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“Never have I ever…” Pansy furrowed her brow at the ceiling, trying to think of something that hadn’t already been said during the seemingly-endless round of the 8th years’ favorite drinking game. “Ah! Never have I ever been slapped by Hermione Granger.”
“Really, Weasley? Never?” Pansy asked as Draco and Cormac each took a sip.
“Nah, but she did send a flock of bloody canaries after me once. Hermione’s got a whole load of options when she’s cross with you. You never know what you’ll get.”
The game petered out after that. People headed off to bed, although Padma curled up in her chair and declared she was too tired and drunk to move and would be sleeping there tonight. Hermione saw Ron and Lavender duck out the common room door hand-in-hand—they seemed to think they were being sneaky, but Ron tripped over a step and crashed to the ground, and Lavender’s whispers were louder than most people’s speaking voices.
Hermione sank back into the sofa and rested her eyes. Maybe she’d take a cue from Padma and sleep down here tonight. Someone sat next to her, and she toppled towards them as the cushions bowed under them. Their body was warm and solid.
“No need to throw yourself at me, Granger.”
She cracked one eye open and saw a pale hand with a distinctive signet ring on one finger. “Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy.” She made a half-hearted attempt to shove herself up from Draco, but the necessary coordination eluded her.
He grabbed her firmly around the arms and pushed her upright, holding her until she was steady. “You know, I thought I was special.”
She squinted at him. “I’m glad someone set you straight. Who told you?”
“The slapping. Devastated to find out Cormac’s had the pleasure as well. I thought I was your only one.”
She laughed. “Hardly. You were my first, if that helps.”
“It does. You’ll probably be pleased to know you were mine too.”
“I took your slapginity? I’m honored. I’ve never been slapped, you know,” she said morosely.
“Why do you sound like that’s a bad thing?”
“I’m curious to know what it feels like.”
“Do you want me to show you how it feels?”
She sat up and looked at him solemnly. “Actually, yes. I took your slapginity, it’s only right you should take mine as well.”
He huffed out a laugh. “That’s something you can only give away once, Granger. You want to be sure it goes to someone you have a really special connection with.”
“You sound like an absentice—asben—abstinence-only pamphlet.” Her tongue tripped over the syllables. “We have a special connection. Look.” She poked her index finger into his chest. “We’re connected. See? And what could be more special than taking each other’s slapginities?”
“I need you to stop saying slapginity.”
“Make me.”
“Granger, are you being serious?”
“Malfoy, do I sound like I’m joking?” She mimicked his tone.
“You mostly just sound drunk. Honestly, I have no idea what’s going on right now.”
She twisted towards him on the sofa and placed her hands firmly on his shoulders. It helped with the gravity of the situation, and had the added bonus of making it easier to remain upright. “Malfoy. Will you please do me the very great honor of taking my slapginity?”
“If I do, will you stop saying slapginity?”
“I solemnly swear I’ll never say it again.”
He heaved a sigh. “Fine. Stand up.” He stretched his arms in front of him and cracked his knuckles. “Where do you want it?”
“My face.” She pointed at her cheek.
His eyes widened briefly. “Fuck. Are you sure?”
“Give it to me, Malfoy. And don’t be gentle,” she said, full of drunken bravado.
He smirked. “I’m never gentle.” He raised his hand.
“Wait! Take off your ring. I don’t need your family crest imprinted on my cheek.”
“I wasn’t going to backhand you, Granger.” But he slid the ring off and dropped it in his pocket. “Last chance to back out.”
“Just do it al—“ His hand moved towards her face, and she shut her eyes and flinched. But the expected pain never came. Instead, there was a firm pat, and the weight of his hand resting on her cheek.
She opened her eyes and glared at him. “I told you not to be gentle!”
He dropped his hand and looked at her like she was very stupid. “Don’t be an idiot, Granger. You didn’t actually think I was going to knock you over, did you?”
She wobbled slightly when she stomped her foot. “But that didn’t even hurt!”
His eyes narrowed with intrigue and he took a step closer. He lowered his voice and asked, “Do you want it to hurt?”
He was so tall, taking up so much room. Hermione was suddenly hyperaware of exactly how much space was between them, and fighting contradictory instincts to both step back and step into him. She compromised by not moving, but she felt taut, buzzing with potential energy, like she could burst apart at any moment.
She swallowed. “I—yes. Only to know what it feels like. A proper slap.”
Both of his hands came up to cup her face. She was holding her breath. One hand drew away, then met her skin with a light smack. She gasped at the sting, but he was already sweeping it away with a feather-light brush of this thumb. Every stroke was a lightning bolt straight through her.
He bent towards her. “How was that?” he nearly whispered.
If she pushed up on her toes, they would be kissing. And if she stayed here any longer, that was exactly what was going to happen.
“I—have to go to bed. Goodnight, Malfoy.” She ducked out of his hands and ran upstairs.
Hermione skipped breakfast so she wouldn’t have to face him—or the abject humiliation of having been so transparently wanting. In Transfiguration, she resolutely refused to make eye contact, and when he whispered her name during the practical portion of class, she pretended she didn’t hear. When class ended, she lingered to be sure he was gone before she headed down the hall. Someone grabbed her arm and she shrieked as she was yanked into an alcove. By Malfoy, of course.
“What are you doing!” she whisper-yelled.
“You were ignoring me; I had to get your attention somehow,” he replied.
“What do you want?”
“I just wanted to check on you. Are you okay?” He brushed the back of two fingers over her cheek while he examined her face closely. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She scoffed. “You didn’t hurt me. You barely touched me.”
“So you want me to touch you, then?” He moved to the side of her face. “To hurt you? I think you like it.” His lips grazed the fine hairs on her cheek; his breath made her shiver. “Don’t you?”
She hesitated, then nodded. Every nerve ending from her neck up was on fire. “What if you—tried again?” she asked in a raspy whisper. She felt him smile against her skin, then he pulled away and she braced herself.
His palm landed on her cheek with a sharp slap, and immediately he was kissing the pain away. The sting from his hand mixed with the pleasure from his lips and overwhelmed her nerve endings. She heard herself whimper, which would have been the most embarrassing thing in the world—what was she, a puppy?—if she hadn’t been so turned on she thought she might combust.
She turned her head to meet his lips, and they kissed furiously. One of his hands was tangled in her hair, tugging her head back. The other rested lightly on her neck—he didn’t apply any pressure but the brush of his thumb over the hollow of her throat made her feel light-headed. Her pulse galloped under his fingertips. She grabbed his hips and pulled him towards her; the only thing in the world that mattered was the proximity of his body to hers. They greedily swallowed each other’s moans and breathed each other’s air. When he finally pulled back to breathe, they stared at each other, their breath and eyelids heavy.
“Wow,” he whispered.
“Wow,” she answered.
“Want to move this to my room?” he asked.
She nodded. “Please.” He tugged her out of the alcove and down the hall.