The Wonders of Obliviate

Disclaimer: Still stands from previous chapters.

A/N: Decided I wanted a bit of smut in this chapter…. This chapter is a bit briefer than the others, but I thought this was a good place to start. I also didn’t proof-read as thoroughly as I usually do so if you spot a mistake, let me know please!

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Hermione entered her room exhausted, she didn’t bother to light any candles. Arranging a study session between Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws for their group projects had been exhausting. McGonagall had assigned her the task of assembling it all when the newest D.A.D.A. teacher complained to her that he didn’t think his fourth year students were cooperating.

His attempt to spur inter-house relationships was pathetic. Ravenclaws were a bit to brainy to be happily paired with a Hufflepuff member in any area of academics. Unsurprisingly, many Ravenclaws had turned in drafts of their projects early, with out assistance or approval from their Hufflepuff partners.

Naturally Hermione had the worst combination of both a headache and a backache. She would have preferred ogres to smash clubs against her head, and elephants trampling her poor body than the pain she was currently pleasure to. Dealing with the ruckus caused by some forty students trying to get started on their projects due the next day had certainly not helped her disposition.

The last minute assignment to maneuver the younger students meant Hermione was far behind on her own homework, all but two teachers had given her extensions out of sympathy, something she didn’t enjoy, and she would probably be forced to accept. The six foot potions essay assigned as a result of another bad Harry-Snape encounter was just screaming for attention from her untouched book back. And there was the transfiguration assignment from McGonagall that had been assigned last week that needed one last revision.

Hermione was ready to collapse on her bed, mumbling to herself about ‘just an hour, just one hour’ of sleep when there was scratching at her window.

“Oh my--!” Hermione breathed dropping her bag.

Outside the window she could see the dark shape of a very large owl. But what shocked her most was the large form that moved from the inside to the window briskly. Undoubtedly male, he was tall and strong by the way he quickly flung open her window with ease.

The owl flew back slightly in surprise, and then settled itself on the window sill. The man reached for it, but Hermione was faster.

“Don’t move or I’ll stupefy you,” she threatened clearing her throat. Her wand was ready, and she motioned for the lights to come on. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing in my room, Malfoy?!”

Malfoy grimaced. “You’re early. …Welcome back, baby?” he said feebly.

“What do you mean I’m early?” Hermione demanded.

Malfoy looked at her with hooded eyes, attempting to hide is own shock at seeing Hermione in her room. “I overheard you say that it would be a long night in the library.”

“Not me,” Hermione sighed exasperated. “The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.”

“Oh.” Malfoy thought for a minute looking over her shoulder, and then decided the best technique would be two throw Hermione off kilter. He gave her a genuinely dazzling smile, “Good, that means more fun for me.”

It didn’t work, Hermione immediately huffed at him. “Get out. Don’t you ever come into my room again, do you understand? I will hex you from here until forever.”

“Oh, but Hermione—” Draco protested, batting his eyelashes. She cursed profusely at the opportunity he had seized to distract her. He shoved the owl off the sill and in surprise it fell. Leaning out the window he waved his wand.

“Malfoy what are you doing?! That owl was here for me!” Hermione rushed forward and shoved him ruthlessly away from the window, searching in the dark for some sign of it. Hermione blinked in surprise. A very large pink owl was rising in the darkness back to the sill. She ducked her head back inside of the dorm room skeptically looking at Malfoy.

“A pink owl?”

“Yes. And it’s a new brand of evil. I’m only trying to protect you.”

“I doubt it. I bet there is something that bird is carrying you don’t want me to see.”

“Damn straight.” Draco jutted his chin out and crossed his arms. “Some very evil bastard thinks he can woo you with expensive gifts and I’ve come to stop him.”

During this exchange Draco had deftly moved so that once again he was closest to the window. As the owl began to settle itself on the window ledge again, it eyed Draco annoyed, he prepared to toss the galleon coin he’d been fisting all during the long wait. Draco prepared to throw it out the window. The galleon coin was far more than the owl should have received for a simple delivery, but for the trouble Draco was giving it, he didn’t have a choice.

“Draco…” Hermione warned, preparing to raise her wand again. Inhaling Draco smacked the packages from the bird’s clasp, and they fell from the high tower window. From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of light, and then saw nothing.

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Hermione marched around the bed furiously mumbling to herself about the evening’s previous activities. Draco had acted extremely out of character, welcoming her back waiting for her in her room. Admittedly, Hermione felt a little relieved to see him, if there was one person recently who she’d been tired of avoiding it was Draco Malfoy.

A fact that was becoming depressingly undeniable. Anthony Goldstein had been easy to manipulate, though Hermione felt a little guilty for using avoidance of Draco as a reason to ensure she and Anthony never patrolled on the same night. But sometimes a girl had to do what a girl had to do.

Though it was no less cruel than hexing Draco in to an unconscious state simply for trying to protect her…

But it’s different, Hermione reasoned. Anthony hadn’t tried anything like attacking that poor pink owl—

Pink owl? That’s right, the owl the night before was pink.

“I’m sorry Draco, its just you were acting so strange. And I had-have a bad headache. My day was horrible, and so when I came back to the room hoping to sleep, I found you there welcoming me back, and calling me baby…” Hermione trailed off, her face beet red. “It was just very unsettling,” she gushed. “And then you attacked that poor owl! It was only trying to do its job, you know you don’t have to kill the messenger—”

“Hermione,” he interjected. “Slow down. I can barely understand you.”

“Now, where are my flowers and my chocolates?” Draco asked, a hint of a smile curving his lips.

“Your what?”

“My flowers and chocolates,” Draco repeated. “I know it’s a muggle hospital-visiting tradition too.” Hermione gazed at him with suspicion. “But I’ll let you in on a secret Granger,” in hushed tones he continued. “Come a little closer, this is a very important Wizarding secret.”

Hermione hesitated, wondering what Draco might have planned. But then, she had put him out once, she could do it again if he proved unruly. “Alright, let’s have it.”

“A girl usually visits with a kiss.”

“What are you playing at Malfoy?”

“Hopefully to be blessed by your smile.” Hermione glared at him. “But mostly, you look like you’ve got a stick up your ass Granger, and I was hoping to make you relax.”

“If you were hoping that last comment would make me feel warm and fuzzy inside at the thought of someone like you caring about how I feel, you are sorely mistaken!” Hermione huffed standing up and gathering her robes from the end of his bed. “And you’ve ruined your chance to hold this momentary insanity over my head, Malfoy, because any remorse, guilt or sympathy I felt has completely disappeared. What do you have to say to that? Ferret face?”

“Two things,” Draco began calmly. “First, I am in no manner related to a ferret. Second of all, good. I do not want your sympathy. Obviously you and I still have trust issues to work out, and by pissing you off, I have ensured that anything I do from this point forward will be under your total scrutiny.

“You shall find my behavior is impeccable, and though you have tried very valiantly to continue to dislike me, Hermione Granger, I would like to remind you that I greatly admire and respect you; so it would be a very odd indeed if I were to suddenly begin plotting your demise. Or your friends for that matter, since their opinions are obviously important to you.”

Hermione had heard enough, clearly torturing her indirectly about the guilt she did in fact still feel, by reminding her that she didn’t trust him was Malfoy’s newest scheme. (It has been nearly half a year! For fuck’s sake, and he has been nothing but nice! NICE! Draco Malfoy!) But that wasn’t the point.

The point was, he had invaded her privacy, intercepted her mail, and she had given him fair warning, but he hadn’t listened. So really, it was his own damn fault he was currently laying in a hospital bed.

But thank goodness he had explained to Madam Pomfrey that the whole mess had been all a misunderstanding, and Hermione truly had not meant to hit him with so strong a curse, (like hell!) and she had been excused from what she could only imagine being an unpleasant visit with Professor Dumbledore.

Pomfrey had been so shocked that Draco Malfoy defended being attacked by muggle-born Hermione Granger, that the nurse had admitted him to the hospital, and didn’t mention a visit to Dumbledore (or McGonagall) again.

So why did she feel so miserable?

Because knocking Draco Malfoy down when he’s being a git should make her feel absolutely elated, ignoring the obvious fact that she would never do anything like that because it was against the rules.

Except, that she just did.

And worse yet, Draco was in fact not acting like a git at the time. He was being nice, and protective, and just all around eerie.

She growled and stomped from the room, baffled and irritated that she felt guilty. Honestly, why should she feel guilty?

A small voice, the one that Hermione wanted to smother with a pillow, reminded her that Dumbledore had strongly encouraged inter-house relations, and here she was hexing the Head Boy.

What would Ron and Harry think if they knew she had hexed Draco Malfoy?

They would be proud.

And that scared her. She was above participating in their childish antics, and the way the three completely antagonized each other. They were seventeen for fuck’s sake!

But she had done something to make Harry and Ron proud, the fact that her conscience was a bit raw at her own actions only doubled her guilt. Should she be feeling proud too?

Hermione paused outside the closed hospital doors. The sudden urge to throw her books across the room over whelmed her.

“Aagh!” she screamed.


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Pansy wasn’t a fool.

She was as conniving and manipulative as any Malfoy, and she was planning to take advantage of that.

The bitch Granger thought she was oh-so clever, but when Pansy had witnessed her sneaking Draco’s levitating body into the hospital wing the day before she wasn’t stupid enough to think that the bitch had accidentally hexed him.

No, no, Pansy knew.

She’d always known. Granger had a thing for Draco Malfoy. Any chances she had, Granger would seize to hit, hex, or insult Draco. Hate was only a small step away from love, and it was clear that Granger was attempting to steal the man Pansy called her own.

Luckily, Pansy knew Draco truly hated the mud blood. While it was reasonable to assume Granger was attracted to the things she lacked in her life, Draco was above such petty jealousness. So despite Granger’s open wantonness, Pansy knew that her real competition lay elsewhere. His distance and animosity recently made one thing clear. She was losing Draco, but how, or who had so captured and distracted him, she didn’t know.

Pansy was not a skilled witch, not like Hermione Granger. But in this case, she knew she was a step above Granger in brains. Granger possessed too many morals to use magic to achieve her greatest desires. She would have to get things the “noble” way.

Not so with Pansy. There were few spells Pansy had truly mastered. She also was aware of the under-age magic rules, and how they truly worked. As long as she used magic in places near her parents, she would escape all consequences. But if she were to attempt something on her own, then she would be caught.

Naturally, she had perfected a sleeping spell. By the age sixteen, her relationship with Draco had blossomed enough; they were desperate to meet each other outside of the times when parents would be present. Draco had promised her that as long as she could find away to escape with out being caught, he would provide her transportation to meet.

So they had met. Frequently. At first, the rendezvous were short, knowing Pansy’s spells on her parents were week. As she practiced them more and more, the spell duration became longer, and the effects became fuller.

Pansy had begun to arrange full days with Draco, spelling her parents to sleep while they attended menial tasks such as reading, or her mother’s favorite hobby, playing the piano. The spell would put bother her parents to sleep, but when they awoke, they would think they had only slipped off for a moment. Looking at the clock, they would be shocked, and surprised, and think they had spent the hours Pansy had been secretly away, reading, playing the piano, doing paperwork etc.

The plan hadn’t been fool proof; Pansy had to be careful which tasks her parents were attending while spelled. Her mother nearly caught on one day when she awoke five hours later to find there still remained only one row of stitching on her needles.

But now, as Pansy waited for Granger to leave the hall, she had the perfect window of opportunity, the perfect time of the month, to cement her relationship with Draco permanently.

She slipped in through the doors, and noticed Madam Pomfrey off to the side dozing on her own free will. To ensure no interruptions, Pansy sent a spell her direction. Once in range of Draco reading on his bed, she flicked her wand, reciting the spell silently as she had learned to in their sixth year.

The book fell against Draco’s chest, his arms relaxed at his sides.

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He didn’t know how it happened, but Merlin, he didn’t want it to stop! Granger had him pinned on the canvassed couch, straddling him as she pulled up her skirts to reveal no knickers. She leaned back a little, and began to play with herself, slowly running her fingers along her moist cunt, and then plunging one finger in, smiling at him coyly. He groaned when she rocked back, legs open, to give him a better view-- her firm rear resting on his hard penis. It was all he could do to keep quite and stop from demanding she mount him then and there.

Draco watched, salivating as Hermione dipped two, then three fingers into her self, pumping, while her other hand worked on her nub, bringing her breathtakingly close to orgasm. When he groaned and inadvertently thrust his hips, Hermione stopped and looked at him nervously.

“You can’t stop now.” Draco thrust again. “I’ve got a suggestion, how about I finish what you’ve started?”

Hermione didn’t blink. She looked down at her body, between her legs, back at Draco and smiled. She leaned forward and kissed him, her body rubbing against his. He wrapped one arm around her, and grabbed her ass to bring it and pull her tighter against him.

She toiled at the buttons on his shirt, struggling to open them in her excitement. When Hermione rubbed at him again, he thrust into her body, and after only three buttons were open she abandoned the idea of undressing his torso. Deftly she turned and repositioned herself to scratching and pulling at his belt while her bare ass shook in Draco’s face. The smell of her sex wafted into his nose, Draco bit his lip to keep himself quite.

Once his pants were open, and his drawers pulled down she nipped at the head of his cock once, before again turning and positioning herself above him. One hand snuck between them and she took hold of his member and rubbed it against her opening, a sigh escaping her mouth as she finally allowed herself to sink down onto him.

Her hot, tight cunt gripped him, and he began to thrust in to her erratically. She grinned, and giggled, trying to meet his thrusts and getting Draco dangerously close to pulling himself out unintentionally.

His rhythm settled, and so did hers, they met grind for grind, thrust for thrust, the friction bringing Draco closer and closer. It was a shock when he came suddenly, the sensation of Hermione’s nails raking against his testicles too much to bear.

“Oh gods!” he exhaled.

Hermione forward to kiss him as Draco caught his breath, nibbling on his lip, then his ear, and began to mark his neck. Draco remained inside of her, sated and limp. How long was it since he had sex? A week or more?

He couldn’t remember, having decided to abstain until he was able to figure out this thing he had going with Granger.

But now, unbelievable, she had come to him, ready and willing. He surprised himself at how quickly he responded to her renewal of grinding hips and bouncing breasts.

And has he came a second time, Draco thought, ‘there really was something special about this girl’.
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Satisfied with herself, Pansy straightened her clothing, then Draco’s, and realigned his book to where it had originally fallen.

Tentatively Pansy felt between her legs, she was damp, and sticky. Pansy had never felt so wonderful in her life.

By next summer, she would be Mrs. Draco Malfoy; in a society of pure-blooded aristocrats, bearing a bastard child was impossible.