Hermione was walking fast, almost running. She was late and curfew had set in, but she had been unable to resist going to the library to look up a minor detail that had been nagging her, and then, as usual, she had lost track of time. Muttering under her breath, she rushed along the corridors, doing her best to remember everything she read, word by word.
“Pickled Murtlap will help resistance to curses, while—“ She walked head-first into a body that seemed to be appearing out of nowhere.
“Ow! Watch where you’re going, Malfoy!” she crossly said, while she unsuccessfully tried to walk around him to be on her way.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Potter’s little sidekick, out on her own. After curfew, I might add.” Draco Malfoy smirked unpleasantly, his grey eyes filled with malice. “I think I might have to report that.”
Hermione gave an exasperated and annoyed grunt. “Yeah? And how will you explain being here yourself, then? Just give it up already—you’re even less scary than usual without your cronies.”
There was a flash of anger in his eyes, but then he smirked. “Better to have cronies than to be a sidekick, I should think. Besides, I’m out on an errand for Professor Snape. What’s your excuse? Out saving the world again?” He laughed, clearly thinking this to be a great joke.
Hermione rolled her eyes and tried to get past him again, only to be slammed into a wall by physical force. Incensed, she reached for her wand, but he smoothly grabbed hold of her wrists and wrenched them above her head. “Not afraid of me, are you?” he sneered. “If you had any sense at all, Mudblood, you would be. I don’t need Crabbe or Goyle, I don’t even need magic, I can easily kill you if I want.”
Hermione stopped struggling for a second to give him a bored, disgusted look. “Then get it over with or let me go. I don’t have time for this!” On the last word, she jerked up her knee, only narrowly missing her target, his precious pure-blooded jewels, as he shifted a leg to protect himself.
Malfoy uttered an oath that would surely have made his mother scrub out his mouth with soap, and, shifting both her wrists into one hand, he flung open the nearest door and almost threw her inside, sending her stumbling for half the length of the room. Before she could gain her footing, he had pulled out his wand and said, “Accio wand!” taking her only means of defense.
Despite her earlier swagger, Hermione was rapidly becoming nervous. But he wouldn’t actually hurt her, would he? He’d abuse her verbally for sure, even push her about a bit, but he wouldn’t use an Unforgivable Curse right here at Hogwarts… right?
He laughed, seeing her unease. “Not so cocky now, are you, Mudblood?” he said with his usual sneer and slowly began walking towards her, clearly savoring his advantage.
Hermione looked about her for some means of protecting herself or bringing him off-balance, but nothing was readily available. They were in what appeared to be an old classroom with bolted down tables and benches. It would have been completely dark if not for the moonlight streaming in through the large windows occupying the one wall. Swiftly, she ran a few steps, putting a table between them, resulting in Malfoy laughing even harder.
“Oh yes, that’s right, Mugglespawn,” he said sweetly. “That low wooden table will surely repel any curses I might throw at you. Good thinking!”
Hermione felt her face heat up. She knew, of course, that the table wouldn’t help against any curses; she just didn’t want to be within physical distance of him. The way he had so easily overpowered and disarmed her was making her belatedly cautious. She silently sent up a prayer that Harry or Ron would come looking for her, but she knew that they wouldn’t. They would assume, correctly, that she had lost track of time, and they would probably go to bed before looking for her. She considered screaming instead and, upon deeming that a good idea, she opened her mouth to do so.
“Silencio!” Malfoy immediately said, rendering her literally speechless. “Now, why didn’t I do that right away? It’s so much nicer when I don’t have to listen to your whiny little voice. You’re not as smart as everyone thinks you are, are you? If you were, you wouldn’t be here alone, with me, silenced and without a wand.” He laughed again.
Hermione made a dash around the room towards the door, just to hear him say “Colloportus!” in a fake bored voice. She knew she had lost for now, and she could either continue to run scared, giving him the satisfaction, or she could make a stand. Turning on her heel, she walked back towards him and didn’t stop until her body almost touched his. Defiantly, she looked up into his face, trying to communicate a ‘do your worst, scumbag.’
Malfoy pulled back with a disgusted look on his face. “This isn’t a come-on, filth. Keep your distance.” He then proceeded to brush off his robes, as if she was indeed filthy, and had left dirty marks on him.
Feeling her face flush again, Hermione narrowed her eyes. She could hardly think coherently because of the anger rushing through her. So he didn’t want her to infect him.
Because everyone knows that parentage is contagious, she thought sarcastically.
Besides, there was nothing wrong with her heritage. Her parents were good, decent, friendly, loving people, who did the best they could for her, and led a calm, productive existence; whereas his parents were sociopathic murderers, Death Eaters. If anything, she should be afraid of him being contagious to her.
Instead, she took another step towards him, smiling bitterly as he retreated again. And then another step. He seemed to realize what was going on when his legs bumped against the teacher’s desk, and then he flushed with first embarrassment and then anger.
Such an angry boy, she thought, not very placidly herself.
She stood her ground and laughed soundlessly when he rushed against her, pushing her so she went stumbling a couple of steps back. Next, he would be unlocking the door and running back to his common room, leaving her to go back to bed. He was so predictable.
She was still laughing when he grabbed her wrist and flung her against the desk, very possibly bruising her thigh, and forced her backwards down onto the desk, holding her wrists in the same steely grip from before.
This wasn’t supposed to be his reaction. Her laugh replaced by a frown, she struggled against him to no avail, the only result being that he shifted to keep her legs still with his. “I’m going to have to bathe and burn my clothes now,” he growled. “Might as well make you pay for it!”
Hermione’s eyes grew big and round. He did not mean to—no, he wouldn’t do that. He’d just demonstrated how he loathed being near her and, besides, he’d get tossed out of school and sent to Azkaban. He wouldn’t risk that, not like this. He was just scaring her. Her heart was pounding hard and fast and she was feeling a fluttering in her stomach that she attributed to nervousness. In spite of her own assurances, she started fighting with renewed strength.
“Stop fighting!” he panted, sounding rather breathless from restraining her. He wasn’t as strong as she had feared; this gave her another boost of fighting energy. “I’m not going to—I’m not going to! Why would I want to? Stop fighting!”
It wasn’t so much that he had asked her to stop as the way he had said it. It was very much out of character for him to assure her of anything except her own unworthiness of oxygen. She stopped fighting, her blind panic abating. He was panting heavily, moonlight accentuating the paleness of his features. She opened her mouth to ask if he would let her go, but of course, the Silencing Curse was still in effect. She closed her mouth again and resigned herself to watching him.
His eyes were closed and he seemed to be forcing his breath down. It was odd, she hadn’t put up that hard a fight, she was sure. She was smarter than him, by far, but he was taller and more athletic. He was probably working out to impress dull-witted Slytherin girls like Pansy Parkinson. She sniffed loudly, making her opinion clear on the matter. But, of course, he didn’t know anything about the matter to begin with, so it was really rather redundant.
At the sound, his eyes flew open, startling her in their cold, silvery clarity. They looked… different, somehow, from their usual maliciousness. They looked almost gentle. Hermione’s heart started pounding again, this time for no apparent reason, and she felt heat creeping up her throat and into her cheeks again. She opened her mouth to ask him to release her and his eyes flew to her lips. “Let me go,” she mouthed. “I won’t tell.” She really wouldn’t. Somehow, she didn’t want anyone to know.
Slowly, he shook his head. She pushed against him, trying to shove him off her, using only her body. He shuddered and grabbed her wrists even firmer. Her hands were going numb, and she knew she’d have bruises, but she didn’t really care. Somehow, she wasn’t scared anymore, either. She could feel his body against hers, taut and forbidding, yet his heart was beating fast, his breath was shallow, and he wasn’t doing anything but holding her still.
“You’re hurting me!” she mouthed, resulting in a slightly puzzled look on his face, and a loosening of his grip. Yet he didn’t let her go. He seemed to be debating something with himself. He had shifted his legs a little again, to gain better footing, and even though she still couldn’t kick at him, she could push against him using a greater part of her torso. Ignoring the little voice inside of her that urged her to just stay put and see what he would do, she pushed up, resulting in a sharp intake of breath and a groan from him as her abdomen connected with his.
Hermione stiffened, unsure what to do. There was no mistaking that he was aroused; painfully so, from the look of him. He had a look of confused need that she didn’t know what to make of. Clearly, he was as taken aback as she was, and he didn’t know what to do. Especially, she realized, now that she knew. She didn’t fool herself that he hadn’t noticed her reaction. She ignored the unfamiliar feelings that were rushing through her body, unwilling to examine them further, but feeling decidedly warm all over.
Finally, he seemed to be getting a grip. He leaned down towards her and in a voice that was hoarse from his struggle, he sneered, “I hate you!”
Hermione opened her mouth to mouth a reply, just as his mouth crashed down on hers. Unprepared for the attack, she was also unprepared for the jolt that went through her, making her whimper soundlessly. She vaguely noticed that he had let go of her hands, but it didn’t occur to her to get up. She felt his hands going to her sides, and then one hand was cradling her head, pulling her more forcefully against his mouth.
She felt glorious and she knew she shouldn’t. Harry and Ron would hate her if they knew. She quickly thrust that thought aside. She had already sinned, might as well enjoy it before paying the price.
Returning the kiss with an abandon that surprised both of them and made Draco groan again, Hermione caressed his chest through his robes with hands that were only just regaining their feeling. He felt firm, warm, and alive. Not at all like some monster. His heart beat fast and hard against her hand, and he shivered when her hands or her mouth did something he especially liked. No, he felt very much like a human being. She wanted more. She felt him slide her robes up her legs, until they lay pooled around her waist, and he was nestled between her legs. She moaned soundlessly, enjoying the feel of him there. Unconsciously, she tugged at his robes.
He broke their kiss. “No, don’t,” he panted. “I can’t control—“ With a large rip, Hermione had ended the discussion, as she unwittingly tore the robe down the middle with a fierce pull. It was nothing that Reparo couldn’t fix, though. From the surprise on Malfoy’s face, he hadn’t expected her fierceness in going for what she wanted. In fact, something about the way he eyed her suggested that he had expected nothing but a slap and a shove for kissing her. And something suggested that perhaps he might have preferred a slap and a shove to what was probably about to happen.
Hermione hardly noticed, she was looking at his partly revealed chest and boxers and the evidence that he found her attractive in spite of himself. She felt a little embarrassed yet couldn’t help herself, and with another of her now trademark blushes, she reached out to touch the evidence. Malfoy hissed in a breath and the thing jerked under her hand, but he held his ground. She hadn’t realized that she was afraid he’d jump away before she was relieved that he didn’t. She gathered all her courage and looked up into his eyes. They were angry and defensive. Daring her to laugh or ridicule him. She shook her head; she had no intention of doing so.
“Go now, Granger,” he bit out. “Before… before I decide I want to hurt you anyway.” This was such a lame statement that she just stared at him in puzzlement. “Hermione…” he pleaded. She tried to recall if he had ever used her name before. Perhaps even he couldn’t kiss a girl one second and call her names the next. The thought made her feel… something. She smiled at him.
“Damn it,” he almost shouted. “Have you no sense? Get out of here! Alohomora!” He had gripped his wand again and unlocked the spell-locked door. “Was that what you were waiting for? Go!” She just looked at him. “What is it you want from me?” he asked, almost pathetically. “I don’t even like you.”
Hermione shook her head again. No, he didn’t like her, and she didn’t like him either, yet… She looked down at his arousal again. It hadn’t abated in the least, and the sight made her heart beat faster and heated her blood. She was curious and something else. She reached out again and stroked the length of him, feeling a satisfied shiver as his head shot back and he closed his eyes on a groan. He wanted to be inside her, and, right now, she wanted to feel him inside of her. She slid down from the desk and as she stood closely before him, she grabbed the hem of her robes and pulled them over her head.
Slightly shivering with partial cold, partial anticipation—and partial dread that he’d simply walk out, laughing—Hermione stood in her underwear, unable to look up into his eyes. At least he hadn’t left yet. He seemed to just stand there, looking at her. Closing her eyes, she tried to compose herself enough to look up, when suddenly she was being lifted back up on the table and being ravished by kisses, while Malfoy struggled briefly to get rid of the remnants of his robe. Sweet madness.
This time there was no hesitation in him; it was as if he was daring her to stop him, to push him away. Nothing could be further from her mind. He really was a very good kisser, at least as far as she could tell. He had a way of making her melt, using his lips and his tongue. She felt her bra come loose and thought wryly that it wasn’t the first time he’d tried opening one of those. Again, an image of Pansy Parkinson, followed by a feeling of resentment, entered her mind, but she quickly tamped it down. It wasn’t up to her to censor what he had done before or would do later. This was in the now. Besides, it was nice he’d practiced first. She almost giggled at that thought.
He tossed her bra aside and looked hungrily at her breasts, before bending down to caress one of them with his lips and tongue, while gently fondling and pinching the other with one of his hands. They weren’t the largest breasts, but they seemed to be met with his approval. She convulsed beneath him as his tongue touched her nipple just right. He repeated the motion, wringing a similar response from her again. She was almost glad he had cursed her, or she would have cried out, alerting the whole school to what was happening. As he switched his attentions, she felt sure that if he kept this up she was going to have a climax long before it was time. She felt feverish and restless and she longed to feel him… She rubbed her abdomen against him and fell back against the desk as she was overcome with sensations.
Malfoy lifted his head and tugged at her knickers. Even though she knew that that was the next step, she felt a little scared. She hadn’t done this before, and she was about to do it with the one person in the world who had least reason or inclination to be gentle with her. For a second, she hesitated, watching as he ripped her underwear, his hands shaking. No, there was no going back. She had to know. Then, without preamble, his finger entered her most private place. She was moist enough to make it a very easy penetration. She convulsed so violently, then, that she banged her head on the table, adding stars to the fireworks she was seeing. It felt like nothing she had ever felt before! She panted violently, thrashing, silently begging for more.
Slowly, he started moving his finger, adding another one, and it did nothing to still her need. She wanted more, more, so much more. She was vaguely aware of the haunted look on his face and the concentration with which he regarded her. Wordlessly, she tried to plead with him; “Please,” but he didn’t stop fingering her, and even though he seemed to have to soothe himself every once in a while through the fabric of his boxers, he did not release it and enter her. No matter how much she wished he would. His jaw clenched and with sweat beading on his forehead, he was simply watching her in silence.
She knew she couldn’t hold back much longer. He seemed to know where to touch her, and she was sobbing with unrelieved need. He wasn’t going to take her, she just knew it. He’d finger her and then go sleep with Pansy instead. The resentment inside of her grew. She wished she hadn’t started this, but she had. It made it a much better revenge for him. “I hate you!” she mouthed, tears of frustration on her cheeks. He simply nodded and continued, unrelenting.
In the end, her fight was futile. When he caressed her clit with his thumb, one, two, three times, there was nothing she could do, and with a silent scream, she let wave after wave of pleasure wash over her, until she was left a quivering, sated blob. As she regained some awareness of what was going on around her, she saw that Malfoy was a lot paler than he had been before; he was slick with sweat, even though he had hardly been exercising himself, and he was shivering violently in echo to her body’s muted aftershocks.
The idea that he was so affected satisfied her immensely. He didn’t look like he’d last long enough to make it to the hall let alone the Slytherin common room. He made no move to move away from her either; rather, he braced himself on either side of her and bent down to kiss her again. Surprised, she didn’t know whether to react favorably or to punish him by being passive, but soon enough he coaxed a response from her, and her body slowly awoke again.
Malfoy broke the kiss and swallowed hard. “I assume you are a virgin,” he whispered almost inaudibly. “It—it hurts for girls. You are more relaxed now. I can’t wait any longer.” Hermione realized that he had removed his boxers, and they were now both naked, and he was nestled against her curls. He wasn’t going to leave her wanting. Why hadn’t he simply reassured her before? She opened her mouth to ask, but then gasped as he was pushing against her, and she felt the unfamiliar pressure of him stretching her. He part groaned, part growled, as he slowly inched forward.
Hermione wiggled a little, trying to get accustomed to the feeling, but he stayed her hips. “You’re so tight,” he bit out. “You’re going to make me come.” The very idea made Hermione feel like a warm, exciting tide was washing over her. She wiggled a little again, and he stayed her again, this time harder. “Stop it or I’ll hurt you!” he growled. It wasn’t a threat, he was just barely staying in control, and if she teased him anymore, she sensed, he would lose this control and simply strive for his own pleasure. Suddenly, he bent and bit her neck hard, and as she shoved at him and opened her mouth to silently object to the way he was treating her, he surged forward, breaking through her maidenhead.
The pain was blinding, and again she shoved at him, not thinking this pleasant anymore, at all. She just wanted to get away. Get back to her warm, safe bed. Why anyone enjoyed this bit was beyond her, and she was sorry that she had wanted it. “Get off! You’re hurting me!” she mouthed.
“I know,” he moaned. “Relax, you’re making it worse.”
She was making it worse? She wasn’t the one poking holes in others with her rigid flesh. “Get off!”
He slowly shook his head. “I can’t.” He took a deep breath. “Try and relax, it’ll be over soon.”
The pain was a great deal less than it was before, but it was still uncomfortable. She tried flexing some of the sore muscles. It was definitely getting better. “I hate you,” she mouthed sullenly.
It was doubtful he even noticed her latest admission of hate, as he now had his eyes closed and his lips were moving as if reciting something. Hermione strained to hear what he said, but the only thing that she thought she could hear was “Finbar Quigley,” who was, if she remembered correctly, some Quidditch player or other. Why would he be thinking about Quidditch now?
Still muttering under his breath, he gently withdrew a little, just to push back in, eliciting a groan from himself. Hermione found that, this time, it didn’t hurt at all. She was still a little sore, but it didn’t bother her the same way anymore, even though she was still uncomfortably stretched. He repeated the movement a few more times, the movements of his lips growing more and more frantic as he groaned and shuddered with each thrust. Hermione also found with each thrust that she seemed to mind less and less, until she was once again thrashing against him, needing release. He moved faster, harder, his control slipping, his need for his own release growing, but she now met him thrust for thrust, until, again, she felt the tides of her release sweeping her away. Relentlessly, he continued, making her come mere seconds later; again, and again, and again. Within what was probably no more than a few minutes, she felt that she had been climaxing on and off for hours, and she was convinced that she couldn’t handle anymore.
With one final thrust, he surged into her, his cry sharply penetrating the silence around them as she felt him pulsate inside her, making her tremble in response. He collapsed on top of her, shivers going through him every few seconds for several minutes.
Hermione felt herself drifting off from sheer exhaustion.
A few minutes later, she awoke with the sharp realization of what she had just done. She had just slept with Draco Malfoy, her best friend’s arch nemesis. Malfoy would be able to use this in so many ways; call her a slut, provoke Harry and Ron to attack him, get both her friends expelled. And her reputation would be ruined; she would be forced to leave Hogwarts as well or endure everyone’s ridicule. Not to mention that Harry and Ron would never speak to her again.
She had failed them all and Draco Malfoy had won.
Her sudden movement seemed to jerk Malfoy awake, as he had been dozing as well. He took one look at her stricken face and jumped back with an oath, the look of resentment on his face not veiled in the least. Her legs shaking, Hermione slid down from the table and began dressing herself, noticing her ruined knickers and the mixed fluids on her thighs with a pang of guilt. Behind her, she heard a sharp “Reparo!” as Malfoy repaired his robes. The robes that she had ripped in her wanton need for him to undress. She closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. What could she possibly have been thinking? She was not smart. She was stupid. She doubted that there had ever been born a wizard or a Muggle more stupid than she had been tonight.
She ventured a look over at Malfoy. He was now fully dressed and still wore his look of resentment; only now, it was more pronounced and there was an added element of distaste. Any hope she had had of pleading with him disappeared. No, it would be better to pretend she didn’t care. Perhaps if she woke up Harry and Ron and explained, they could be prepared for the attacks from him. Perhaps nobody would believe him. Well, except the Slytherins, but they didn’t matter anyway.
Her robes in order, she made to leave the room and got as far as the door—the unlocked door—before he caught up with her and slammed her into the wall with unnecessary force. “Nobody hears about this, do you hear?” he whispered ferociously, his face now livid with hatred and fury. “I don’t want anybody to think that I, Draco Malfoy, would even consider touching a filthy Mudblood like you!” He thrust her forgotten wand into her hand, slammed the door open and marched out. As an afterthought, he pointed his wand at her mumbling, “Finite!” lifting her Silencing Curse, before stomping off.
She stood there, looking after him, with a curious mix of relief and hurt clogging up her throat.