“I am not going to sleep with Draco Malfoy.”
“Please! And it’s not sleeping together, you’ll just share a room!”
“Yeah, Ginny, that sounds a lot like sleeping together to me,” Hermione exclaims, burying her head back into her laptop.
The redhead closes it shut with a fluid movement, earning a glare from her when her fingers are almost caught in it.
“Hermione, I’m begging you. Please. Please. Do I have to get on my knees? I’ll get on my knees,” and she’s already climbing down the bed to kneel in front of her.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Just ask someone else! Why do you have to stay in this room?”
“Because I have stuff here that I’ll need!”
“Oh my God, take that image out of my head,” Hermione grimaces.
Ginny jumps back on the bed and takes her face in her hands. “‘Mione. Listen to me. You know how long I’ve wanted this.” Hermione’s eyes soften a bit at that. “I implore you. It’s just one night.”
“It won’t be just one night,” she says flatly. She knows Ginny all too well.
“Well, hopefully not,” her friend winks. “But it won’t even be one night if you don’t say yes!”
Hermione sighs. She can feel her resolve crumbling, but she won’t give in that easily.
“Can’t I just find another room? Luna? Lavender? On the floor with the twins?”
“You’d rather sleep with both Fred and George than with Malfoy?”
“I don’t care.”
Ginny chuckles. “I don’t know, honestly, we didn’t think about it. This is just the easiest way,” she says with a shrug. “But, obviously, you can find somewhere else to stay, whatever suits you. Just… leave me the room?” she concludes, her best puppy eyes in place.
Hermione scratches her eyebrow with a grunt-slash-sign-slash-she-wants-to-strangle-her-best-friend-kind-of-animalesque verse. Ginny looks at her for a moment and decides to push a bit more.
“Look, it’ll be St. Valentine’s in… what? Three weeks’ time?” She pokes her belly. “I might finally be able to spend it with Harry…”
Hermione raises her hand to stop her right there. “I told you not to put images in my head.”
“Okay, okay, forget the image. There, let me take it out,” Ginny brings her palms to Hermione’s temples and pretends to perform a magical ritual. “Whoosh. It’s gone.” Her hands slide down to her cheeks, cupping her face. “But I still need you to say yes. Like, I literally need you.”
When Hermione clenches her jaw under her hands, Ginny whispers another “Please”. Finally, the older girl closes her eyes, inhaling a deep breath.
It’s not like this is going to be the end of the world, right? It’s one night. Two separate beds. She’ll probably be too focused on trying to ignore Harry’s scent around her to think about anything else, anyway.
Besides, Harry has been sharing a room with Malfoy since the git switched faculty and moved to their campus, and he’s never really complained about him. She’s heard stories about almost anyone – hell, she has stories about Ginny, too (and this one will be a great addiction to her collection) – but Draco Malfoy really seems to be a… decent?… roommate.
She’ll really just have to sleep.
Even though he’ll be right across the bedroom and basically within arm’s reach. And she hates him. She really fucking hates him.
She can’t stand the sight of him when he walks into a classroom always looking like someone told him that he’s not allowed to find a drop of fun in his life, with his perfectly ironed shirts and his ridiculous fringe falling on those even more ridiculous eyes that make half of the campus swoon.
She can’t stand the way he always has a response to everything and that he’s always prepared: there’s not an author or a novel he hasn’t a specific opinion on, he knows poems by heart and he always seems to know as much as their professors.
She can’t stand the spark that lights up his eyes whenever she disagrees with him on this or that topic and they start arguing, like he fucking enjoys contradicting her and riling her up.
And her blood really just boils when exam results come out and they’re always just that close (even though she has to admit that the rush of pure pride and satisfaction she feels when her name is right on top of his has yet to find a match).
Who cares if that one time last autumn he arrived in class wearing a sweater and when his hands went to the back of his crew neck to take it off he looked so good that everyone turned to look at him with parted lips?
And who cares if her eyes slipped to the patch of skin right over the hem of his chinos that was unveiled as the underneath t-shirt lifted with the movement?
And, honestly, why would anyone pay any thought to the way his surprisingly fit biceps stretched the fabric of the sleeves, thus resulting in good food for imagination under the shower?
Hermione opens her eyes when her throat makes an unsolicited choked sound.
Ginny is still looking at her with pleading eyes, unaware of her inner turmoil.
“Bloody hell. I can’t believe you’re going all this way to fuck Harry Potter.”
Her friend screams and throws herself at her, smacking kisses all over her face while Hermione tries to wriggle out of her killer hug with fake disgust, telling her that after what she told her she will never want to be anywhere near her mouth ever again.
“You’re an angel, Hermione, I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
“Yes, yes, blah, blah. Go, Harry, piss off. The sooner I get to sleep, the better.”
They’re in the hallway in front of the boys’ room, Hermione with her pyjamas folded on her laptop and a bag thrown over her shoulders.
“He’s not that bad, I swear,” Harry tries, lowering his voice and nodding to the door behind him.
“I don’t need you to talk him up to me,” she sighs, raising her hand and closing her eyes.
This is going to be a nightmare.
“Are you mad at me?” Harry almost whimpers, putting down his own bag and grabbing her shoulders, trying to find her eyes. “Please, don’t be mad at me.”
Hermione lets out another deep sigh. She doesn’t want to tell him that she is, in fact, annoyed at the prospect of the night that’s waiting for her. Harry and Ginny are her best friends after all, and she would quite literally do anything for them, as her current sacrifice clearly shows.
Sexiled from her own bedroom. They better have something in mind already to make it up to her.
She grimaces and gives Harry a light push to move him out of her way. “I’m not mad, Harry. Now come on, leave. Ginny is waiting for you. Chop chop!”
He takes Hermione’s face in his hands and smacks a loud kiss on her cheek, screaming “I already changed the sheets, love you!” as he runs away down the corridor.
She inhales the umpteenth deep breath of the day and knocks on the ajar door.
The room is left in the darkness and only the warm light of a lampshade coming from a bedside table cuts through it.
“It’s not like I have much of a say about it,” an annoyed voice answers from inside.
Yup. This night with Draco Malfoy is going to be one for the history books.
Arming herself with patience, Hermione enters and locks the door behind her, trying her best not to think about the thousand different scenarios that this small and completely innocent gesture could open up to.
The room is exactly as big (well– as small) as hers, with the desks positioned in the exact same spots, the windows over them covered with the exact same curtains, the exact same closets against the wall, there’s the exact same disgusting carpeting on the floor, too. The bathroom door is on the opposite wall, though, and that’s the only real difference. Together with the decorations on the walls.
Harry has a couple of band and movie posters hanging over his bed, with some pictures taped here and there. The bed is pristine, sheets clean and pillow in place; a huge contrast when it comes to his desk, a mess of books, flying sheets of paper, pens and pencils, computer wires and headphones. He left a water bottle opened right next to his opened laptop, which Hermione closes with a resigned smile.
She steals a look at Malfoy’s side. Everything is perfectly ordered and tidy (it almost makes her want to scream). He has a framed picture on his bedside table but she can’t see the faces in the dim light. There are a couple of post-it’s and ripped notebook pages taped on the wall over his desk, all scribbled in his neat calligraphy. She frowns, annoyed at herself for the fact that she can recognise it immediately.
He’s sitting on his bed already in his pyjamas, back against the corner where the mattress meets the wall, legs lazily crossed over the duvet, a pencil between his fingers, holding a paperback in front of him with both hands. The thinnest half of it is folded around the thickest one so Hermione can’t see the front cover, but the typography of the pages tells her it’s a poetry book.
He’s reading and analysing poetry at this ungodly hour of a random January day, pyjama bottoms in place and acting like he doesn’t have a care in the world, meanwhile she is still wearing her day clothes, feels quite irritable and extremely close to snap at anyone, especially him, because her best friend is getting laid in her room next to her very beautiful and very comfortable bed, forcing her in this unpleasant situation with this very unpleasant man.
“Bathroom’s there, if you need it,” Malfoy says, pointing at the door without taking his eyes off the page.
Hermione takes a deep breath. “Thank you,” she says, and she doesn’t care if it doesn’t come out as polite as it should have.
Her bag falls next to Harry’s bed with a loud thud and she locks herself in the bathroom to get changed in her night clothes.
Her absolutely plain, not at all feminine or in any way sexy night clothes. Just a regular pair of sweatpants, with a regular t-shirt (that has a reindeer on it because the only warm pyjamas you can find for the winter are Christmas ones), with even more regular underwear.
She splashes some cold water on her face. It’s stupid that she’s even thinking about this. Who cares what she’s wearing. She’s just going to sleep.
When she comes out, Malfoy hasn’t moved from his position and is still reading in silence.
Climbing on Harry’s bed and slipping under the duvet, Hermione tries her best not to pay her undesired companion the slightest attention, but her body fails her brain and her eyes dart to him for longer than she’d like.
She clears her throat and grabs her computer and headphones.
“Is it okay if I work for a bit? I’ll keep the brightness low.”
She grimaces inwardly. It’s not like he asked her if he could keep the light on, and, from the looks of it, he’s not going to stop reading anytime soon. So why did she feel the need to ask. And with a voice that sounded so stupidly small.
Because it’s his room, that’s why, you moron. Stop overthinking everything.
Malfoy just nods with a muttering noise.
She puts her headphones on and plays the first album she finds on her Spotify page as she opens a handful of documents and some saved tabs on her screen.
After a couple of hours, her eyes fall on the clock and she realises that it’s past midnight. She opens the calendar to check her next day schedule and feels already tired when she registers the atrocious hour she’ll need to wake up in the morning. She closes her laptop and puts everything on the floor next to the bed, then reaches for her phone on the bedside table to check the alarm.
Malfoy is still reading.
“I’m setting the alarm at half past seven.” It’s not a question, this time. She’ll just do it.
Hermione rolls her eyes and locks her phone.
“Alright. ‘Night,” she says, resting her head on the pillow and turning to face the wall.
And why did she–
It’s just a reflex. Nothing more, nothing less. You go to sleep, you say goodnight.
He’s not saying goodnight.
Well, because he’s an arrogant piece of sh–
Hermione squeezes her eyes shut.
She hears the rustle of bed sheets and the sound of something being picked up after a few minutes. The light is switched off and she turns mindlessly to the other side, pulling the duvet over her head.
Malfoy is reading using the torch of his phone to light the pages in front of him. The book rests against his knees, his legs pulled up in an angle, one hand holding the phone over it and another scribbling something on the margins every now and then.
“You can keep the light on,” Hermione hears her voice saying, and she immediately wishes she could take it back.
She clears her throat and turns on her back.
His eyes jolt to her. “Figured you wanted to sleep.”
“I do want to sleep,” Hermione says, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“Then, the light would not be a good idea.”
“Well, I can still see this one light, so, really, what’s the difference?” she points out, turning her head to the side to face him.
The cold light of the phone cuts the shadows on his face making his features look even sharper than what they already are.
Not that she notices, or anything.
“Just turn to the other side,” he says with a gesture of his pencil.
“You don’t really get to tell me which side I should sleep on,” she immediately snaps.
“Suit yourself,” he shrugs and goes back to his book.
This time, her nostrils can’t hold back her loud exhale.
“What are you reading anyway?”
Why can’t I just keep my mouth shut?
Malfoy unfolds the paperback and moves the phone just enough to light it. She recognises the cover of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. He’s taking the American poetry literature class; that’s why he’s not in her prose one. He folds it back after a few seconds.
“Have you ever watched the film Dead Poets Society?”
Jesus, Hermione, just shut up.
She counts her heartbeats.
One, two, three, four–
“You should watch it.”
A few more minutes of silence pass. Then, she hears the noise of a pencil scraping against paper and Malfoy turns the light off, letting the darkness envelop the room and turning to his side to sleep, his back to her.
Hermione is in one of the university courtyards having her monthly fight with Fred over the interpretation of the author’s work they have to study for one of their shared classes. They’re currently screaming at each other about a feminist reading she’s proposing and that he’s doing his best to dismantle.
Not because he doesn’t agree with her, really. He simply loves to tease her and she’s okay with that.
When he proposes a coffee out of the blue in the middle of the argument, she accepts begrudgingly and they walk away from their classmates towards the nearest café.
“You’re analysing it with modern-day lens.”
“I’m not! You are not taking into consideration the fact that the traditional reading is biased!”
“Against women, you dumb fuck,” she says, slapping her book against his arm and making him chuckle.
“Look– alright, let’s say that canon is… what is it that you said?”
“Wrong and prejudiced, and it’s not just me that says this–”
“Yes, yes, wrong and prejudiced,” Fred continues, covering her mouth with his hand, that she shoves away with a scowl. “Still, you’re not– oh, sorry!”
Fred and his twin brother George are human bowling balls, constantly crashing into someone, which never fails to make Hermione laugh.
“Did it spill? Sorry, I can buy you another coffee.”
“No, it’s fine. All good.”
Hermione’s stomach drops upon hearing the deep voice.
“Oh, hi, Malfoy,” Fred says when the blond turns around to face them. “Shouldn’t you be in class, right now?”
“Same goes for you, Weasley.”
“Fair,” the redhead concedes. “I’ll see you then,” he nods at him, then turns to his friend to get back to the point he was making.
Hermione is not paying attention to him or to the exchange, focused as she is in looking at random graffiti on the nearest wall. Someone should really re-paint, around here. Brighter colours maybe, some flowers here and there.
“I watched the film, Granger.”
Her head snaps around.
The film. The one she told him about a week ago when she had to sleep in his room to let Ginny and Harry have– to leave Ginny and Harry alone. When she spent a truly outrageous amount of hours working on her computer right next to Draco Malfoy while he was sitting on his bed in his plaid pyjamas reading poetry in the middle of the night.
“Oh,” she says, straightening her back a bit. “Did you like it?”
He clears his throat. “Yeah. Yes, it was a great film. Bit tragic.” They stare at each other for a long moment and she can see his jaw flex, before his eyes swiftly turn to Fred. “Well, I’ll leave you two. See you around.”
“Bye, Malfoy,” Fred echoes, waving his hand in the air. “So, where were we?” he goes on, taking Hermione’s arm and getting back to their argument like nothing happened.
She needs to blink several times before she can get rid of the dizziness in her brain.
“Right, so for your final grade I’ll need an essay and an oral presentation– oh yes, whine all you want, professor Lupin is the big bad wolf who makes you speak in front of the whole classroom. But I’m not done yet, so quiet down!”
The class collectively groans louder. He simply smirks and waits for them to shut up.
“You’re too many and we don’t have that much time, so I’m putting you in pairs,” he grins, opening his hands like the director of an orchestra when the room explodes with complaints. “There it is. I’ll tell you now that it’s pointless, you can beg me all you want, I’m not changing my mind. I’ll put this online as well,” he goes on, raising his voice amongst the noise, “but just so you can start organising…” he picks up a sheet of paper, holds it high in front of him and starts reading the pairs.
Hermione is listening to Harry complain with one ear as the other tries to focus on Lupin reciting names, mentally checking off every single one he’s calling. There are very few people left.
Like, maybe ten.
Please, call me, call me, call me.
“… Brown. And then we have…”
Please, God, please have mercy.
“And, last but definitely not least, Granger and Malfoy. I expect great things from you two and you’ll be the first to present next week.”
Her gaze runs to Malfoy. To untrained eyes, he looks the same as any other time in class, uptight and serious, with an aura of arrogance surrounding him. But Hermione has spent more time than she feels comfortable admitting glaring at him the past few months, therefore she can clearly see his rigid shoulders and his set jaw. Not to mention his dark gaze, fixed in front of him.
Great. He hates this, too.
Though, Hermione is a hundred percent sure that, if it were a race of who is more horrified about them being paired together, she would be the winner, thanks to the all-encompassing self-loathing coming from the stupid, idiotic, unnecessary, completely unprompted and unsolicited wet dream she had a couple of nights ago that’s been occupying her mind every waking moment and making her want to rip her ovaries out of her own body.
Who even has a wet dream about Draco Malfoy.
The entire campus.
Yes, but not her.
In her defence, she was in a very specific time of the month. And it’s been a while since her needs were satisfied. And the fact that Ginny disappears with Harry every other night doesn’t help the situation at hand.
She knows plenty of attractive men. Undeniably attractive men. And she really could have just texted someone. It’s not like she doesn’t know that people dream about her, too. She’s not dumb, she can look in the mirror, and she’s not above appreciating herself. Overall, she is a beautiful young woman.
Besides, there are some past crushes that sometimes resurface. And, again, really attractive men. She can’t blame her brain then, if her hand slips between her legs most nights and, more often than not, she sees Fred against her closed eyelids.
But there are limits, in life. Boundaries. Very specific boundaries that help you stay on track. Restrictions. Systems of checks and balances.
Dreaming about Draco Malfoy slipping out of his stupidly hot night ensemble and peeking up at her with his head framed by her thighs really crosses all of them.
Hermione draws a sharp breath and washes her dry mouth with a big sip of water before heading towards him. He’s standing, collecting his things, most of the class already gone, and he almost startles when she enters his line of vision clearing her throat.
“This thing is due next week but I have a shitload of other things to do so my only free time to work together on it is on Sunday. Can you make it?”
He looks at her with an unreadable expression. “Let me check,” he says, taking out his phone and opening the calendar. His jaw clenches. “It’s uh… it’s St. Valentine’s.”
Hermione blinks. “You have other plans?”
“No, not really, I… no. It’s fine,” he sighs, putting the phone back in his pocket.
She notices his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows.
“I’ll have a look at the documents and I’ll try to come up with something, so we’ll have a starting point.”
“Great,” she nods, “I’ll do the same.” She’s about to turn around when she realises they haven’t decided the time nor the place. “Where…”
“Not my room. I think Potter is buying stuff and he’ll ask me to find somewhere else to be very soon,” he anticipates.
“Right. I’d say a café but I have some books that we might need, so… my room? After lunch? And if it’s not too chaotic we can go to the common area.”
“Sounds good,” Malfoy says, his voice weirdly hoarse. “Around two, then?”
“Yep. See you then,” Hermione nods and spins on her heels to run away before her traitor cheeks turn red.
A knock on the door makes her jump and almost choke on water, some drops spilling on her t-shirt from the water bottle.
“Come on in,” she says while grabbing a few tissues to dry herself.
The door squeaks as it opens and Malfoy pokes his head in.
“Sorry, I’m a bit early,” he says after a second, when Hermione stops in the middle of the room gaping at him.
Is it Sunday, already?
Shit, it’s Sunday.
Ginny has been talking non-stop about the perfect romantic date she and Harry have planned for tonight. Hermione would know the details, had she actually listened to her friend instead of just nodding along while tapping furiously on her computer to finish the three essays she has due in the next few days.
Malfoy raises his arm and shakes a red box he’s holding in one hand.
“Didn’t want to come empty-handed and um…” he frowns at it, then looks back at Hermione, whose face is the depiction of terror. It’s a very red box. Heart-shaped. “These things are all you can find in supermarkets right now.”
It’s Sunday, it’s Valentine’s Day, and she has a study date with Draco Malfoy.
And he brought chocolates.
Isn’t that just perfect.
“No. It’s um… It’s fine,” she tells him, shaking herself out of her trance and going to the door to let him in.
She takes the box of chocolates from his hands and stares at it for a second. “You really are a romantic, Malfoy.”
He scoffs, or maybe he clears his throat. “A thank you will suffice.”
“Only if these are good. Anyway, sorry for...” she gestures around, “I was zoning out on this other thing and didn’t realise time was passing. Would you like some water?” Damn the perfectly oiled system of politeness her mother has installed into her brain since childhood.
“Er, yes, thank you.”
She drags Ginny’s chair over to her desk and gestures for him to sit down, leaving the red box on her bedside table.
It’s the second time she sees Malfoy wearing something different from a shirt and chinos or jeans ensemble. He’s wearing sweatpants and she has never seen him wearing sweatpants (except for– well, those weren’t sweatpants, technically, they were pyjama bottoms so her point still stands); he paired them with a campus t-shirt, the university logo splayed across his chest.
Well, what else did she expect, now? It’s Sunday and they just have to study. There’s no need to look like a million bucks.
Except that he always looks like a m–
“You okay, Granger?” he asks as he sits down and grabs the glass from her hand.
“Uh? Yeah. Sorry, like I told you, I was really focused on…” she gestures to the mess of books and sheets on the desk, only just realising that maybe she should tidy up.
“We can reschedule, if you’re busy today.”
“No, no, absolutely not. It has to be today,” she says with a firm nod.
And yet, she still stands in the middle of the room, looking lost.
Malfoy’s eyes wander around a bit. “Nice decorations. Do the lights…?” and he opens and closes his hands to imitate the blinking lights of Christmas trees, while he looks at the strings of lights she and Ginny hung all around the bedroom walls.
“No, they’re just regular lights, Malfoy.”
Because of course he loathes them. God forbid Draco Malfoy enjoys or likes something.
“Noted,” he says.
Maybe that’s a smirk pulling up his lip or maybe Hermione just needs to crash her head into the nearest wall.
“Anyway, it’s fine,” she resumes, collecting the papers together and shoving them in the middle of a notebook, making room on the table for his stuff. “I’ll just go freshen up a bit. You can start looking at the handbooks, maybe you’ll find something interesting.”
With that, she closes the bathroom door behind her. She presses her back against it and lets out a heavy exhale, squeezing her eyes shut.
With another deep breath, she looks at her image in the mirror and immediately throws herself to the sink to wash her burning face. The cold water on her skin helps, and she lets it run on her wrists as well, just to be sure. Then she grabs her toothbrush to wash her teeth – no second intentions, don’t get her wrong, just regular brushing after lunch like her dentist parents obviously taught her.
Looking again in the mirror, she realises there is even more water all over her t-shirt. And she’s not wearing a bra.
Why would she. She never wears a bra in her room.
A horrifying thought occurs to her. Did she sleep with a bra that night?
Before she can start overthinking, Hermione spits the toothpaste and rinses her mouth, cleaning the sink before walking back out.
Malfoy turns to her as she steps into the room before immediately snapping his head back to the pages in front of him when he notices her wet t-shirt.
She pretends not to see that; the movement was so fast that she actually wonders if she imagined it anyway. Grabbing the first sweatshirt she can find, she puts it on and sits down on her chair.
“So,” she turns on her laptop, “found something interesting?”
He takes a few printed sheets from his bag to show them to her and opens his computer to share his work.
They start analysing documents and working on articles, occasionally passing each other some books while assembling their PowerPoint, and everything seems to be working out just fine.
Except, after a while his phone starts getting notifications every few minutes and it gets on her nerves.
“Will you just take that?!” she exclaims at the thousandth text he receives.
Surprised at her outburst, Malfoy stops typing and blinks at her.
“Sorry, it’s just… it’s really getting annoying.” She shouldn’t apologise, really, but she’s the host and they have to work together so she has to make an effort in being civil.
“It’s on vibration.”
“Yes, that’s the problem, Malfoy. It fucking vibrates.”
He raises his hands in defeat and turns on his chair to grab his phone from the bag. He reads the texts without replying and puts it face down on the desk with a loud exhale.
She has no idea why she keeps pushing everything. What’s this need to have a connection with Draco Malfoy? Who cares about Draco Malfoy?
“No, it’s just…” he taps with his fingers on the phone cover for a while. “Well, there’s this girl I’ve been seeing… and with today being St. Valentine’s and everything, she kind of expects me to do something,” he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face.
Hermione freezes. Honestly, the last thing she wants to do right now – or in life, really – is discussing heart problems with Draco Malfoy.
Does he even have a heart? He’s always so… cold. And distant. Detached from everyone except his favourite poets.
(Hermione does not know who they are. She does not.)
He never hugs anyone, never puts a hand on someone’s shoulder. Never really smiles.
(She has wondered more times than she’s comfortable admitting what a true Draco Malfoy smile would look like.)
He doesn’t seem the affectionate type or the lovely, cuddly boyfriend.
Not that she cares. But maybe this mystery and aloofness that surround him are the reason why she can’t seem to be able to shut up when it comes to him.
“And you don’t want to ‘do something’?”
He sighs. “Not really, no. I’ve been trying to call it off, but…”
“Well, it’s a bit of a dick move trying to call it off so close to Valentine’s Day.”
His next words roll out of his mouth almost as if he wanted to stop them but they escaped his grip.
“I’d argue it would have been more of a dick move if I spent Valentine’s Day with her when I have another girl in mind.”
Hermione’s heart inexplicably skips a beat.
Silence lingers for a minute.
“You’re not with her either though.” She pauses for a second too long. “Are you?”
He clears his throat. “Well, I have this thing with you. So,” he shrugs and goes back to typing on his laptop.
Feeling the need to do something with her hands, Hermione refills his glass and takes a long sip of water herself before going back to work as well.
Too bad she can’t focus on anything, since the only thing her brain seems able to visualise right now is a big, red, neon signal that flashes “Valentine’s Day” in front of her, making her realise all of a sudden that, one, this isn’t just a Sunday, but it’s supposed to be the most romantic day of the year; and two, that the man sitting right beside her isn’t just Draco Malfoy, but he’s also the one whose long, pale fingers holding a pencil have popped regularly in her mind for the past three days.
At night, specifically.
Very late at night.
(And he brought her chocolates.)
Maybe she needs to take Cho’s advice and finally download Tinder. It would be a wise choice, at this point.
Well, I have this thing with you.
Now, that’s a regular sentence. But it’s also an incredible masterclass in avoiding the question. Does he mean she’s keeping him from being with the girl? Or, does he mean he’s with her and she is the girl…
Hermione claps her hands on the desk before she can finish that thought (she will not finish that thought, not now, not ever) and checks the time. It’s been about three hours already.
“How long do we have left?”
Malfoy looks at her sideways and then at their material, skimming through the PowerPoint.
“Not long, I think maybe another hour or so? And then we’ll have to split the presentation.”
She groans and drinks again.
“What, you have something else to do?” he says, and she almost chokes on water again.
She has no idea the game he’s playing at– if he’s playing a game in the first place, but one thing’s for sure.
She’s not going to let him win.
“Maybe I do,” she replies in a clipped tone.
He smirks with a silent nod. “And who’d be the lucky fellow?”
She holds his gaze. “Best if you don’t know.”
He bites his lip. His perfectly shaped white teeth catch his lower lip and Hermione’s eyes can’t help but drop and admire the motion.
“Is that why you’re so distracted?”
“I’m not distracted,” she retorts after a second, not sure whether the note of irritation in her voice is directed more at him or herself.
“We had to go over the same statistics three times because you couldn’t read the graph,” he points at the computer screen with a complacent grin.
“It’s not like you understood it immediately, Malfoy, so I’d suggest you pipe down.”
“And then you typed ‘bicep’ instead of ‘bicycle’ on a slide,” he continues, his smile getting more feral by the second.
“You through?” Hermione snaps, feeling her hands itch.
Had it been literally anyone else, she would have just slammed something on their chest. Actually, maybe he’ll get the Granger treatment as well, he doesn’t deserve a special pass.
“Not really, no. But I have a proposition,” he says, leaning in and boring his eyes into hers.
His pupils have dilated.
Which she hasn’t noticed.
But if she had noticed, Hermione would have thought about switching the light on because it’s getting dark outside and pupils dilate in low light.
Clenching her jaw, she waits for him to speak.
“You tell me the name and I won’t make fun of you for taking a long pause before reading the word ‘eruption’.”
Hermione’s breath comes out of her nose like dragonfire.
She can feel the flush on her cheeks and she really wants to slam her fist against his chest.
“You literally just did,” she hisses instead.
His eyes narrow in two small slits.
“I could do worse than that.”
“Oh, could you, now?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“I can guess.”
“You don’t know him.”
“Is it Weasley?”
“Malfoy, I swear to God…” she mutters, turning around, collecting the sheets on the desk. Wherever this is going, it’s definitely not going to leave her mind clear enough to study.
“Diggory?” he pushes on.
“I’m walking out,” she snaps.
“It’s your room.”
“I’ll make you walk out.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“You really should learn how to shut the fuck up,” she almost growls.
Suddenly his tone changes and it’s like he understood something that’s been right in front of him from the beginning. “Are you lying?”
Her eyebrows shoot upwards. “What?”
He pauses. Then, “You’re lying. About your non-existent plans.”
“And why would I be lying?” Hermione stares at him, trying to conceal her growing panic.
“Because you were the one to propose today of all days and you haven’t mentioned a word about this supposed date of yours until it came up in conversation.”
“That’s because things changed and, again, it’s none of your fucking business.”
Draco Malfoy is openly snickering at her.
“God, Granger, it’s really making you sound stupid.”
She is going to throw something at him.
“How much you want to fuck me.”
Hermione draws in a sharp breath and her fists close tightly. She has the urge to stamp her feet but she’s not going to give him the satisfaction.
One. She could kick him out. She should kick him out. She could make him stand up and place a solid kick right on his butt and slam the door behind him.
Two. She could kick him out and email Lupin to tell him she had to do the entire work by herself. She’d have to change the presentation and that would take up time she doesn’t have, but it doesn’t matter– it would be for a good cause.
Three. She could find something smart and witty to say to make him come out of this as the terrible loser piece of shit he is. That would require the use of some of the big words she keeps in store for big occasions, which would be perfect. Not to mention the fact that she has dreamed of finally shutting up Draco Malfoy with a long-ass speech for as long as she’s known him.
Four. She could shut him up in another way.
She straightens up.
“Well,” she says with the most collected and put-together tone she can master. “What if I do?”
Malfoy freezes under her smug gaze and his eyes turn liquid grey.
Hermione feels like she’s going to lose it any second now. She can play but she can’t play, and she really has no idea what to do next.
Yes, she did want to shut him up once and for all, but she had no idea that those words would be this effective.
The fact that she didn’t technically lie makes the whole situation even worse.
Fuck Draco Malfoy.
She clears her throat and turns around to get back to her paperwork. Feeling warmth creeping up her neck and cheeks, she tries to come up with something, anything, to tell him to just go away, but her brain doesn’t seem to be functioning.
Her heartbeat is ringing in her ears and the sheets shake in her trembling fingers, her mind is reeling and she can’t bring anything into focus because all she can think and feel is the scorching heat under her clothes, and all she wants to do is take them off.
But she can’t right now, can she? Not when she’s just told Draco Malfoy that she does, indeed, want to fuck him, and on Valentine’s Day of all days, and so she can’t just go and undress in the middle of the room with him there.
It’s undignified and it’s preposterous and it’s indecent, and she’s never going to do that.
As she’s mulling her possibilities and the day’s disgrace, Hermione doesn't realise the man sitting right next to her has set his jaw and come to a decision himself.
“Fuck you, Granger,” it comes out like a deep snarl that snakes through the air into her ear.
Malfoy stands up abruptly, chair knocked over, and his mouth descends on hers. She doesn’t have the time to gasp because, as soon as their lips touch, his hands run to her waist to hoist her up and sit her on the desk, leaving her effectively breathless.
His mouth is warm and soft and everything that she would have never associated with him.
With a whimper, she lets her eyes close shut and sags into his arms.
It’s his deep groan that makes her come back to her senses. Gasping in outrage, she puts her hands on his chest and pushes him away, horrified at what she just did.
“What… you… what…” she’s panting and struggles to form a sentence, thankful to be seated because she’s sure her knees would have given out otherwise.
Malfoy is still a few inches from her, staring at her in a way that makes shivers run down her spine. He leans on the desk slowly, hands on either side of her thighs, caging her in.
“Tell me I read it wrong, Granger,” he says hoarsely, a breath away from her face. “Tell me I got it all wrong, that it was a bluff, and that you never thought about this.”
Hermione swallows, her heart pounding in her chest.
This is the moment where she should kick him out, email Lupin, and continue her semester with no other Draco Malfoy detours. He gave her an opening and she should take it.
“You…” she rasps out, but her eyes fall on the sharp angle of his jawline and dip down to the curve of his body under the t-shirt and she really, really, just wants to jump him.
Her hand clutches the fabric, fisting it to pull him to her.
“You didn’t read it wrong.”
His body seems to exhale at once, before he surges forward and captures her lips again.
This time she’s ready for him, drawing him closer until their bodies are almost touching. He moans into her mouth, kissing her with a fervor that makes her entire body tingle. His hands go to her waist, his grip is firm but she can feel hesitation in his touch.
That won’t do.
Hermione moves her hands under his t-shirt until they’re splayed on his back. Then, she digs her fingernails into his taut muscles.
Malfoy hisses and pulls back a little, leaning his forehead against hers.
“Granger...” his voice sends delicious frissons to her core.
“I meant what I said,” she breathes, and his dark eyes snap to hers. “I want to fuck you.”
Five magical words and there’s nothing holding him back now. He hastily takes off her sweater and his arms encircle her body, bringing her right on the edge of the desk and flush against him, making them both groan when her breasts come in contact with his chest.
Her legs lock under his butt and she starts rolling her hips to find some friction, earning a bite to her lower lip in response. She smiles against his mouth and quickly makes work of his t-shirt, taking it off of him and carelessly throwing it away.
Her mouth attaches to his chest then. As she kisses, licks and nips all over his shoulders, pectorals and abdomen, Malfoy is making all sorts of noises and Hermione delights in them, a rush of powerfulness running through her.
She wants to make him come undone.
He seems to have a different idea in mind though, because as soon as she sucks his nipple, he growls, takes her face in his hands and kisses her as though he was a thirsty pilgrim and she was holy water.
It’s hard and rough, it makes her head spin and she can’t keep up with him, laying back on the desk more and more at every lick and bite and swirl of his tongue until she’s draped all over their books and papers.
Feeling the sharp angles under her back, Hermione tries to move her hand to take them out of the way but Malfoy stops her, grabbing her wrists in his hands and pinning them on either side of her head.
For a moment they’re both still, the only noise in the room is their heavy breathing but the air is electric.
Then, slowly, he leans down and starts kissing her still covered belly. He’s soft and deliberate and intense. It’s more intense than what they’ve been doing until now, it’s more intense than any of her makeout sessions ever were, and it’s threatening to overwhelm her.
When his lips circle her nipples after mapping her chest, she’s panting and almost trembling in his arms. She arches towards him but his mouth leaves her body, making her whine.
She’s hot and desperate and she’s not above begging.
“Don’t move,” he tells her, before his fingers grab the hem of her t-shirt and in a swift movement she’s half naked under him.
Hermione Granger has never, not even in her best dreams, thought about being sprawled out half naked on her desk for Draco Malfoy to see.
And yet, she’s never been so turned on in her life.
His gaze explores her upper body, from the curve of her hips to her soft belly to her chest, making her feel like a goddess he’s venerating.
Her eyes flicker shut when he gently cups her supple breast and thumbs her hard nipple.
Warmth spreads through her body. She’d never thought his voice could sound so tender.
When she smiles at him, he leans down and kisses her languidly, warm hands stroking her body up and down, making her skin erupt in goosebumps.
He pulls away, frowning in concern. “Am I hurting you?”
“No, it’s this book,” Hermione angles her arm to grab it from under her shoulder. She frowns, turning her eyes into his, bright with lust. “Bed?”
“But you’re so hot half naked among all your books and papers,” Malfoy smirks down at her.
“I promise you I can be hot when I’m comfortable in bed, too,” she huffs as she sits up and takes his hand to guide him to her bed.
He pouts when she turns around to lock her arms around his neck. “I should have taken a photo.”
Hermione snorts. “Shut up and kiss me.”
A moment later, she finds herself lying on her bed, arms pinned again above her head and warm lips trailing kisses down her neck. “You’re not in charge, here, Granger.”
She sighs, then gasps when he sucks on her pulse point. “Fuck,” she breathes.
“All in good time, love.”
She closes her eyes and sags into the mattress as his tongue explores her shoulders, her breastbone, down to her stomach. He doesn’t touch her most sensitive areas and when he mouths at her hips she starts bucking up.
Unfazed by her insistence, Malfoy fiddles with the hem of her trousers.
“What pretty pyjamas, Granger. Where did you put the reindeer?”
She has to take a moment for his words to penetrate the fog in her brain. When they do, she pulls up as best as she can under his firm grip and glares at him, even though she knows he’s not going to take her seriously when her cheeks flush even more.
“Malfoy, if you don’t put that mouth to good use, I swear...”
God, even his shit-eating grin makes her core clench around nothing.
She hates him.
But apparently he takes pity on her, letting go of her arms and sliding down between her legs, quickly taking off her pyjama bottoms. She thinks she hears him giggle but she can’t really be sure, because he starts kissing the spot where her hip meets her thigh and all she can focus on is his searing lips.
She sighs with a deep moan, thinking they’re finally there.
Instead, he keeps licking and nipping at her sensitive skin for what feels like hours, throwing her legs over his shoulders. His fingers stroke her upper thighs and his nose nuzzles her covered pussy, feather touches that make her body burn.
He’s making her delirious.
Trying to speed things up, Hermione pushes with her feet on his back and cants her hips against him. All she gets in return is him smiling (he smiles, the bastard) and gently biting her thigh.
It’s like he’s doing everything in his power to remind her that she’s supposed to hate him.
If he doesn’t stop teasing and just eat her out already, she might as well go completely insane.
“I said good use, Malfoy, you’re not– oh my,” she’s stopped mid-sentence when he moves her damp pants aside, his fingers spread her open and his tongue circles her clit.
“Hush, now. You have to be quiet,” he mutters against her.
Hermione lets out a long and loud moan full of relief, her hands fisting the bed sheets before going to his hair to pull him closer.
“I said quiet, kitten.”
Her vision blanks for a moment and her body involuntarily spasms.
“You like it when I call you kitten?” he murmurs, a hint of surprise in his tone.
All she can do is whimper.
He sucks on her clit. “Answer me,” he demands, and her eyes roll in the back of her head.
She unintentionally tightens her grip on his hair but he doesn’t seem to mind; on the contrary, he doubles his efforts in unraveling her.
“Yes… God… Draco…”
The sound of his name coming from her lips makes him growl and the vibrations against her pussy are sweet torture. He feasts on her, lapping at her juices, twirling his tongue around, moaning like she’s the best fucking meal he’s ever tasted.
Hermione is losing control of her body and mind as his fingers spread on her tights and hips, but she couldn’t care less.
He’s good. God, he’s so good she’s stopping herself from crying out things she knows she’ll regret when the flames of passion are not engulfing her anymore.
He’s attentive and soft, but unpredictable and wild, and she’s never going to want anyone else but him.
Before her traitorous mind can go somewhere more dangerous, two lean fingers enter her suddenly, slowly but firmly, effectively blocking any conscious thought.
Her walls squeeze him, making him groan. If she was aware of anything except her need of more right now, Hermione would hear his wrecked voice.
“So tight. Fuck.”
“Please, Draco,” she gasps when he crooks his fingers and they touch the spot that she always struggles to reach by herself.
His mouth and fingers start working together to bring her closer and closer to the precipice, tapping on the same spot over and over and fondling her with his tongue until she’s a mewling mess.
Arching her back, one of her hands goes to her breasts, pinching and squeezing and stroking where he can’t get.
Malfoy growls. “Just like that. Touch your tits for me.” His words are muffled but she hears them, prompting new lewd sounds from her.
And so together they work her up, up, up, until she’s out of breath and everything she feels is pleasure and jolts of lights erupt behind her closed eyelids.
When she’s right on the edge, Hermione leans up on her elbows and manages to lock eyes with him.
She dreamed about this, several times, and yet nothing could have prepared her for the sight that is Draco Malfoy eating her out with such passion and devotion.
His eyes are the colour of summer clouds, promising lightning and thunders.
She’s the powerless brown earth, destined to be dominated by him.
His cheek lifts up in a half smirk, and, with a last swirl of his tongue, he pushes her over the edge and she falls, on the mattress and over the highest cliff of pleasure.
Her body convulses in his arms, arching and stiffening, before she sags on the bed boneless and breathless.
When she comes to, a few moments later, her thighs are still trembling slightly and she feels ghost kisses all over them and her lower stomach. She’s too weak to say anything, but manages a satisfied smile.
Slowly, she opens her eyes and finds Malfoy with his cheek resting on her belly.
“Hey,” he looks at her so tenderly that she can’t help threading her fingers through his tousled hair. “You okay?”
“Mhm, more than okay,” she sighs.
A small smile tugs his lips up, before he starts leaving open-mouthed kisses on her warm skin. In a blink of an eye, the feeling of being sated is replaced by a renewed hunger for his body.
As he makes his way up her chest, her arms go around his shoulders and bring him closer. She kisses him deeply, letting their tongues play with each other, until he pulls back when he feels her fingering the hem of his sweatpants.
“Still want to fuck me?”
She hums against his lips.
He mouths her jaw and sucks her earlobe. “Say it.”
Hermione doesn’t hesitate.
“I want to fuck you, Draco Malfoy.”
For a moment, everything is still. Then, she hears him chuckle darkly, feels his hand on her waist and the other cupping her breast. Anticipation and excitement coursing through her body, Hermione tries to take his sweatpants off but, once again, he stops her.
“What did I say, kitten?” he scrapes his teeth against the shell of her ear. “You’re not in charge here.”
“Draco,” she whines, but her complaint ends in a surprised yelp when he quickly turns her on her stomach.
He drapes his body over her back and when she feels his weight, every centimetre of her skin touched by his, she moans in content.
She would like to wake up like this every day.
He drops a sweet kiss on her cheek. “Say the word and I’ll stop, at any time.”
Hermione nods with a smile, somehow getting more aroused by feeling safe and cared for. She pouts when he pulls away, but he doesn’t go too far. His mouth brushes her spine until it gets to her pants. Instinctively, she spreads her legs, which earns her a bite to her ass cheek.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Grunting, her legs return to their previous position and Malfoy rewards her with delicate kisses all over them. Finally, she hears him sit up and oh so slowly slip her knickers off.
She breathes heavily, wondering what he’ll do. No one has ever kept her on her toes so much before, decidedly taking control of the situation, and she finds that she quite enjoys it.
The two of them are very similar in a lot of ways, no matter how much she pretends to despise him. He loves literature, he is logic-driven, good-mannered and, most of all, smart. Jaw droppingly smart.
In the classes they share, more often than not, his arguments leave her speechless, even though she insists obstinately on fighting him at every turn.
Draco Malfoy may be an arrogant asshole, but God, if he isn’t the most brilliant person she’s ever met.
And Hermione is well aware that she has a knowledge kink. It was really just a matter of time before the sparks flying between them when arguing about their favourite authors would transfer to the bedroom.
As she basks in the realisation that this thing between them could potentially continue if she plays her cards right, the silence in the room is interrupted by the sound of a zipper pulling her from her thoughts.
Biting her lips, she fidgets on the mattress, squeaking when she’s suddenly pulled up on her hands and knees.
“Why don’t you ever just ask?” she huffs as she steadies herself.
“It’s funnier this way. I like to hear you scream.”
The casual way in which he says it makes her shiver and her cunt clenches around nothing. She grunts, hating that he can affect her so much. What she hates more though, it’s that he’s taking forever in doing the one thing she asked him to.
After what feels like hours, the rustle of his sweatpants and boxer briefs falling to the floor makes her body buzz with excitement. She doesn’t register him grabbing a condom from his wallet (if she did, she would have managed to find something to say about him going around thinking he’d find sexual encounters at every corner) but she feels it when the bed dips under his weight and he finally brings his length to her slit.
She mewls at the contact. If this is the premise, she’s not gonna be able to hold herself up much longer.
His body covers her and she exhales. His hand moves her mass of curls out of the way and with his lips he traces the freckles on her shoulder.
“Draco...” she whispers, needing him to move.
He murmurs into her ear. “I’ve got you.”
Seconds later, he gently inches inside her until her walls envelop him entirely. He groans when his hips meet her backside and stills with one hand gripping hers on the bed, the other sinking into her waist.
Hermione is grateful for it because she needs a moment to adjust to his size. Malfoy isn’t exceptionally long but he’s quite big, filling her deliciously in all the right places.
Shortly after, she squeezes tentatively.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Granger, if you do that, this is gonna be over quicker than we both want it.”
“Then move,” she demands, feeling ready to be thoroughly fucked.
She hasn’t finished that thought that she feels him slip out and thrust in forcefully, making her cry out.
“How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not in charge here?” and he stresses the concept with another hard thrust.
He starts pounding into her faster and faster, without giving her a break. When his fingers roam her chest and tweak her nipple, her arms give out and she falls on her elbows.
The different position allows him to reach a new spot, deeper, and Malfoy lets out a low growl, fingers running over the arched curve of her spine. Hermione howls into the pillow, cheek pressed against it and mouth open in pleasure.
She told him to fuck her and he’s doing exacly that. He drives into her relentlessly, making her hotter and wetter by the minute, muttering strings of dirty talk that her fogged up brain can’t quite make out.
He leans down to lave his tongue down the column of her neck, to bite and suck, never slowing his rhythm. When his fingers reach her clit, she’s delirious, hands gripping on the bed sheets so hard that her knuckles go white.
“Draco, please,” she sobs, not even knowing what she’s begging for.
She just wants more.
Obediently, like he read her mind, he gathers her curls in a ponytail and tugs.
He tugs and she’s forced up on her hands again, panting and gasping.
He tugs again, and her throat is curved out and exposed, tears threatening to wet her cheeks.
She feels strung tightly by two ends like a violin string.
Malfoy leans down, his lips caressing her lobe, hips still pumping into her.
“That good, Granger?”
This is heavenly. This is bliss like Hermione has never known. She’s floating into a different plane of existence, light and free.
In Draco’s arms.
He’s close, too. She can hear it in his wrecked voice, she knows it when he starts grunting. Wanting them to fall over together, she grinds her hips into his, and with the rough sound of his voice in her ear, she’s thrown over the edge.
“Come for me.”
She stiffens, mouth wide open, and when the tight coil in her lower stomach snaps, endless waves of pleasure crash over her. Muscles spasming for minutes on end, her arms almost flail around before she collapses on the mattress.
The sound of her loud cries are barely stifled by the pillow as her throbbing pussy keeps getting pounded. After less than a dozen thrusts, Draco stills his movements and groans into her neck.
Her limbs feel like jelly and with the weight of his body on hers, Hermione lies down on the bed until they’re both flat on their stomachs.
He’s on top of her, pressing her to the bed, but she doesn’t mind. On the contrary, she loves it, feeling strangely protected.
They’re both sweaty and still panting, but he finds the strength to stroke her gently. It’s only when she hums contentedly that he’s reminded of his weight and he immediately pulls up.
“Don’t mind,” she smiles into the pillow.
She hears him getting up, discarding the condom in the bathroom and using the toilet, before he comes back and lies down next to her still sprawled out figure.
His voice is low when he speaks after a couple of minutes. “You should pee.”
“Way to sweet talk me, Malfoy,” she snorts, slowly turning around on her back.
“I’m just making sure you stay healthy,” he says with a shrug and a small smile.
With a groan, Hermione lifts herself up and goes to the toilet. Walking back into the room, she stares at him for a moment.
It’s much like that night three weeks ago: he’s half leaning half sitting with his back to the pillow, except now he’s wearing only his underwear and he’s not holding a poetry book but a red box of chocolates.
And she just had the best orgasm of her life.
She grabs a pair of new knickers from her closet and puts them on, climbing back on the bed and taking the box from his hands.
“I believe these were for me?” she gives him a cheeky grin, a twinkle in her eyes.
The sense of peace she feels in her chest by looking at him is a far cry from the annoyance of that night.
He opens up in a smile.
A real, full smile.
Biting her lip to stop a whimpering noise, Hermione opens the box and shoves a small chocolate marble in her mouth, before offering the rest to Draco who immediately takes one, too.
Then, she wriggles closer until she can rest her head on his chest, hugs his torso and closes her eyes, sighing happily.
After just a moment, he puts the box back on the bedside table, grabs the bed sheets to cover them and she feels his arms wrap around her.
When she nuzzles his chest, he chuckles and kisses the top of her head.
“You really are a kitten, huh.”
She hums, her fingers reaching the nape of his neck to play with his hair.
“We haven’t finished the presentation.”
“God, Granger, you’re insufferable,” he barks out a laugh.
She giggles and buries her face in his chest, feeling euphoric.
It’s dark outside, and after just a few minutes she’s lulled to sleep by the gentle beat of Draco’s heart.
Not bad for a Valentine’s Day study date.