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About a week had passed since Tom had first spotted his angel in the mirror. He found himself looking forward to bedtime more and more, to the point of
actually allowing himself the pleasure of going there sooner and more often—a rare occurrence for him, to be sure. He had even taken to standing in his
mirror when she was not there, trying to find any clues that would tell him more about her.
Finally he had spotted some paperwork with her name written on it—Hermione Granger. He read the paper itself so many times he had it memorized. A treatise
on magical practices through the ages, which he thought was better even than the one he'd written himself. Clearly she had more intelligence than any other
girl he knew, and he longed to talk to her about—well, everything, if he ever could.
He may not know everything there was to know about her, but he couldn't get her out of his mind. If he had been any other student, his obsession might well
have interfered with his school work or his duties as Head Boy, but of course, he was not any other student. If anything, knowing that she had bested him
on that paper made him work even harder than before.
Tom decided to spend Friday night in his room "studying" and headed there with great anticipation. It seemed his sweet angel had done the same. He couldn't
help but thrill to the fact they seemed so in accord as he tried not to smile.
She was lying on her bed with a book, as usual, already in her favorite position on her back with the book floating near her face. With a rather animalistic
growl Tom began to unbuckle his belt as he stood right in the mirror, gazing at her beautiful face, when suddenly he stopped short and quickly cast a
disillusionment charm when he heard someone else's voice.
"Granger?" called out a snide male. Tom felt a hot surge of anger and jealousy well up inside him, which he quickly tamped down as he continued to stare.
The girl groaned in total disgust and rolled onto her side to lean up on her elbow as a very blond boy entered her room unbidden. "What the hell do you want,
Malfoy?" she hissed through a clenched jaw.
Tom's eyebrows shot upward in surprise. So, a Malfoy would become Head Boy in the future, he thought. That should not be too surprising, particularly if
Abraxas continued in his habit of buying anything he wanted. Tom had always had mixed feelings concerning that particular follower, for he needed his money
much more than he needed his insufferable mouth.
This particular Malfoy, however, appeared to be more of an insufferable prat even than his obnoxious ancestor. He wore a smirk so disdainful it transformed
his entire face into a hideous mask of self-righteousness. It was clear by the look on her face that Hermione did not like him, either.
Malfoy stepped up to the bed and tried to rub her shoulder, but she flinched away as he said, "I just thought you might like some company."
She growled angrily, and spat out her next words in a rush of agitation. "Why don't you go play with Parkinson, ferret? I'm sure she wouldn't mind a late
night shag."
Malfoy scoffed and said, "Hey, at least I can get laid, unlike you."
Hermione pulled herself up off the bed and stood in front of Malfoy so that she could get right up in his face as she replied, each word pronounced with
succinct emphasis, "Will you just fuck off?"
Tom felt a little thrill of delight pass through him as he watched her. Her head barely reached the boy's shoulder, yet she attacked him with a ferocity that
showed no fear. The fire in her eyes was impressive to behold, and Malfoy backed up slightly in reaction before he ground out, "What's the matter, Granger? Still
hurting over the Weasel?"
"Of course not!" she protested hotly. "Ron and I broke up as friends, you know that."
"You're still sore that you're such a lousy shag that he decided to go back to something better," Malfoy chuckled darkly. "But what did he expect from a
stupid little Mudblood like you anyway?"
Hermione's eyes shot involuntarily toward the mirror for just the briefest of seconds when he said that, and Tom's brow shot up in surprise. It took him a
moment to digest the information, and a moment longer to realize he was not even upset by it. Strange, indeed, he thought. He should have been furious by the
news, and cast her immediately from his mind, yet he did not feel even the slightest inclination to do so.
Then she pulled out her wand and slashed it quickly over the palm of Malfoy's hand. The boy cursed loudly, and hissed as he held the hand to his chest. Hermione
winced as she sliced the wand across her own palm too, and then clasped Malfoy's bleeding hand in hers.
"What are you doing?" Malfoy screamed as he tried to shove her away. Hermione stood her ground for a few more seconds before she released him and he stumbled
slightly because he was still trying to pull away when she let go. "What the hell did you do that for?"
"Where's mine?" she demanded hotly as she turned his palm up so he could see it.
The Malfoy boy looked at it as though it were some alien creature intent on biting his face off. "Wh—what? What do you mean?" he stammered in confusion.
Hermione pointed at his palm insistently and asked, "Come on, Draco, don't be stupid. Whose blood is whose? Point mine out to me? Where's the difference?"
Malfoy glared at her, then stared at his hand for a moment before he glared again.
"Can't see one, can you?" she smirked. "And do you know why? Because my blood is not dirty. My blood is clean, and although it may not have spawned from
pure magical blood, magic still runs through my veins."
"How dare you touch me, you vile wench?" Draco spat at her as he yanked his hand away yet again.
Crack! Hermione shoved him away with a smile of satisfaction as she stared at the layer of blood her hand had left on his now reddened cheek. Raising her wand
to her palm, she sealed her wound and then cleaned the mess on the floor.
Hermione chuckled as she watched Malfoy just stand there a few moments, completely dumbfounded, and then she crawled back onto her bed and rolled onto her back
again and made Hogwarts: a History float back above her head as if nothing had happened.
Draco Malfoy backed silently out of the room, sealing his palm and cleaning away the blood on it as he went with a flick of his wand. Tom could only speculate
as to whether or not he'd gone off to find whatever Parkinson Hermione had been talking about.
Hermione smirked a few moments later when the distinct sound of the portrait slamming shut echoed through her room. Obviously she had really enjoyed the power
she had just wielded over her recent prey.
Tom was still standing in the mirror, slightly stunned by what he had just seen. The Dark Lord within him should be appalled to learn that his angel was, in
fact, a Mudblood, but every particle of his being refused to be abhorred. How could he find fault with her when she was everything he could ever want in a
woman?--fierce, powerful, knowledgeable--she embodied all the traits he had always longed for but could never seem to find. And she was beautiful, as well. He
could not tear his eyes away from her beautiful, smiling face.
It made him so hot just looking at her that his body was on fire with need as he continued to stare, infinitely aware that there was no turmoil within
him over her blood-status, and unable even to hate himself for the weakness. He became uncomfortably aware of just how hard he had grown, and now he could
no longer stand the throbbing pressure of his aching need.
"Hermione Granger," he whispered softly, his voice husky with desire. He walked back to his bed and lay down, never taking his eyes off of her as he stroked,
pretending every movement of his hand was a movement of hers, every sound he made was caused by her. He could almost fancy he had just figured out why other
people believed in that silly fantasy called love—though of course, his rational mind reminded him he was far too practical for such sentiments himself.
The more he teased himself, the more difficult it became to wait for her to do the same, but Tom was nothing if not patient. Though he began to squirm
uncomfortably, he did not seek any true gratification while she continued to read.
Finally, blissfully, her hands slid slowly down her body, stopping to unfasten her robe and let it fall away. Tom's groan of delight was met with a little
shiver of her own, and he felt an evil little smile touch his lips. She definitely knew that he was there, watching her, and she liked it as much as he did.
His eyes followed her hands avidly as one found a nipple and the other began to creep lower still. Just to tease her further, he whispered softly, "Touch it,
Hermione. I want to see you come, and lick off every last drop."
The statement did wonders for her libido, it seemed. He was certain that she'd been trying to resist when she'd taken so long to succumb, but now the look
on her face was more wild than before, a look filled with hunger and a need as great as his own. But at the same time, he could see a devilish glint in her eyes
as her hand slowed to an excruciating speed on its journey, taking almost a whole minute to finally slide into the underwear which still hid the sight maddeningly
from his view.
"Mmmm," she breathed with an exaggerated sigh, and her eyes shot to his, not even trying to pretend anymore that she did not see him. Tom watched as she
slowly took in every nuance of his face, and then her eyes slid down his body to where his hand still stroked his swollen member with just two fingers.
Then he grinned, and took it into his hand, muttering, "I want your sweet little mouth, love," as he watched her hand. She groaned as her fingers increased
in speed, just for a few seconds in which she had lost control, and then her resolve returned and her hand slowed again.
She closed her eyes then, denying him their beautiful depths.
"Don't deny yourself what you desire," he whispered, gratified when they popped open again.
Her jaw went slack, and she began to finger herself in earnest. Tom matched her stroke for stroke, groaning when it felt especially nice, and each sound he
made fueled her fire more, until she was groaning along with him.
"Tom!" she breathed, barely even loud enough to hear, as she began to come. He pumped harder than ever as she continued her spasms of delight, and eagerly
caught up with her.
"Yes! Yes, Hermione, I want to fuck you so bad," he told her as the wetness spilled again and again across his hand. It wasn't enough anymore, he lamented, as
he moved his hand to his lips and snaked out his tongue just to see what she would do.
"Oh!" she groaned hotly, and her own hand came up to do the same. Their eyes met and locked in sultry desire, and in mutual accord each of them began the slow,
downward journey again.
Good thing they'd gone to bed early, and it was Friday night, thought Tom with a satisfied smile. It looked as though this would take a while.
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