Harry Potter, Five Points For Permanent Mental Damage

Title: Five Points For Permanent Mental Damage [Hermione/Draco, Harry/Draco]
Authors: sociofemme and mousapelli
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 for some angry het.
Summary: Hermione hates Draco. Hate hate hate hate hate.
A/N: Sociofemme wrote most of this, and then couldn’t finish it and demanded I furnish an ending, whereupon I promptly turned it into slash.

Five Points For Permanent Mental Damage

Oh, she just hated him. Hate, hate, hate; she was a seething mound of hatred. If looks could kill, Malfoy’d be toast. Crispy, fried, blackened toast. The image of Draco Malfoy as an innocent breakfast food suddenly occurred to her, momentarily bringing Hermione out of her mountain of rage. She grinned to herself, then scowled again.

That rat bastard, no reason, for two pins she’d, how could he, argh!

Hermione barely noticed Harry and Ron settling down to either side of her. She could hardly miss the worried glance they cast each other over her head, though. Sweet boys; not long on the subtlety.

“What’s wrong, Hermione?” asked Harry softly.

“Malfoy,” she gritted through clenched teeth. “Who else these days?” She continued muttering imprecations under her breath. Harry and Ron either didn’t hear or didn’t comment.

“You can’t let him get to you like this,” said Harry earnestly. She thought that was a bit rich, coming from Harry, and she snorted. “Er, yes, I know, pot and kettle and all that, but still, Hermione, you need to stay focused. Please,” he said, suddenly looking tired.

Concerned, she sat up. “Is everything all right, Harry?” she asked.

He grinned, but it was a weak effort. “As well as we’d expected. No better, but at least no worse. Voldemort’s a crazy bugger, still, but at least Lucius Malfoy acts predictably. Never thought I’d give thanks for anything a Malfoy did,” he said philosophically. Then he shrugged. “So he’s dangerous. Just don’t give his son any opportunity, and you know you get reckless when you’re angry. Try, Hermione?”

She nodded. “All right, Harry,” she said, sounding subdued. “I’ll be careful.”

“Thanks,” he said wearily. “I’m for bed; it’s late. You should head off to sleep, too,” he added, but the last suggestion was lost in a yawn.

“G’night, Hermione,” said Ron, who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout this little intervention. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Not a real Ron-grin, but better than he’d been in awhile. Poor thing, he’d been Harry’s shadow for weeks now; she wasn’t certain if it was Ron or Harry who Ron thought needed protection. To be honest, she wasn’t sure if Ron knew himself.

All she knew was that if Ron had stuck that closely to her, one or the other of them would have gotten jinxed long ago. Wise of Ron to pick Harry.

But it was lucky that they’d toddled off to bed, all things considered. If they’d known that she’d planned a duel with Malfoy — alone, at midnight — they’d have been seriously brassed off.
Hermione didn’t feel like waiting in the Tower, so she arrived about twenty minutes early for the duel. The Fat Lady had been none too pleased to see her sneak out, but Hermione made her promise, however reluctantly, to stay in her frame until Hermione had returned.

Even with her advantage, she was only a few minutes before Malfoy, who skulked into the empty classroom in what he probably thought was a stealthy manner. He peered around and nearly started out of his skin when he saw her leaning against the wall and looking calmly at him.

“Hello, Malfoy,” she said, walking toward him. “Twitchy little ferret, aren’t you?”

“Very funny,” he said, his mouth a hard line. “That joke was old by the end of fourth year. Can’t think of anything new?”

“Coming from someone who’s called Harry ‘Scarhead’ since first year, that’s rich,” she said tolerantly. “Are we going to get started or what?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, folding his arms arrogantly, “that you’re worth fighting.”

Hermione snorted. “Then why’d you agree to meet me?” she asked. “I’m not sure that you aren’t going to get utterly trounced. That’s why you’re stalling.”

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you, Mudblood,” he drawled. “Maybe I just don’t want to get my wand dirty.” He smirked. “Either one,” he added, looking her up and down.

She gasped indignantly. “I cannot believe you just said that, Draco Malfoy! You’re disgusting!”

“You should get used to it, Granger. A Mudblood like you has got limited uses in respectable society.”

“I cannot believe that you just said that,” she said, preternaturally calmly. “Take it back right now.”

“Prissy Gryffindor bitch!” he snarled at her. “You think your life is so hard. What do you think I have to deal with?”

Even through her anger, Hermione rolled her eyes. “Whinge, whinge, whinge, Malfoy,” she said. “I don’t care what you think is so hard in your filthy little life. Why do you think that gives you the right to say whatever comes into your nasty little mouth?”

“Oh, that’s funny,” he hissed, “funny to hear the Mudblood talk about filth. Don’t you roll about in trash with your Muggle parents on the hols? Or better yet, with trash like the Weasleys, always ready to help destroy our world –” Hermione shut him up.

By slapping him across the face, as she hadn’t since third year. She didn’t even have the Time-Turner Exhaustion Syndrome as an excuse this time, only her own lack of self-control. But Malfoy was looking at her in evident satisfaction, dabbing at the blood from his split lip.

“Just couldn’t stop yourself, could you, Mudblood?” he asked softly. “Didn’t even remember you’re a witch, had to resort to the physical to get your point across, did you? Did you even think of going for your wand?”

“If I’d gone for my wand, Malfoy, you’d be dead,” said Hermione shortly. “It wouldn’t even have been special for me.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Ooh, look at the big bad warrior-witch. Gone into battle and killed, she has. Should I be impressed? Should I bow down and kiss your hem?”

Suddenly amused, she grinned. “Sure,” she said. “You might need the practice. I hear that’s all you’ll be doing soon.”

He looked queasy. “I’ll be kissing hems for more deserving wizards than you, Granger,” he said contemptuously.

“But you’ll still be kissing hems,” she said. “Now who’s revelling in filth, Malfoy?”

He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, settling for a scorching glare. Suddenly and completely unexpectedly, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward. She tensed, waiting for a blow, but what he did puzzled her even more. “I’ll stop that shrewish tongue of yours, Granger,” he growled, right before smashing their lips together.

Taken by surprise, she kissed back. He wasn’t a particularly good kisser, she didn’t think, or maybe he was just too angry to pay attention to technique. Their teeth clashed and their tongues tangled, but Hermione was reluctant to stop him. She let her hand run down his side, pulling him against her. He murmured appreciation of the shift, splaying his hand across her back to keep her tight against him.

She let her hand slide around the front of his hip and groped him, hard. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase, just this side of causing damage. She wasn’t sure if she intended to titillate or injure; Malfoy didn’t seem sure of that himself. He hissed and turned his hips slightly to the side. She followed the movement.

He gasped and seemed intent on pulling his face away from hers, but she wouldn’t let his mouth free. Instead, she conceded and gentled her search marginally. He relaxed, just a little, until her fingers brushed his hardening cock, then cupped the heavy weight beneath it. He stiffened once more and whined, deep in his throat. Hermione drew back and laughed right in his face.

“Got you by the balls now, Malfoy,” she said, her eyes glittering. “Are you going to trust a Mudblood not to just twist them right off?”

He tried to step back, but Hermione didn’t let go. She followed his retreat, step for step, until he was backed against the wall. Then she laughed again and loosened her grip, though she did not take her hand away entirely. “You’re mine, now, Malfoy,” Hermione breathed. “Admit it, and we can go back to the fun.”

“Don’t try to tell me you’re not getting off on this sick game,” said Malfoy breathlessly.

Hermione laughed merrily. “Oh, I am. That’s beside the point, though. Tell me,” she said, punctuating every word with a slight squeeze, “that you’re mine now. Or I squeeze,” she added warningly as he glared silently at her.

“Fine, you crazy bitch. I’m yours — but only for now,” Malfoy’s voice was a bit panicked, but he tried to retain one last gasp of his arrogance.

She allowed it — and let him see that she was allowing it. Malfoy’s pride wasn’t going to withstand this for long, though, no matter where her hand was, and she knew it. So she leaned in for another kiss, slamming his head back against the wall. It was just as hard and punishing, with clicking teeth and small grunts as their tongues fought for domination.

Hermione chased the taste of Malfoy’s mouth, loving the slide of his tongue against hers, the closeness of their bodies, the sounds that she didn’t think he knew he was making. Her rough grip softened, and she began to rub the ridge in his trousers, almost unconsciously. Malfoy was certainly conscious of the change, however. His moans grew deeper and his hips seemed to jerk of their own volition.

She ground her fingers down around his cock, fighting the material of his trousers. He had become distracted from the kiss, staring down at her hand as she stroked him roughly. She leaned in and bit at his neck. She wasn’t in the mood for gentle love-bites — this was the real thing. And as she tested the skin of Malfoy’s neck under her teeth, she also felt him shudder and felt his trousers grow damp under her hand.

She let him shake for a few moments, then said, “Looks like I wasn’t the only one getting off on the violent part of things, Malfoy.” She said it absolutely calmly, and he seemed to take a moment to understand. Then his head jerked up and he looked her full in the face, seemingly shaken.

“You were really — I mean — what?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Orgasm really takes it out of you, doesn’t it? Good to know.”

She turned to leave the room. “What about you, Granger? What do you get out of this little encounter?” he asked before she’d gone three steps.

Without turning, she said, “You think about that, Malfoy. You think about that really hard. And remember — you owe me.” She looked over her shoulder at that, briefly, and let her eyes twinkle at him. Then she turned and left the room.

Hermione slept very well that night. Malfoy, rather less so.


The next morning, completely by coincidence, Hermione got a message. It was indifferently delivered by a school owl, right into her half-finished porridge. She grimaced at the dripping parchment, drying it off the best she could with Ron’s napkin. (He didn’t notice, and a minute later, when he went to wipe his mouth, got a rather nasty surprise.)

It simply read, 4 o’clock, Charms. Alone. She grinned to herself, carefully keeping her gaze away from the note’s sender.

That afternoon, after classes had ended, she mentioned the library to Harry and Ron, who promptly headed out to the pitch for a suddenly-remembered Quidditch practice. Instead of going to the library, she walked directly to the Charms classroom. She closed and locked the door behind her before she greeted the room’s only other inhabitant.

“Hello, Millicent,” she said.

“Hello, Granger,” Millicent Bulstrode replied coolly.

“Oh, honestly,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “I thought we’d gotten over that last-name stuff ages ago. Are we back to that?”

“Draco told a few of us what happened last night. About your duel. I thought I’d best watch myself, that’s all,” said Millicent. Her face looked calm, serene — except for her eyes, which were wary.

“Oh, he did, did he?” said Hermione, her eyes narrowing. “What exactly did he tell you happened?”

“He didn’t go into detail. Something about a new hex or –” she shrugged. “I got the impression it was embarrassing, whatever you did.”

“Oh, you know I wouldn’t do anything to you, Millicent,” said Hermione softly.

Millicent quirked an eyebrow. “Do I?”

Hermione flushed. “That was different. I didn’t know who you were! It could have been anybody. It could have been Malfoy!”

“I’m not sure I like the implication of that, either,” Millicent said. “So you’re saying you don’t know when it’s me kissing you? That even if I pull you into a dark corner, you can’t tell who I am?”

“I was startled, that’s all,” Hermione protested, but she could see that she was losing ground. She strolled casually toward Millicent, who remained silent and simply watched her. When she was inches away, she smiled up at the taller girl, sliding her hand up Millicent’s arm to the back of her neck. “Remind me,” she said throatily, before pulling Millicent’s mouth down to meet hers.

Millicent cooperated enthusiastically. Their breathing was just starting to speed up when an odd noise caught Hermione’s attention. She broke the kiss, half-turning to check the door — only to see Draco Malfoy leaning against the door, open-mouthed.

“What’re you doing here?” asked Hermione.

“I’d ask the same thing, Granger, but that’s fairly obvious, isn’t it? You seem to have a taste for Slytherins. Gryffindors too nice to play your little games, is that it?” He seemed to have regathered his self-possession and was slowly walking up the aisle of the classroom toward them.

Hermione looked back at Millicent, who crossed her arms across her impressive chest. “Taste for Slytherins? What’s that about, Granger?”

Hermione smiled weakly. “Any chance I could get either of you to take this somewhere more private?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t leave for the world, Granger,” said Millicent firmly. Malfoy simply shook his head. Hermione sighed, resigned to sharing a few secrets.

“Millicent’s my girl,” she said simply. “Er, Millicent, I don’t know what you heard about last night, but –”

“First things first, Granger,” said Millicent, holding up her hand. “I’m no one’s ‘girl’. Where do you think you get off with that one?”

She smiled weakly, mind racing to try to think of a way to recapture control of the situation. This was just going from bad to worse, here. “But you are mine,” she purred. “Sealed and delivered, don’t you remember?” She curled her hand around Millicent’s nape once more and tugged, ignoring Malfoy for the time being. Millicent didn’t resist the kiss; triumphant, Hermione didn’t think she *could*. Satisfied, she let go.

She had to break the kiss herself, however; Millicent seemed reluctant to stop. Finally, she pressed two fingers against Millicent’s lips. “Save my place,” she whispered.

“Precious,” said Malfoy, now only an arm’s length away. “Darling. Sweet.” Hermione’d nearly forgotten about him, dammit. Not wise.

“It really is, isn’t it?” smirked Hermione. “Not words that could be used to describe you, are they, Malfoy?”

“Not words I’d want applied to my person, no,” he said scornfully, leaning in.

“No worries,” said Hermione. They were eye-to-eye by this point, only inches apart.

“Hey, hey, break it up,” said Millicent suddenly. She put a hand on each of the combatant’s chest and pushed them apart roughly. Malfoy stumbled, but Hermione kept her balance through the sudden movement.

She looked ruefully at Millicent. “Sorry, love,” she said apologetically.

“You’ve been snogging Malfoy,” Millicent said quietly. “That’s what happened last night, isn’t it?”

“Oh, that’s the least of what she’s been doing,” sneered Malfoy. Millicent cocked her eyebrow questioningly at Hermione.

“That’s true enough,” Hermione admitted. “I did play a bit of a game with Malfoy last night. But don’t worry, Millicent. I won,” she said meaningfully.

“Won? How do you reckon –” Malfoy abruptly cut himself off when Hermione slanted him a meaningful glance. “Fine, yes, she won, not that it matters, Bulstrode.”

“It’s the only thing that matters,” said Millicent softly. “Thank you, Hermione.” She turned abruptly and left the room.

“What was that about?” asked Malfoy curiously.

“None of your business, Malfoy,” said Hermione automatically. He shrugged, but Hermione could almost see him shelving the issue to think about later. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Followed you,” he said casually.

“Wanted a repeat?” she scornfully asked. He blushed slightly. “Or were you hoping to get off a few hexes while my back was turned?” He blushed even more, turning his whole face light pink. It was not a particularly attractive look for him, Hermione considered. “Ah, both, then,” she deduced.

He crossed his arms defensively. “You have no idea what my reasons were, Granger,” he insisted stubbornly.

“You’re as clear as glass, Malfoy,” she tossed back. “And now that you’ve scared Milllicent away, I have things to do. If you’ll excuse me?”

He scowled. “Fine.”

She smirked at him as she passed by, too closely, and ran her hand across his trousers. At his intake of breath, she winked. “Midnight duel again?”

He could only nod silently.

When Hermione got back to the Gryffindor common room, she started to head up to her dormitory to collect a few of her schoolbooks before going to the library. Before she got halfway across the room, however, Harry and Ron headed her off, herding her into one of the squashy chairs in the corner of the room.

“The Slytherins were all talking in class today,” said Ron. “I mean, I know it’s garbage, obviously, but they were saying that you and Malfoy duelled last night.”

Hermione looked at him, her face carefully blank.

Not blank enough. Ron scowled. “You didn’t. Hermione!”

She smiled at him hopefully. “I won?” she said, her tone making it a question.

Ron grinned, but Harry sighed and tiredly scrubbed a hand over his face, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. “Hermione. Did you have that set up yesterday?”

“What?” she asked, a bit startled at the tone of the interrogation. Was she about to be scolded, for pity’s sake?

“It’s dangerous! I just got finished telling you how bad his father’s been getting, and you run off to secret meetings with a Junior Death Eater!” Harry exclaimed. A few heads turned toward them and he winced. “Look, just promise me you won’t do it again.”

“I can’t do that, Harry,” said Hermione regretfully.

“Why not?” said Ron. He sounded suspicious. “Does he have some kind of hold over you? If he does, I’ll — ” He didn’t finish his threat, but his dark look and clenched fist implied more than words could have.

Hermione hesitated. “Well. Not exactly.” The boys looked alarmed. “Nothing like — that! Just…” she sighed, “I kind of have a hold over him. And I want to keep it. ”

She was faced with nearly identical suspicious glares — she was struck by how much alike the dissimilar boys could look — and arched eyebrows that urged her to explain.

“I can’t explain just yet,” she said weakly. “I want to get him in deeper — too deep to wriggle free. Trust me,” she added, as reassuringly as possible.

Harry sighed again. “Do you know how dangerous–”

But she cut him off. “Of course I know. God, Harry! You’re acting like I haven’t been next to you since first year. Have some faith!” she exploded, and stood to leave.

Harry caught at her sleeve. “Keep us informed, Hermione,” he said. “I can’t — I don’t want to get you in the middle of anything, and if you’re mixing about with Malfoys, that’s bound to happen.”

She paused and nodded. “I’m meeting him tonight.”

Harry nodded, although Ron still looked livid. “Do you want a second?” he asked. “I can come with in the Cloak.”

“No!” Hermione exclaimed, too quickly. When Harry’s eyes narrowed, she said, more naturally, “No, that’s okay. I — I — why don’t I just check in with you when I get back?”

Harry nodded, though he didn’t look particularly appeased. Hermione was struck with her own suspicions. “And don’t follow me anyway. I’ll know.”

Harry nodded again, but Hermione thought she caught a flicker of frustration dart across his face before he could clear his expression. She smiled inwardly.

“Anyway, I’m off to the library until dinner. Want to come?”

As she had expected, Ron and Harry suddenly found something that urgently needed to be done, and she was able to retrieve her books and leave with no further obstacles.


As always, Hermione was able to block out the world while she was in the library, both before and after dinner, but after curfew had passed and she was forced to return to the common room, reality impinged more and more often.

The whispers of the other students (growing fewer as the hour grew later) didn’t particularly bother her, but her own thoughts about the upcoming encounter unsettled her. Her plans were distressingly fluid, and depended on Malfoy’s actions to an uncomfortable degree. She tried to analyse all the possibilities, but the only thing that she knew for certain was that she absolutely couldn’t allow Malfoy to get the upper hand at any point. He had to start off-centre and stay that way. Earlier, when she had forgotten about him in favour of placating Millicent, he had nearly got the advantage. That could not happen again.

She grinned lasciviously to herself — she knew what would unbalance Malfoy.

As the hour for the duel drew nearer, she began to fidget. She left quite a bit earlier than she had the night before. Malfoy would try to get there before her this time and she needed to take evasive actions. She was not altogether sure that Harry would do what he had agreed — come to think of it, Harry had never said that he wouldn’t follow her in the Cloak. She took the most circuitous route she could without getting lost herself, listening carefully for an incautious step from an invisible observer.

She arrived at the empty classroom half an hour before midnight, slipping in carefully and closing the door sharply after her in case she hadn’t lost any potential followers. She stepped back into the shadows to wait.

The wait was not long; once more she had preceded Malfoy by only minutes, and she blessed her foresight. He slipped inside and looked around carefully. Again, though, he jumped slightly when Hermione stepped forward into the light.

She simply grinned, this time, forgoing ferret jokes, and enjoying Malfoy’s slight chagrin. She walked forward silently. She was aware that the usual thing for a woman to do here was to slink, or prowl, or vamp, but she simply walked, simple, straightforward, and natural.

Malfoy didn’t seem to notice any lack in her approach, his breath coming short and eyes fixed on hers. When she had come to a decent distance, she kept walking. She pushed his shoulders as she went, gently forcing him to step backwards until his back was pressed against the door.

She leaned close, bypassing his expectant lips in favour of his ear. She breathed lightly for a moment, making him shudder, then whispered, “Should we skip any pretense of a duel, or does this count, Malfoy?”

“This works,” he gasped. “A fuck’s good as a fight, Granger.”

“Glad you agree,” she said, and leaned into his body tightly. His hands whipped ’round her waist to grasp her back, holding her hips to his. She could feel the hard ridge of his excitement pressing into her stomach, and she shifted slightly against him. He tightened his grip, stilling her movement.

“No,” he said firmly. “I owe you, remember?”

“How do you expect to repay?” Hermione breathed into his ear, enjoying the tremor it caused.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, a little helplessly. Inwardly, Hermione raised an eyebrow. So Malfoy liked to be given directions? Good to know. Put that away for future reference.

For now, though, she had more interesting things to consider. “Has your memory failed you already? For shame, it’s only been a day.”

Malfoy looked unsure. “How exactly –” he started, but cut himself off with a look of determination and began to slide his hand down the curve of her behind.

Hermione sighed. “Let’s start with the basics. Right now, the only thing turning me on is the fact that you don’t know what you’re doing.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him forward, walking backwards blindly until she ran into a desk. She hoisted herself onto the table and spread her knees, continuing to pull Malfoy toward her until he was flush to her body once more. She closed her legs around his hips, rubbing herself luxuriously against him, cat-like.

He moaned and leaned in for a kiss, quite naturally. She had time for a quick grin before their mouths connected; he was catching on. When their lips met, she simply concentrated on enjoying the rough scratch of whiskers, the silky feel of their duelling tongues, the small noises both of them were beginning to make.

Unexpectedly, Malfoy took a bit of initiative. He reached up and cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb over her peaking nipple. When she gasped and arched her back, he plucked more strongly at the beaded tip. Hermione’s hips rolled and she placed her hands behind her, breaking the kiss but allowing Malfoy greater access to her sensitive breasts. He took immediate advantage, leaning down to mouth her through her blouse and vest. She moaned and her hand rose to pay similar attention to the neglected nipple. Malfoy turned slightly to watch her, then replaced her hand with his, imitating her actions and rolling it between his fingers, pinching just a bit too hard.

Hermione was gasping for air as Malfoy abandoned his task to attack the buttons of her blouse. The fastener of her Muggle-designed vest nearly stymied him, and Hermione had to lend a hand, but once her skin was bare, she lost her focus as the chilly air hardened her nipples further, the sensation teetering between pleasure and pain.

She pulled him away from her breasts and up for another frantic, rough kiss. She shuddered at the feel of his shirt against her sensitive skin, and Malfoy’s hand dropped to her thigh, seemingly casually. As their tongues duelled, he pushed her skirt higher, skimming along her upper leg. Hermione shifted slightly to encourage his initiative, and he took immediate advantage, moving her skirt up to her waist, baring her knickers.

His thumb slipped under the elastic, and Hermione broke the kiss to gasp. She buried her head in his shoulder as he grew bolder. All too soon, the knickers were less of a tease and more of an annoyance, and she tugged at the scrap of cotton until they were out of the way. She wasn’t sure where they’d landed and she didn’t care. All she cared about was Malfoy’s fingers against her clit, rubbing and pinching.

Her breath was coming in soft pants against Malfoy’s shoulder, and she felt close, so close, almost — just about — nearly —

And Malfoy stopped.

“Bastard!” she hissed before she could stop herself, trying to pull his hand back. But he resisted.

“Now who belongs to whom, Granger?” he drawled.

“This is not the times for games, Malfoy,” she said desperately.

“Just say you’re mine or I leave. Not too difficult, I don’t think.”

“No, you don’t think!” snapped Hermione. “Fine. I’m as much yours as you are mine, just — for God’s sake!”

She ruined Malfoy’s smirk by grabbing his shirtfront and slamming their mouths together. His hips pressed against hers, and she rubbed luxuriously against a hardness that belied his calm of moments before. He gasped into her mouth and pushed closer. The pressure was in exactly the right spot, and Hermione ground her hips into his desperately. Malfoy uttered no protest; instead, he shuddered and reciprocated. It was perfect, it was good, perfect, yes oh god oh fuck fuck yes. Finally. She flew apart, shaking helplessly

Hermione felt herself drift in the aftermath of her orgasm. She was dimly aware that Malfoy had followed her into orgasm only a few moments later, but she was more interested in trying to figure out how to regain control over Malfoy than about Malfoy himself. Damn, damn, damn — why had she agreed like that? Now he and she were on equal terms; not what she had planned at all.

While she was thinking, Malfoy had been rearranging his clothes. Nearly immaculate, he leaned forward to peck a kiss onto her unresponsive lips. “Tomorrow, Granger,” he tossed over his shoulder as he left the room. “I’d call this a draw, wouldn’t you?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. Hermione violently pushed her skirt down and buttoned her blouse. She looked around for her knickers, but they were nowhere in sight. Shrugging, she figured Malfoy had taken them as a souvenir. Well, she’d figure out a way to get them back without too much damage, she hoped.

But on her way out the door, she stopped. Turning slightly to her left, she started into space.

Harry appeared from the air. He was holding her knickers, hooked on one finger. He looked at her steadily.

“Fuck,” said Hermione.

“Yes,” said Harry.

Hermione nearly exploded. “Harry Potter! Did I not tell you not to follow me? I told you I could handle it, and I was fine — no need for your interference. And when did you come in, anyway? How did you figure out where we were?”

Harry lifted his other hand. The familiar, old-looking parchment hadn’t been wiped clear; the map of Hogwarts was plain. Hermione deflated. She’d forgotten.

“It didn’t look like you were exactly in control of the situation, Hermione,” said Harry, his eyes narrowing. “In fact, it looked like just the opposite. It looked like Malfoy had complete control of the situation from where I was standing.”

Hermione blushed so hard her face hurt. “And that’s another thing! Why did you stay once you saw what was going on?”

Now Harry was blushing. He was also avoiding her eyes. “Harry!”

“Look — I — I just wanted to make sure you’d be all right! I didn’t expect — and then I didn’t want to draw attention to the door by leaving, so I’d hoped to just leave after you, but you kind of–” he demonstrated a wristy sort of half-toss with the hand holding her knickers that Hermione supposed was meant to illustrate his point “–and I, um. How could you tell I was here?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“Your breathing is heavy,” she replied shortly. “Not exactly discreet, Harry. Also,” she added with raised eyebrows, “not exactly disinterested. Who were you watching, Harry? Me? Or Malfoy?”

Harry blinked at her for a long moment, then dropped her knickers and swept the Cloak back over his face. Heels clicked, the door opened and closed, and Hermione was alone. She grabbed her knickers and, making a face, scourgify‘d them before pulling them back on.

She hurried back to the Tower; she arrived just as the portrait of the Fat Lady was swinging closed, presumably behind an invisible Harry. She gave the password, and the Fat Lady gave an irritated sigh and exclaimed, “For heaven’s sake, don’t you children sleep?”

Hermione did not reply, and the Fat Lady merely huffed and snapped shut, clipping her heel.

Hermione’s sleep this night was much less serene than the previous night’s had been.


The next day, the whispers from the Slytherins were louder; more of the castle was aware that Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger had been duelling. Hermione blushed under the smug looks of those who assumed that she had lost. This was not on, she decided. Malfoy would have to be shut up — before he couldn’t resist the compulsion to brag about what was really going on.

When she next passed Malfoy in the hallway, she pretended to stumble sideways and slammed into him. While he swore at her and gathered the books she’d knocked to the ground, she slipped him a piece of parchment. He quickly palmed it and sneered at her.

She scowled at him and walked on. A moment later, Ron and Harry caught her up. “Want me to take care of Malfoy’s git face for you?” Ron offered. “I heard what he said, the little ferret.”

Hermione laughed, a little shrilly. “No, don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m used to it by now.”

He raised an eyebrow, and Harry coughed. It was Hermione’s turn to be surprised. Harry hadn’t told Ron what he’d seen last night? Maybe he was interested in a repeat performance, she thought, and smirked at him. Harry blushed and looked away, starting a conversation about the Defence homework. Ron groaned and Hermione allowed herself to be distracted.

But when she tried to escape to the library after classes, Harry glared her down. Once again, he and Ron cornered her in the Common Room.

“But I thought you hadn’t told him, Harry,” said Hermione, puzzled.

“Hadn’t told me what?” asked Ron.

“What I saw last night,” said Harry grimly, “And I’m telling you now. Hermione’s been duelling Malfoy, Ron. Kicking his arse, usually, I gather. But last night,” he added, scowling, “she lost.”

Hermione blinked for a long moment. “Right,” she added belatedly. What was Harry playing at? Maybe, she thought, smirking inwardly, that he wanted to play, too. Too bad for him, though — she didn’t think Malfoy would go for that.

Ron looked concerned. “Merlin, Hermione! I know you can trounce him in class, but meeting in secret? He’s a dirty Death Eater — why are you letting yourself be alone with him?”

“Well, she won’t anymore,” broke in Harry grimly. “She won’t see him again without me being there.” Ron subsided, reassured.

But Hermione most definitely was not reassured. She barely managed to avert a frustrated scream. What was Harry thinking?


That night, Hermione greeted Malfoy with wand at the ready. Seeing her aggressive pose, he raised an eyebrow and moved his hand to the handle of his wand. “Yes?” he drawled.

“I just want to make one thing clear, Malfoy,” said Hermione shortly. “If anyone hears about our little game, you’ll never play with anyone again.” She gestured with her wand, making her implication quite clear.

But he only smirked. “Worried about your reputation, Granger?”

“Obviously,” she said tightly. “Aren’t you?”




They stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment. Hermione fancied that she could hear Harry’s breathing in the background, although she didn’t think she would have heard him if she hadn’t known he was there. She decided to ignore him.

Taking the initiative, Hermione stepped forward and pulled Malfoy’s tie, wrapping it around her hand until his lips were but inches from hers. She leaned into him, bridging the gap and bringing their lips together. As always, their kiss was scorching. Hermione felt her teeth click against his as their tongues battled.

The slick slide of Malfoy’s mouth left hers, tracking a path to her ear. Hermione gasped and shuddered as he nipped at her earlobe and breathed heavily into her ear. He licked down her neck, and at the junction of her neck and shoulder, he bit down, sucking her skin between his teeth. Hermione called out, but remembering the necessity of silence (she could stand Harry watching, but not Filch), she cut her cry off short.

She pushed Malfoy away after a long moment, and they faced each other, panting. Hermione shoved at his shoulders, and he obligingly walked backward until he was pressed against the wall. But Hermione kept pushing until he slid down the wall, sitting awkwardly with his knees splayed. She dropped down heavily into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, and pinned his shoulders back to the wall.

She stared down at Malfoy until he looked uneasy. She let a small smile slip across her lips and leaned forward. She avoided his expectant move to kiss her, and mimicked his earlier path from ear to neck. When she bit down, he moaned. She pressed her fingers against his lips to remind him to keep quiet, and he flicked his tongue out against them, teasingly. She crooked two fingers, and he sucked them obediently into his mouth.

“I bet you suck cock, Malfoy,” she said softly into his ear. “No, don’t try to deny it,” she added at his stifled noise of protest. “I know you do, and I know you like it, don’t you? You want it rougher than most girls will give it to you, but the boys will do it, won’t they? Say yes, Malfoy, if you want anything to happen tonight.”

He spat her fingers out. “You’re — you’re out of your mind, Granger.”

“Am I wrong?”

He glared at her and muttered from between clenched teeth, “Nnn.”

“What was that? Speak up, please.” Hermione was thoroughly enjoying his defiant expression, and she wanted to make sure Harry could hear this.

“You’re not wrong,” he gritted out.

“Not wrong about what? I’ve forgotten.”

“You’re an exception, Granger,” he said, sounding as if the words had been wrenched out of him. “I like to suck cock.”

“Very good,” she said, leaning in again. “So do I. And I think that deserves a reward, don’t you?” He nodded frantically, and she smiled. “Stand up.” He scrabbled along the wall for handholds, groping his way up from under her into a vaguely standing position.

Hermione drew herself up, using Malfoy for leverage. He didn’t offer to help her, but she didn’t expect it. She swiftly unfastened his robes and shirt, leaving him exposed to their unseen watcher. “Remember to stay quiet,” she warned him, before sliding back down him onto her knees. She opened his fly slowly, teasingly.

She was expecting to see his pants, and raised her eyebrows to see that she was wrong. “Came prepared, Malfoy?”

“Not yet,” he said. Startled, Hermione chuckled.

Malfoy’s chuckle was abruptly cut off, though, when Hermione took a firm grip at the base of his cock and licked at the tip. She moved her hand up and down slowly a few inches, finding a rhythm that made Malfoy’s breath speed up. Then, when she took the head into her mouth, he gasped, seemingly barely able to keep his voice down.

She took her time, alternating slow licks with shallow sucks, and keeping her hand moving lazily. Malfoy tried to reach down and direct her movement, but she jerked her head out of his grasp, accidently-on-purpose letting her teeth graze against the head of his cock. He hissed and removed his hands immediately. She soothed the small mark with her tongue, and he relaxed after a tense minute.

Malfoy’s hips began to jerk slightly when her hand moved, and she sped up. He reached down and, obviously remember the past lesson, touched her shoulder lightly. Hermione deliberately relaxed the muscles in her throat and took his cock as deeply as she could. Malfoy groaned and his knees started to buckle. Hermione backed off and held him up as best she could as he came, jerking and moaning.

Standing, she turned and spat onto the floor, then grabbed her wand. “Scourgify,” she said calmly, including the floor, herself, and Malfoy in her cleaning spell. Not allowing Malfoy to catch his breath, Hermione efficiently tucked him back into his clothing. She pinned him back to the wall with another hard kiss that seemed to wake him up from his post-orgasm stupor, and he seemed able to walk back to his dormitory without help.

As soon as he’d gone, Hermione Summoned the Invisibility Cloak, not allowing Harry the opportunity to sneak out without giving him a hard time about his private show.

When the silvery Cloak flew into her hands, it revealed a very rumpled Harry, his robe askew and his lip bitten red. His cheeks were flushed, and it was obvious that he had been watching the show quite carefully indeed.

Hermione slowly walked over to him, not taking her eyes off him. “You were watching, weren’t you, Harry?” Hermione whispered. “Watching and wanking under your Cloak. I bet that’s why your lower lip is red. You’ve been biting it to keep quiet.”

Harry was watching her, his face flaming. He averted his eyes, and Hermione knew she had scored a hit.

“You did, didn’t you?” She leaned close, and Harry turned to flee. She stopped him, grabbing his arm. “No, no, Harry. You did insist on being here. Now it’s my turn to insist. First, I want you to tell me who you were watching. Did you want to be Malfoy — or do him?” Harry flinched. “Or can’t you decide, Harry?” she asked on a hunch. “It’s okay, really. You did hear Malfoy say that he liked cock better anyway, didn’t you? So you do have a chance with him. But you’re going to have to agree to play my way, if you want in on the fun.”

Harry finally got a word in edgewise. “Play, Hermione? What you were doing tonight didn’t look like you were playing at anything.”

“Trust me,” she said. “Everything has its reason.”

Harry sighed. “Let’s go back to the Tower, Hermione. It’s late, and we’re likely to be caught.”

“You have been caught,” came Filch’s delighted voice from the doorway. “Out late, are you, Mr. Potter? Miss Granger?”

Harry’s eyes went wide, while Hermione, whose back wasn’t to the door, struggled to keep her expression neutral. She did her best to look like her arms were simply folded around her rather than clutching an invisible cloak.

“Fine night for it apparently,” Filch continued, grinning in triumph. “That’ll be three I’ve caught just this hour!”

Hermione’s lips were halfway into forming the word ‘three’ when she caught sight of a very disgruntled Draco being dragged along behind Filch. Caught between scowling and grinning, Hermione settled for pressing her lips into a thin line.


Filch leered at the three students while they waited for Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall to come and fetch their respective House members.

Hermione kept a neutral expression firmly in place, watching out of the corner of her eye as Draco scowled at the floor and Harry fidgeted nervously.

“Not to worry,” Filch addressed Harry, “you’ll get what’s coming to you, yes you will.”

Hermione was well aware that Harry was far more nervous about the fact that Hermione had hastily hidden his cloak on her way out the door and one of them would have to retrieve it early tomorrow morning, but Harry gave a little shudder anyway for effect.

Hermione was saving her feigned terror for McGonagall, figuring if she couldn’t use her teacher’s pet status now, what was the point of it?

McGonagall slammed into the door at last, followed closely by Snape, both in their dressing gowns and looking none-too-pleased about it.

“For shame!” McGonagall dug into them without preamble. “Gryffindors out in the middle of the night, illegal dueling, and don’t even think about making that insipid ‘poor teacher’s pet’ face at me, Miss Granger!”

Even Draco dragged his eyes up from the floor to look impressed as Hermione’s cheeks went warm. Harry disguised a snicker as a cough.

“I think I shall give Professor Snape the honor of deciding your punishment,” McGonagall finished. Harry relaxed visibly, being Hogwarts most decorated member of the Persecuted in Potions Detention Club, while Hermione gritted her teeth. That would mean serving detention with Malfoy, but one look at McGonagall said that now was not the time to argue, record number of OWLS or not.

Predictably, Snape ordered them to spend their entire Friday evening re-cataloging the schools supply of toxic potion ingredients.

“The fact that many of the toxins are housed in delicate glass bottles,” Snape concluded his directions that Friday night, “should dissuade you from casting superfluous hexes about. But if you feel the need, by all means do.” Snape’s lips twisted into a thin smile. “Hogwarts could use several less illicit duelists disrupting the sleep of half the staff.”

“Re-ordering all the ingredients?!” Draco raged indignantly when his Head of House was well out of earshot. “Whoever heard of ordering them by use? They’re already in alphabetical order!”

“Oh shut it,” Hermione said dismissively, glancing at the shelves that surrounded them from floor to ceiling.

“If anybody ought to complain, it’s me,” Harry added, “since Neville and I were the ones that alphabetized them last Friday in the first place. It was actually sort of fun, after a while.”

“You are so lower class,” Draco sniffed.

“I’m not the one demanding blowjobs from Gryffindors,” Harry snapped back easily, a full heartbeat before he realized that he wasn’t supposed to know that.

“You broke your word, Mudblood!” Draco rounded on Hermione, but Harry jerked him back by the shoulder.

“Leave her alone, Malfoy,” he said, “Hermione didn’t tell me, I followed her in case she needed me to protect her from you.”

“Protect me?!” Hermione snapped. “You followed me so you could hide in a corner and wank, you little tosser!”

Draco eyed Harry.

“Wank?” he asked. “Really?”

“Er,” Harry fussed with his glasses, “no proof of that actually…”

“Oh, come off it,” Hermione glared at him, “If Filch had cast Priori Incantem on your wand, I’d bet my Auto-Correcting Quill he’d have seen a Scourgify come oozing out.”

“Her or me?” Malfoy asked.

“I have no idea what…” Harry glanced from Hermione to Draco and gave it up. “You, Malfoy.” Malfoy looked like someone had smacked him about the head with a House Elf.

“It isn’t Broom Aerodynamics,” Hermione put in, “you two chase after each other all the time, whipping out your pointy bits of wood at a moment’s notice…don’t stare at me like I’m daft, you’re completely obvious. If you aren’t going to snog, perhaps we ought to get to the ingredients? They need to be ordered in the next three hours.”

Harry and Draco craned their necks to see the very top of the shelves, stared for a long moment, then looked at each other. Then Harry shoved Draco against the shelf and kissed the hell out of him. Draco responded by biting Harry’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and the moan that followed could have been from either of them.

Hermione backed up until she bumped into the small table meant for writing labels and pulled herself up to sit on it, swinging her legs. If Harry’d gotten such a good show, why shouldn’t she?

Malfoy wasn’t fooling around either; he’d already got Harry’s robes out of the way and was working on the other boy’s trousers, while Harry had gotten distracted by the taste of Draco’s neck and how his hair did a remarkable impression of Harry’s when rough fingers were run through it.

When Draco slid down against the shelf to give Harry’s cock an experimental lick, Hermione had a sudden brilliant idea and whispered an ‘Accio’.

Harry arched as Draco swallowed more than half of him in one go, and one flailing arm sent a glass vile from the shelf behind him crashing to the stone floor. The tableau froze as both boys watched the viscous blue gunk eat a grapefruit-sized hole in the stone and drop through the floor, shattered glass and all.

Draco slipped Potter’s wand out of his pocket, pointed it at the hole and murmured ‘Reparo’, the spell fixing the stone obediently even though Draco had not bothered to removed Harry’s cock from his mouth for the whole performance. Harry carefully lowered his arms to one shelf down as Draco resumed and went back to flailing.

“Oh Christ, Malfoy!” said Harry.

“Mmm muh huh, Aher,” said Draco.

“Click!” said Colin Creevey’s camera. Harry and Draco froze again and turned to Hermione, eyes wide.

“Gotcha,” said Hermione, holding up the camera with a feral grin.

“Hermione, what are you…” Harry started asking, then interrupted himself with a sharp moan. “Draco! Hold on a moment, can’t you?!”

“Ee’s alwe-ee ah uh aw fwilm,” Draco pointed out, far more reasonably than one should manage to be while sucking off their childhood rival.

“Right, might as well finish up then,” Harry agreed, dropping one hand to grip Draco’s hair.


“Miss Granger, what is it that you simply had to discuss with me?” Snape demanded, shutting his office door with a bang.

Hermione flipped the Wizarding Photo down onto his desk. Snape leaned down to see, then recoiled, nearly knocking half the contents of his desk to the floor.

“Five points from Gryffindor for lack of sufficient warning!” he snapped. “And another five for permanent mental damage done to Hogwarts staff! What is the meaning of this?!”

“I just thought you ought to know,” Hermione explained, “that I’ve got the Malfoy problem well in hand. No pun intended,” she added after a moment’s consideration.

“Has it occurred to you, Miss Granger,” Snape retorted, “that Draco might just as easily convince Potter to be a Death Eater?”

“The only person eating things around here,” Hermione said confidently, “is Malfoy.”

“I am going to be violently ill,” Snape announced, “so I suggest you remove yourself and your…item…from my office so I may retch in peace. And may I suggest inflicting your ‘help’ on your own Head of House from now on?”

Hermione heard a pained “Obliviate” behind her as Snape’s door swung shut. She all but skipped down the hall to her next class, wallowing in the notion that she had Draco Malfoy by the balls at last. Her plan had worked marvelously at last, as they all must sooner or later.

Several days of careful consideration brought Hermione to the conclusion that she might as well stop fooling around and go straight to the top, where she could effect real change.

“Where are you off to?” Ron narrowed his eyes. “You and Harry keep disappearing, it’s starting to get a bit odd.”

“Dumbledore’s office,” Hermione answered sweetly, turning to go. “And Harry hasn’t disappeared,” she said over her shoulder, “he’s underneath the table with Malfoy.”

“AAH!” Ron screamed. “I thought I was kicking the table!”

1 person likes this post.

1 Comment

  • By Harper, 2010.07.30 @ 6:15 am

    “Five points from Gryffindor for lack of sufficient warning!” he snapped. “And another five for permanent mental damage done to Hogwarts staff! What is the meaning of this?!”

    I almost died laughing. Besides, everyone knows Snape didn’t really obliviate it. He wanked over it later.

Other Links to this Post

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a comment

WordPress Themes