy, of all people, knew where she kept her stash! She quickly unlocked the drawer only to find that her “private” magazines had been replaced with pictures of Draco Malfoy – winking, groaning, stripping, or showering.

Without being able to help it, her eyes traveled south on the pictures before one of the Draco’s called her on it.

“Tsk, tsk, Granger. No peeking. Plus, it’s better in person! What say you swing by my office and find out for yourself?” He winked again before Hermione slammed the drawer shut and locked it for good measure.

This was most definitely not the Valentine’s Day she had been expecting. Not at all.

Her eyes were ablaze as she rooted through her boxes in her office. She had to find one thing; her Hogwarts yearbook. She knew that there were some terribly embarrassing pictures of Malfoy in a few of them (she’d have to remember to thank Colin Creevey for taking so many pictures, even if they were slightly creepy.) She laughed as she looked at third year Malfoy in the Hospital, moaning about his arm hurting and in the same year, being slapped by her. It was all too perfect!

She copied and enlarged multiple pictures before putting adhesive on the back and posting them all over the fourth floor of The Daily Prophet headquarters.

‘We’ll see just how attractive he looks to the females here after they see these pictures!’ She thought to herself, slapping photographs to doors, windows, and stairwells. People looked at her curiously for a while before looking at the photos. Now, all she had to do was sit back and get ready for chaos to ensue.

Not even ten minutes after the pictures were up, Cal Ripton knocked on Draco’s door, picture in hand. The door swung open, where Draco greeted Cal with a smile.

“Draco, buddy, how were your days back in Hogwarts?” Cal’s Cheshire cat grin stretched from one ear to the other as a curious look spread across Draco’s pale one.

“Uh, well, they were fine I guess. What’s all this about?”

“It’s just that, well, you seemed kind of like a stupid prat!” Now Cal was flat out laughing, along with other spectators in the office who had stopped working to witness this event unfold.

“How the bloody hell would you know what I was like in Hogwarts? Have you been talking to someone? Potter? Yeah, that Potter would badmouth me, just because I was better than him at… everything!” The red of his cheeks against his pale skin was truly a sight to behold as his voice rose with every word he shouted.

“Here. Just take a look at this.” Cal murmured quickly, thrusting the image into Draco’s hand before getting the hell out of there. Draco flipped the paper and perused it, slowly beginning to understand exactly what was going on.

It was the picture of him bedridden, yelling something to Colin about “shoving your wand so far up your arse to a place Weasley wouldn’t go even if he does like boys!”

He laughed for a moment at his clever remark before he noticed that pictures like this were all over the building.

Hermione couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t think he liked it all too much as his eyes sought her out.

He frowned slightly before returning to his office, shutting the door behind him gently.

After waiting a good twenty-five minutes, Hermione couldn’t wait any longer to see what was going on with the devious Slytherin. Had she hurt his feelings with a silly Valentine’s Day prank? Was he pretending to be hurt just so that he could get her back at the end of the day? Until she talked to him, she couldn’t be sure.

She rapped on the door before pushing her way in, only to be greeted by Draco’s back. She stood silently for a few moments, waiting for him to greet her, before she spoke up.

“Hey…Draco.” She very rarely used his first name but decided that this moment would be a good time to use it. “So, look, I uh…I thought that it would be funny what with your little painter friend fixing up my office.”

Silence.

“If you’re, um, angry at me, I’m sorry. It wasn’t meant to be hurtful or anything or…you know.” God, she thought to herself, I sound like a moron. He sighed softly, quietly enough so that she wasn’t sure if he had actually sighed or if she was imagining it.

Still nothing.

“I’m just going to go get back to some paperwork, if you need anything, or want to…send any more Cupids or maybe shoot me with a bow – a real bow, if you like – you know where I’ll be…” she trailed off, then slipped out of his office.

She couldn’t help but wonder, after her mean prank, if Draco Malfoy had felt like this for seven years at school.

She had to do something nice. She had to embarrass herself enough so that the attention would be taken off of Draco, so that he could forgive her, and so that she could forgive herself. She admitted that it wasn’t terrible – he’d done things much worse. But she…she was usually nice, she usually didn’t go out of her way to humiliate other people. So it looked as though she’d just have to humiliate herself.

“Marla!” Hermione called to her secretary, “I have to run out for a bit. I should be back soon. If anyone owls for me while I’m gone, just tell them it will have to wait.” She was out the door before Marla could respond, clearly on a very important mission.

Moments later, she’d entered a costume shop. She looked for a few minutes before giving up and decided to ask someone who worked at the shop if they had something more… suitable for her.

“I…do you happen to carry anything that resembles…Cupid?” She blushed, feeling stupid as she asked for a Cupid costume. It probably wasn’t the most popular costume that people wanted to buy, but she needed it. Badly.

“Dear! We’ve got everything under the sun! You just come with me to the back where we have our holiday costumes!” The old witch, whose nametag showed the name Dora, led her towards the back of the costume shop. After a few minutes of grumbling and tossing other costumes aside, she found what she was looking for. “Wha’ about this little thing?” She held up a Cupid costume that had more ah…coverage than what she’d been hoping for.

“Well, you see, I was actually looking for something a little…less modest than what you’ve got there.” The blush that was already on her face brightened to an almost unnatural shade of red as the old witch snickered quietly.

“Oh, I see! A gift for the hubby, eh?” She laughed, extracting her wand from her pocket.

“Oh! No! Merlin, no! I just, ah…” her palms were sweating. This was an awfully awkward position for her to be in. “It’s a, uh, joke!”

“Well, it’s going to be a greatly appreciated joke, dear. Now, you want something more revealing, then? You give me one second and I’ll make all of the modifications.” She practically skipped to the table to measure and adjust the garment.

“But please, make it tasteful. I don’t want to look like a… you know.” Hermione’s shoulders slumped, feeling like the biggest fool in the entire world. However, a few simple spells later, Hermione was looking at herself in the mirror with a look of shock on her face. A halter top dress with a deep v-neck clung to her body and of course, she had a bow and arrow.

“I look…” She was flabbergasted. She never knew she could look so…

“Wonderful!” the shopkeeper giggled loudly, smiling with pride as she looked at her work. “I’ll tell you what, if this man of yours doesn’t just eat you right up, I’ll personally have to have a talk with him.”

She had to admit it. She did look good. The adjusted costume fit her perfectly in all of the right places and accentuated her body in just the right way. She thanked the shopkeeper profusely, paid, and put her work clothes on over her newly purchased form of embarrassment (which might not be too embarrassing.)

She returned to work and went directly into her office to work on Part B of Plan Embarrass Hermione Terribly So That Draco Malfoy Won’t Hate Her So Much. She couldn’t say why she cared so much about whether or not Draco hated her. It was just that…he wasn’t all that bad. He was funny (when she wasn’t looking), and he was kind (when it wasn’t her receiving the kindness), and he was charming (all of the time). It was undeniable: Draco Malfoy was a catch and it seemed as though, over the past few years, she’d been catching on.

“Now…how did that song go?” She tapped her quill to her lips, thinking back to Hogwarts, where a certain song about a certain someone had caught on very quickly…

She’d spent an hour memorizing the revised version of the old school song before stripping down to her newly purchased costume and casting ‘Sonorus’ on herself. Bracing herself for something truly embarrassing, she took a deep breath before exiting her office.

Walking quickly and receiving a few very confused glances, she stepped up onto a table at the head of the building.

“Excuse me, everyone!” She shivered for a moment, aware of everyone watching her, waiting for her next move. “I’ve prepared a special…treat for all of you for Valentine’s Day!” She looked through the crowd, hoping to see a familiar grey pair of eyes. A wolf whistle was heard with a few shouts to accompany that. “Oh, thank you very much. Well, here goes nothing!” She cleared her throat before beginning to sing…

Malfoy can do anything
He’s as hot as a buffalo wing!
That’s why I’ll be the first to sing:
Malfoy is my king!

He’s the best there’s ever been,
Even with his pale white skin,
So attractive, it’s a sin;
Malfoy is my king!

Malfoy is my king,
Malfoy is my king,
He always makes me want to grin,
Malfoy is my king!

She smiled broadly, hoping he’d heard and seen the whole thing, when she was met by an extremely loud applause. People were laughing with her and congratulating her on a well done, if strange job. But still, she had yet to see her self-proclaimed king. She continued to smile, though what she really wanted to do was cry. She’d gone out of her way to make him feel better and he hadn’t even had the decency to acknowledge that! She hung her head as she returned to her office to think about the pictures that would surely be circulating on her very own paper the next day. She could see it now, in giant letters: ‘Hermione Granger Professes Adoration for Co-Worker Draco Malfoy!’

She slammed her door shut, stalking to the window while considering jumping from it.

This is terrible. This could not be any worse. I basically just told my entire staff that I have this…thing for Malfoy and he wasn’t even there. Poor Granger, she finally made an attempt to make something out of this year’s Valentine’s Day and she got turned down!

She heard the door open and heard someone come in.

“No, Marla, I don’t want to talk about what just happened. What just happened is that I humiliated myself for no good reason!” she shouted, not daring to look at her secretary for fear she might cry.

“I always knew you had a thing for me, Granger, but saying I’m your king is slightly extravagant.” She tensed as someone she had definitely not expected spoke to her.

“Malfoy I -” But then it happened. She turned to explain but only a muffled response came from her mouth as his lips met hers. Her eyes widened as she tried to grasp what was happening.

‘Bloody Hell, Granger! It’s what you’ve been waiting for. Kiss him back!’ Her mind shouted at her, before her eyelids fluttered shut and her hands found the nape of his neck. Their mouths moved in an almost rhythmic timing and their tongues tentatively touched a few times before their bodies were so close, Hermione was afraid one of her ribs might crack. They pulled away, panting for air, though neither was sure which was more important: breathing or kissing.

“I had a feeling you’d come around.” Draco laughed against her mouth, their foreheads resting against each other’s.

“I take it you saw my little…performance, then?” She blushed, laughing nervously. Oh! This was even more embarrassing than the actual act itself!

“Saw it? I’m still replaying it in my mind as we speak.” She was amazed at how comfortable she felt, his hands around her waist, her hands on his shoulders, in very close proximity for old enemies.

“How would you feel about an encore tonight?” She smiled devilishly while he smirked back at her.

“Only if you’ll be my Valentine.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

Maybe This Christmas

2007-11-22T23:08:30Z

Title: Maybe This Christmas
Author: certainswagger
Rating: G
Disclaimer: JK owns everything
Summary: Two lonely people run into each other at The Three Broomsticks on Christmas Eve. Will a Christmas Eve miracle occur?

Maybe this Christmas will mean something more
Maybe this year love will appear
Deeper than ever before

Hermione Granger stepped into the Three Broomsticks looking for an escape before she went insane. It was Christmas Eve and she had come from her house in the Muggle world. Christmas with the Granger family was always a time that Hermione felt torn about. She loved seeing her family, opening presents, and catching up with everyone. However, those people didn’t feel much like her family anymore. Her Aunt Julie knew about her ahem… uniqueness and had warned her never to speak of it again. Her cousin Elliott only cared about video games and “chicks” as he called them. Everyone else was old, off their rocker, moronic, or rude. So this Christmas Eve, she took a trip the Wizarding world even though it was Holiday Break.

Hermione’s cheeks were bright red from the harsh wind and snow that had been battering her face for the last ten minutes. She appreciated the warmth that greeted her as she entered the small tavern. Looking around, she took in the tree with ornaments and lights hanging from the branches.

‘This is Christmas. This is what I love.’

Hermione made her way to the bar, glancing around, and spotted a head of hair that could never be mistaken.

Draco Malfoy was also at the Three Broomsticks.

‘Great. This is just what I need on Christmas Eve.’ Hermione thought to herself, in a sort of furious trance. ‘Why is he even here? Surely he has house elves to boss around and Daddy to suck up to.’ Hermione tossed her hair over her shoulder and continued to the bar.

“One butterbeer, please.” Hermione ordered her drink and patiently awaited its arrival while thinking about Draco Malfoy.

And maybe forgiveness will ask us to call
Someone we love
Someone we’ve lost
For reasons we can’t quite recall
Mmm, maybe this Christmas

‘Maybe he’s here for the same reason I am. Christmas Eve is either wonderful or terrible, and you don’t leave when it’s wonderful. Perhaps, for one night I can put all of this silliness behind me for just one night so that neither of us have to be alone on Christmas Eve.’

Her butterbeer had arrived, and in an extremely courageous effort, grabbed the drink, and stood up.

Slowly putting one foot in front of the other, she made her way over to the Slytherin that had terrorized her and her friends for the past 7 years.

“Hello.” Hermione spoke the word softly, unable to say anything clever. His head snapped to the right to look at Hermione, shocked that someone was speaking to me.

“What are you doing here mudb-” he began with a sneer on his face, but was cut off by Hermione holding her hand up.

“I’d advise you not to finish that sentence, Draco.” He was only slightly taken aback at the use of his first name. “I came here on account of you’re here alone and I’m here alone and I don’t think that anyone should be alone on Christmas Eve.” Hermione looked at him, waiting for a rude, dismissive answer.

“Though your friendly mood disgusts me, have a seat Granger, but don’t talk.” Though the gesture was most certainly not pleasant, he had agreed and invited her to sit down.

Hermione did as he asked and quietly sipped her warm drink, glancing at him every so often.

“I’d much rather you say something then continue looking at me strangely.” The suddenness of his voice made Hermione choke on her drink and look directly into his face.

“I – I… sorry. What are you doing here alone on Christmas Eve?” Hermione asked quietly, unsure if that was a stupid thing to inquire about.

“I ought to ask you the same thing, Granger. I’m surprised you’re not at home with your parents having a delightful evening watching happily ever after movies on the telly-whats-it.” Draco sneered at Hermione and ate a few chocholates.

“It’s called a television, and if you must know, my family is hardly tolerable during this time of the year.” Hermione groaned and removed her cloak.

“What do you know? Something we have in common. My family just sits around and chats about who’s terrorizing who over the holidays.”

“Well, it looks like you and I are in for a long night then, hey?” Hermione bravely grinned at Draco to which a small smile was surprisingly and pleasantly returned.

“I suppose so. Let’s order something to eat then.” Draco pulled out two menus and handed one over to Hermione.

Maybe there’ll be an open door
Maybe the star that shined before
Will shine once more

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were getting along. They’d chatted about school, their family, their friends, and various other things. For both of them, it had been an interesting experience, which only became more interesting when Hermione asked a simple question.

“Does tonight make us friends?” Hermione dared not look up at Draco for fear that he would laugh in her face.

“Do you want us to be friends?” Hermione was shocked by this inquiry.

“I – I don’t know. Tonight has been surprisingly lovely but I’m not sure that I can just forget about everything you’ve done to me…” Hermione trailed off, still trying to figure out the answer to his question.

“Completely understandable. And I’m not sure if I can put up with you every day.” Draco gave Hermione a playful smirk. “But, I wouldn’t mind catching up with you and maybe having a chat like this every once in a while.” Draco reached out and placed his hand on top of Hermione’s. Draco had expected her to draw back at his touch, but rather, she turned her hand over and grasped his.

“It sounds like a plan.” She grinned at him. “I’d better be going though. It is Christmas Eve after all.” She stood up and grabbed her coat. Draco quickly stood up and took her coat from her hands.

“I’ve got it.” He whispered and slipped the coat on her. They fell into step as they walked out of the small tavern.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you then. When it feels like a good time for a chat, send me an owl. Alright?” Hermione smiled and Draco nodded. Hermioned nodded once and turned to leave.

And maybe this Christmas will find us at last
In heaven, in peace
Prayed for the least
For the love we’ve been shown in the past
Maybe this Christmas
Maybe this Christmas

“Hermione wait!” Draco yelled into the swirling snowflakes. Hermione stopped and turned towards him.

“Ye-” Hermione began but was cut off as Draco’s mouth came in contact with hers. Hermione – though stunned momentarily – wrapped her arms around Draco’s neck and in response, he gently placed his hands on her hips.

As they shared their first kiss amongst many others they would have together, Hermione found that she didn’t feel quite as cold as she had before.

The First Mistake

2007-11-22T23:04:35Z

Title: The First Mistake
Author: certainswagger
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: JK owns everything.
Summary: She's really gone and done it now. She's made a gigantic mistake. She's gone and fallen in love with the wrong person.

Your name is Hermione Granger and you’ve done the unthinkable; the impossible; the unforgivable.

You’ve fallen in love with Draco Malfoy.

There is blood in all the things I say,
Will you hate me if I stay this way?

It was Saint Valentine’s Day and you found yourself more alone than usual. All day long had been couple after couple, hug after hug, and kiss after kiss. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of the love that was circulating throughout the school. You heard the bumps against all of the broom closets. You heard the locking of empty classrooms throughout the day. You heard the moans and sighs in the Prefect dorms. You told yourself that this happened every day, your acknowledgment of it was more acute only because of the significance of the day. But deep down, you knew better. You knew that everyone had seemed to find someone to share this Holiday with – that is, everyone except you (or at least that’s what you thought).

As the day wore on, you found you couldn’t take it. It was all so miserable; so depressing; so god damn pathetic. You found yourself in the Astronomy Tower at eight ‘o’ clock, dangling your feet over the ledge, trying to get your mind off of the days events. You closed your eyes, trying to remember who had hooked up today and why no one had approached you.

Was it the hair?

It didn’t look that bad this year.

Was it the clothes?

You’d shortened the skirt a bit and left the top two buttons unbuttoned.

Was it the teeth?

They’d been fixed a few years ago.

Was it the personality?

It couldn’t be that terrible. Could it?

“Thinking about jumping, Granger? Not that it would matter. Actually, it would be more of a victory. One less filthy Mudblood to worry about.” A voice called out to you in the dark, forcing your eyes to open and your body flinch. It was a voice you’d grown used to over the past seven years. That cold, merciless, and hate-filled voice that you recognized as Draco Malfoy’s.

“Interesting choice of words, Malfoy. One less filthy Mudblood to worry about.” You quoted, pronouncing every word with meaning. Letting the statement hang in the air, you lifted your legs from the edge and turned to face him, still sitting. “Worrying over a poor, pathetic, filthy little Mudblood like me, are you? Scared that despite my unclean blood I’m more capable of magic than you?”

“No, actually, more like worried that my pure blood might become tarnished by yours.” It seemed as though your words had not affected him, but had you been closer and had it not been so dark, you would’ve seen the blood rush to his cheeks and you would’ve known that what you’d said had been true.

“Whatever you say, Malfoy. Why aren’t you off having an orgy with a bunch of pitiful third years?”

“What makes you think that’s not what I was about to go do?” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice and see his eyebrows rise. Now it was your turn for your cheeks to flush as you realized you had no comment. “Why aren’t you off getting deflowered by Potty or Weasel… or both if that’s what little Granger is into.” You couldn’t help your next retort. It came flying out of your mouth like a curse.

“And what makes you think that I haven’t been deflowered?” You smiled in the dark, hoping – praying – that you’d stumped him. But you knew you had not when he came close enough to you so that you could see him clearly; so that he could touch you.

“Because, Mudblood, I can see it in your eyes.” His fingers found their way to each side of your eyes. “I can see the way you watch Potter, hoping he’d give you your first kiss.” His fingers traveled lightly down your cheeks and his thumbs rested on your lower lip. “I can see the drops of sweat that gather on your forehead and roll all the way down your skin to your neck whenever Potter puts his hands on you.” His fingers moved slowly down your jaw, past your throat, and then came to rest right under your neck. “And I can feel the way your heart is racing, but I’m not quite sure if it’s because of Potter – ” he spread his hands and ran them over your shoulders, down your arms, took a gentle hold on your wrists, and finally brought his eyes up to meet yours, “or me.”

“You’re disgusting, Malfoy.” You managed to whisper with what you hoped was venom.

“Am I? Because right now, I’d say you find me to be anything but.” His face hovered inches from yours and you hoped yours was remaining still enough so you wouldn’t touch.

“Well, you’re wrong.” Your voice was strangled but you were trying so hard to sound sure of yourself.

“Prove it.” You groaned mentally. Not at how childish of a thing it was to say but at the fact that you knew he’d never let you go if you didn’t ‘prove it.’ You’d finally found a normal enough voice to sound like you weren’t nervous.

“You can’t be serious.” You knew your voice sounded outraged – you were!

“Does it look like I’m kidding?”

“Fine.” You tilted your face slightly, stood on your tip toes, and you let him be your first kiss. Your lips were shut firmly, not sure what to do, when you felt him respond. His lips opened only slightly and trapped your bottom lip between both of his. Your eyes opened for a second before fluttering shut again.

This is what you’d been missing, not just today, but for the last 17 years of your life.

His lips opened again and so did yours and suddenly his tongue was inside of your mouth, tangling with yours and trying to get you even closer.

From the way his hands were clutching at you and the way you were doing the same to him, you knew it was time to stop.

“There. I’d better be going.” You stepped away, wiped your mouth, and looked him dead in the eye. “After all, you have an orgy to get to, right?” You stepped around him and walked quickly back to the Prefect dorms.

You’re a woman; we both know it’s true,
By the things that I’ve done to you.

One week after Valentine’s Day (which you’d figured hadn’t been so bad), you found yourself being pulled into an empty classroom. You struggled and squirmed right up until you opened your eyes to see one Draco Malfoy peering at you.

“Malfoy? What the hell?” You looked around, expecting to be caught in some kind of Death Eater trap but realized you were entirely alone in the room.

“I know that was your first kiss on Valentine’s Day.” He smirked at you before turning his back and walking towards a shelf of books.

“What makes you so sure? Was it not up to your standards?” You spoke lightly, trying so hard not to give yourself away.

“Oh no, you were surprisingly up to my standards.” He shrugged and pulled a book off of the shelf, as if he pulled girls into classrooms all of the time. “It’s just that…” he snapped the book shut and turned to face you, “you were so bloody focused. Like you were writing an essay for Snape! Not that I didn’t appreciate such intensity, it’s just that most girls – most experienced girls - are thinking about what’s coming up next instead of what’s going on right then.”

“Well, maybe I just like making the most of every little thing that I do. And, honestly, what makes you think that I would have let you be my first kiss?” You laughed, hoping that you were covering everything up.

“Granger, I know I was your first kiss. And now that you’ve shown me just how focused you are on what you do with that muddy little tongue of yours, I intend to be your first fuck, too.” Your eyes were wide as he spoke of losing your virginity so crudely.

“If you think you’re going to rape me, Malfoy, you’ve got another thing coming.” You mustered all of the courage you had inside of you and spoke harshly.

“Innocent, little Mudblood. I would never rape you. You’ll be begging for me, right before I take you.” He almost smiled and you realized that it was a beautiful but menacing smile.

“Go to hell, Malfoy. You’re insane if you think I’d ever beg anything of you. And why would you want anything to do with me?

“Because I want to be Mudblood Granger’s first. I want you to remember your first time. Remember how bad you wanted it. Remember how good I was. Remember that you slept with the enemy.” And then he was kissing you for the second time. Kissing you like you’d always wanted to be kissed. While your lips moved together, his hands worked on getting your skirt off, and you fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

Not too long after, you were both stripped down to your undergarments, grabbing at each other and trying to become one person rather than two.

You knew you shouldn’t be doing it. You knew that it was only going to lead to trouble. You could already feel Draco Malfoy growing on you when you knew that he wasn’t a good person. You knew it was a bad, bad idea.

Just as your knickers were being pulled down, you pushed his hands away and told him to stop. You weren’t sure if it was a good idea or not. You knew that at that moment, you weren’t in control of your own actions.

He shrugged, pulled his clothes on, and made his way towards the door.

“Later, Mudblood.” He threw over his shoulder and walked into the corridor.

You realized then that you’d made your bed and you had to sleep in it… alongside your worst enemy.

There is blood in all the things you say,
I won’t hate you if you go away.

A week after you almost went all the way with Draco Malfoy, you found yourself knocking on the door to his room.

“Had a feeling you’d be coming around here sometime this week.” He opened the door and let you in. You walked to the bed (wrong move number one) and slid your fingers across the comforter slowly (wrong move number two) before he was turning you around and pushing you down.

“Malfoy, I came here to talk not to… you know.” You moved your head to the side so you wouldn’t have to look him in the eye.

“I doubt that.” He replied and you knew he wouldn’t let you talk. After a while, you found yourself in the same position (no pun intended) as last week.

And you let him finish what he’d started. Draco Malfoy had indeed grown on you. His witty remarks, his stubbornness, and his sexual appeal had had a huge impact on you in a way you knew it shouldn’t have.

You had yet to say his name during your escapades. You’d stuck to murmuring noises and whimpering – refusing to let him win you over.

Once you were both naked, he looked at you, waiting for you to say it. “Malfoy. I need you… I need you inside of me.” He smirked at you. He’d won.

He pushed into you without so much as making sure you were ready. Tears streamed down your face as you gave yourself to the Slytherin pushing inside you and pulling out of you. Finally, you fell into the rhythm and rocked your hips against his while he groaned and said short sentences.

“So… close…” he gritted out while you were panting. You were close too. You were falling over the edge. You were falling in love.

You came with a long and loud “Draco!” While he came with a harsh and loud “Mudblood!” Your eyes snapped open and your movement stopped. He’d called you Mudblood after you’d dared to call him Draco. Wordlessly, you slid out from under him and put your clothes back on.

You left… but came back the following night. And the night after that. And the night after that. And every night, after every time you gave your body and more of your heart willingly to Draco Malfoy, you came with a “Draco!” and he came with a “Mudblood!”

Finally, one night you decided to confront him.

“Why do you call me Mudblood when we have sex?” You asked him while you put your clothes on.

“Because that’s what you are. You’re a filthy Mudblood who’s a good lay.” You gaped at him, unable to believe the words that had just come out of his mouth.

“How… how can you say something like that? After every-”

He cut you off. “After everytime we fuck? Granger, just because we’ve been sleeping together doesn’t mean I care about you.”

“You’re a bastard, Draco.” tears welled up in your eyes as you suddenly came to terms that you’d made the biggest mistake of your life.

“Why do you keep calling me Draco? Don’t tell me you thought this was a relationship!” He yelled and laughed cruelly. At the sight of tears streaming down your face, he composed himself and stopped laughing. “Look, I’m not a nice person. I’m sorry I got you into this but it’s not like you could ever…” he trailed off, as if the word was a disease to him.

“Love you?” You looked up at him, your eyes clearly telling him that you could love him.

“You should go.” And not come back, you finished for him. You nodded and left his room.

I am leaving while you turn away,
In the basement is where I’m going to stay.

As you walked back to the site where you had had your first kiss, you reflected on your non-relationship with Draco Malfoy.

On Valentine’s Day, you’d been so eager to give your heart away, you forgot to stop and make sure that the recipient wanted your heart to begin with.

</div>

MistleNO!

2007-11-22T22:58:24Z

Title: MistleNO!
Author: certainswagger
Rating: G
Disclaimer: JK owns everything.
Summary: Hermione loves the holidays. She may get a little crazy, but she loves them. However, someone might put a bit of a damper on her holiday cheer.

“Where could that stupid box have gotten to?” a shriek was heard and then a thud.

“Hermione?” Ron’s incredulous voice came from around the corner. His freckled face peeked around the corner, as though a bogart would attack him from inside the closet. With many thanks to Merlin, he saw only Hermione sprawled inside the closet, not hurt but looking as though she may hurt someone. “’S everything um… all right?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to chew them up and swallow them. He braced himself for an earful on how blah, blah, blah.

“I know for fact that I put a large box in this closet that was clearly marked CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS, ACCESSORIES, AND OTHER CHEERFUL GOODIES on this shelf and now it’s gone! Vanished! Disappeared! Just like you last night when we were supposed to study, Ronald.” Ron shuddered and took a small step away from the closet

“Yes, um, about that…” He began but knew she wouldn’t let him get a word in. Might as well make some sort of attempt, right?

“I don’t know what poor, miserable Grinch – Muggle cartoon who hated Christmas but, oh it doesn’t matter – I just don’t know who would move a box so clearly labeled. If they moved it knowing what it was…” Ron sighed with relief as Hermione stalked off to hunt down the “Grinch” fellow and find the Christmas decorations.

“I’m hungry.” Ron said aloud to himself before making his way to the kitchens.

“Harry, have you seen the box of Christmas decorations? It’s labeled CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS, ACCE-”

“I moved the box.” Harry told her and then he realized he’d clearly made a mistake. Hermione was not someone to vex when it was Christmas time. One second she’d say “Isn’t it lovely outside? All of the snow and the laughter…” and two seconds later (literally) she’d be yelling at first years “Don’t eat his eyes! How do you expect the snowman to see if his eyes are in your stomach!” It was like she had PMS for the entire month – terrible, really.

“You moved my box of Christmas decorations? You know I have everything organized just so, Harry.” Her eyes were ablaze with that holiday fury he came face to face with every 12 months.

"I’m really sorry, Hermione. It’s just that my Quidditch equipment wouldn’t fit anywhere else so I just moved the box… I meant to tell you!” Harry shrank back, ready for the oncoming storm.

“Your Quidditch equipment? You can’t be serious!” Hermione yelled, catching the attention of, well, everyone who wasn’t already watching with (not so surprised) horror.

“Gods, Granger, you’re going to make my ears bleed! It’s bad enough having to listen to your stupid voice at a normal level but right now, you’re using an outdoor voice. Maybe you should use your favorite kind of voice… your library voice!” The Slytherins and a few other brave students cackled at Draco Malfoy’s joke “What is all of this yelling about? Did Potter finally dump you?”

“Actually, no, he just moved my box of Christmas stuff. Thank you so much for your interest in the matter, Ferret.” Hermione turned on her heel to go find the box.

“Oy, Granger! Why didn’t you just Accio the box?” Draco called after her in a malicious voice. Hermione stopped for a brief moment, honestly wondering why she hadn’t thought of that but didn’t want to give him the pleasure in turning around to look at his face. “Who says she’s the smartest witch, around? She can’t even find a box!”

Hermione waited until she found a secluded place to whisper “Accio Christmas Box.”

Once Hermione had found her Christmas box, she was in a much better mood. It seemed as though even Draco Malfoy couldn’t bring her spirits down.

“Granger, Granger… you have a wand. Why don’t you use it? Oh,” he feigned sadness with a frown before smirking, “or don’t you know how to use one?”

“I know perfectly well how to use one. I also know perfectly well how to hex your little wand off.” Hermione cast her eyes to just below Draco’s belt and smiled evilly.

“Back to my question, Granger. Why aren’t you using magic to do all of that… work.” He said the word ‘work’ as though he’d said ‘poop.’ She rolled her eyes and continued stringing popcorn garlands over the entrance to the Great Hall.

“Because, Malfoy, it’s what people with hearts do. We get into the Holiday spirit.” Hermione continued to string the garlands, not letting him deter her mood.

“But why? Why can’t you get into the Holiday spirit by shopping or eating? You can’t seriously enjoy stringing food about the castle. That won’t spoil will it - because I don’t want to have a moldy smell around me whenever I eat.”

Hermione laughed rudely. “Maybe you should just get back to Pansy or whomever you were snogging just now.” She climbed down the ladder and grabbed a piece of mistletoe.

“How did you know?” He looked scandalized at the fact that she would know when he’d been snogging. He was shocked she even knew what snogging was. She extracted a small mirror from her cloak and handed it to him.

“It looks like you’ve got some serious Locks of… ahem Love.” She sneered at the blonde who, upon looking in the mirror, grinned at himself.

“I am irresistible, wouldn’t you say, Granger?” He raised an eyebrow at her, awaiting a dreamy ‘Yes, Draco. You are so irresistible.’

“Yes, Malfoy, you’re almost as irresistible as Neville’s toad.”

The Gryffindor Witch was a bundle of cheerfulness and joy for the next two weeks. She couldn’t shut up (when could she ever, though?) about presents this and snow that – she even knitted a few of her favorite elves socks and hats colored green and red.

The day before Christmas Eve, Hermione was talking to Parvati and Lavender in the Gryffindor Common Room.

“Hey, Hermione, what’s that stuff hanging above the doors to the Great Hall?” Parvati asked, hoping she wouldn’t get the full history behind whatever it was.

“Oh! The popcorn garlands? They’re adorable aren’t they? They make me so hungry, though! I look at them and I just want to gobble them right up!” Hermione laughed and smiled at the girls.

“No, Hermione, I know what popcorn garlands are. It’s quite easy to deduce what those are. I was talking about the little green plants above the doors. Are they supposed to smell nice or something?”

“Oh! Those!” Hermione smiled to herself as though she had a secret. “Those are mistletoe!” The two girls stared blankly at her. “You see, there’s a tradition that when two people stand under mistletoe at the same time they have to kiss!” The last word grabbed the two other girls’ attention.

“They have to kiss or they can kiss?” Lavender’s eyes lit up at the possibilities awaiting her.

“Well, on Christmas Eve, no one will really have a choice. I charmed the mistletoe to trap whoever walks under it at the same time so that they can’t leave until they kiss.” Hermione smiled again, this time two others smiled back at her with the same idea.

However, one Gryffindor boy stood hidden in the shadows, smiling with an idea of his own.

Christmas Eve fell upon Hogwarts soon enough, many people having already kissed under the mistletoe willingly.

The days dragged on as Hermione waited for dinner to come. She couldn’t wait to see all of the people finding out about the magical mistletoe and realizing that they have to kiss. What she wouldn’t give to see some poor Slytherin girl have to kiss Crabbe or Goyle. Hermione shuddered at the mere thought of it.

Hermione shoved past everyone to get to the Great Hall to see what chaos she had created. She’d never been one to commend pranks but she considered this more of a fun holiday tradition. And then she heard it, like music to her ears (well, it sort of was).

Deck the halls and let it snow,
You’re stuck under the mistletoe!
If you haven’t already gotten the jist,
Then come on, kid, pucker up and kiss!

Looks of horror, delight, and shock could be seen on all kinds of people. Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the way she’d brought people together. She cast her eyes to the far end of the Great Hall, just in time to see Lavender grabbing Seamus and planting a big one on his lips. She then decided: It was time.

She looked carefully before trying to sneak quickly through the mistletoe without someone trapping her. However, just as she was stepping under the archway, Ron Weasley was trying to push through the crowd in order to finally kiss Hermione.

However, in doing this, he lost his chance when he pushed someone else into Hermione’s arms.

“Oh, bloody hell! No!” Draco yelled while Hermione was at a loss for words.

Deck the halls and let it snow,
You’re stuck under the mistletoe!

“This was not supposed to happen!” Hermione let her head fall into her hands, hoping that she would wake up from this terrible Christmas nightmare. “I was not supposed to kiss anyone!”

“If this is what you call Holiday cheer, you are sick. No doubt you did this in hopes that you’d get stuck under here with me. Well, I’ve got news for you, Granger, this whole you and me kissing deal? Over my dead body.” Draco crossed his arms and glared at Hermione.

Hermione tilted her head and glared. “Oh, are you planning on dying any time soon? I’d love to be there when it happens. If you think that I want to kiss you Mal-ferret, you should probably owl St. Mungos in advance so that they can reserve you the Crazy Suite.” It was then that she recalled how she’d gotten stuck in this situation. “Ron! Ronald Weasley!” She turned to see a horror-stricken Weasley looking at the trapped pair.

“I-I’m really sorry, Hermione. I uh, I was trying to get you because I wanted to talk you.” He couldn’t very well tell her that he had wanted to kiss her, could he? His trance of terror was broken by a snort from Draco Malfoy.

“Talk to you?” He looked at Hermione with serious eyes. “He wanted to get stuck under here with you. Well, now, isn’t this a little bit ironic?” He smirked. “I don’t intend on dying any time soon, I’m really hungry and I have a lady waiting for me in the Slytherin dorms so can we just get this sick little fantasy of yours out of the way so that you can tell all of your little friends that you kissed me?” He yawned and looked bored.

She glanced over at Ron whose cheeks had reddened and growled, “I’ll deal with you tomorrow.”

She then returned her glare to Malfoy. “For the thousandth time, I DO NOT WANT TO KISS YOU! I am only doing this so that I no longer have to be in your presence. It’s spoiling my evening.” Quickly, Hermione pressed her lips to Draco’s. Both of their arms were like wooden boards at their sides. But then… whether they were imagining it or maybe it was just the Christmas spirit getting to them, their mouths moved together for just a second and their hands moved to touch one another.

And then they were thrown out of the archway. They’d finished their requirement and they were free.

“Happy Holidays, Granger.”

“Happy Holidays, Malfoy.”

With a smirk and a grimace, the red and green pair separated and went their own ways, telling themselves to avoid mistletoe at all costs.