Hermann/Hermione

Warning: Possible squickiness ahead, depending upon how easily squicked you are. What was previously hinted at or discussed only very generally shall now become very concrete. Please don’t read if you’ll be disturbed by this!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Or Victor/Victoria, for that matter.



Hermione took a deep breath and followed Harry and Ron into the room where Draco was waiting with Crabbe and Goyle. She reminded herself that there was no reason to be worried. Harry and Ron had cast so many glamours that she was virtually unrecognizable to anyone but those that knew her best, and the charm that Harry had just cast provided irrefragable proof that she was, indeed, a man.

How strange that it was actually true, Hermione mused to herself. She was, if only temporarily, actually a man. No one could argue with that. Bolstered by the idea of a surefire defense, she strode to the table with more confidence.


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Draco watched them approach, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, some detail that was clamoring to be called forth from the recesses of his subconscious.

It had something to do with the three of them together.

It triggered some strange recollection, an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

There was an easy camaraderie between the three of them. Almost reminiscent of the warped Gryffindor trio of their school days.

His eyes narrowed as he watched them approaching. His last encounter with Hermione Granger filled his mind’s eye. She’d been so angry and disappointed that day. She was so bitter and desperate looking that he’d almost regretted riling her up.

Almost.

In truth, the prospect of an angry and flustered Hermione Granger was simply too appealing to turn down. In his mind’s eye, he could still envision the way she’d flushed with rage, her slim body tensing as she shouted and gestured dramatically along with her speech.

The wheels of his mind began to spin faster, piecing together bits of a puzzle that was still just beyond his grasp. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. He suppressed the urge to burst into maniacal laughter. She was a clever one, there was no doubt about that.
Whatever charms they’d used had rendered her all but unrecognizable unless you knew where to look. Unfortunately for her, he knew exactly where to look now.

Her facial features were altered, but there was no mistaking that slightly crooked smile and the satisfied glow of her eyes as she approached. They may have strapped down her chest or otherwise charmed it flat but he could now recognize the delicate frame and purposeful gait, try as she may to disguise it with what appeared to be an attempt at a masculine swagger. He somehow managed to refrain from rolling his eyes at the effort. She looked like she’d been riding a horse too long.

This was almost going to be too easy.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she greeted him as she approached the table.

He stood to shake her hand, pulling out the chair next to him and gesturing for her to sit.

“What can we get you to drink, Count?” he inquired, putting a pointed emphasis on the word ‘Count.’

A look of suspicion flickered across her face briefly before her features shifted back into a mask of nonchalance. “Vodka rocks,” she replied smoothly.

Draco waved Goyle off to the bar and turned to Crabbe. “Vincent, would you mind entertaining Potter and Weasley for a few minutes. I should very much like the opportunity to get to know the Count.” He flashed Harry and Ron a rather insincere smile, delighting in their obvious discomfort as they internally debated the best course of action.

Hermione caught Harry’s eye and nodded quickly, almost imperceptibly.

“Right,” he answered awkwardly. “We’ll just take a few minutes to catch up, then.”

Harry and Ron followed Crabbe to a back table, looking distinctly nervous as they trailed the burly man.

Goyle returned a moment later bearing the drink, pulled out a chair, and made to sit down at the table.

“Over there,” Draco hissed through gritted teeth.

There were times that he questioned whether his minions might be more trouble than they were worth.

Goyle loped off in the general direction that Draco had indicated, looking rather bemused by the whole situation. Draco pushed Hermione’s drink towards her and reached for the box of cigars sitting in the middle of the table.

“Thank you.” She was careful to keep her voice low and throaty as she spoke, watching him nervously as he opened the box. Willing her hands not to shake, she lifted the glass to her mouth and swallowed a healthy amount of the clear liquid.

“Cigar?” he offered, pushing the box towards her.

She eyed the box nervously as she racked her brain for stored information on proper cigar etiquette. She could vaguely remember hearing some distant relative talk about selecting cigars at some point in her childhood. She pulled one from the box and held it under her nose, breathing deeply. Draco was watching her with a gleam of amusement in his eyes, and she was struck by the sudden terrible thought that he knew.

She realized that she was being silly. There was no possible way that he could have figured it out. He’d already been suspicious and then she’d probably done something silly with the cigar to spark the laughter she’d seen in his eyes.

Feeling a bit more confident, she pulled the cigar away from her nose and pondered the next step. She was quite sure that she’d seen movies where men would bite the ends off before smoking them. Surreptitiously eyeing the cigar, she decided that the pointier end should be the one to go and raised it to her lips.

A subtle clearing of the throat drew her attention back to her companion. She was dismayed to note that he seemed to be biting back a smile as he held his hand out.

“If I may?”

He was holding some sort of device with a hole in the center and a blade….

Oh. Right.

Grudgingly, she handed the cigar over and watched as he deftly sliced the end off for her, lit the cigar, and handed it back, the expression on his face affectionately amused, rather like a doting parent dealing with a silly child. Her face flamed and she was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to defend herself and her masculinity. Perhaps it was a side effect of the extra equipment she was sporting, she mused to herself.

“How silly of me,” she began with a chuckle that she hoped was suitable nonchalant. “I don’t smoke often, you see. It’s not good for the vocal cords.”

His smile was indulgent. “Of course.”

She put the cigar between her lips, wondering whether he’d notice if she just let it burn down without actually smoking it. She inhaled the tiniest bit and immediately began to choke as the smoke entered her lungs. Her eyes teared up as she struggled to suppress her coughing. Draco pushed her glass towards her and leaned in, pounding her forcefully on the back.

She winced slightly at the rough treatment and sipped at her drink. This was miserable. Smoking the foulest smelling cigar imaginable and soothing her throat with straight vodka was not her idea of a good time.

Draco shot her a roguish grin and sat back in his chair, sighing with satisfaction.

“So tell me, Count, do you find that many people are taken in by your act? You’re quite convincing.” He punctuated his last comment with a calculated look in her direction, pointedly making eye contact.

“I suppose it is rather convincing,” Hermione began carefully, searching for the appropriate tone for her answer, “especially to those who don’t want to believe that it could be an act.”

Draco flashed her an indulgent smile. “Ah. Because any straight man who would find you attractive is clearly in denial of secret desires for other men.”

She was growing distinctly nervous. “Why is it so difficult for you to believe that you could be attracted to another man?” she fired back in a panic. “Because homosexuality is perverse and immoral?”

He stared at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. She watched him in horror, totally at a loss as to deal with this unfamiliar version of the man that she’d despised for years. He was infuriating self-assured, as he’d always been, but he’d mellowed with age and there was something softer about him now. She was disturbed to realize that she’s noted the way that his eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed, and that his laugh was now a deep, pleasant sound rather than the bitter barks of sound she remembered from their childhood.

She tore her eyes away from his face and stared determinedly at her glass. “You’re laughing,” she stated dumbly. He only laughed harder at that. She felt her face grow hot. “I’m afraid that I don’t see the humor.”

“I’m sorry,” he managed, still catching his breath. “I just find it delightful that you’ve managed to turn my skepticism into evidence of homophobia.” He paused, taking a sip of his drink. “You are a tricky one, Count. Remind me of a woman that I used to know,” he finished, a fond expression flickering across his face.

Hermione felt an irrational stab of jealousy at the momentary expression. She closed her eyes, mentally berating herself. It was wrong on so many levels to be attracted to this man. Not only was he an arrogant, obnoxious bastard who’d devoted an inordinate amount of his childhood to making her life hell, he posed the single biggest threat to her identity at the moment. Not exactly ideal circumstances for a fledgling infatuation.

She cracked one eye open. He was watching her closely, an openly curious expression on his face.

Oh yes. It was her turn to talk again.

She opted for a change of topic. “You did enjoy the performance, though?”

“Very much so.” His grey eyes were positively predatory as he answered. “It’s a damn shame, Count. You make the most attractive woman that I’ve ever laid eyes on.” With that he leaned back, his face neutral once more.

She was getting a bit lightheaded.

Eye on the prize, Hermione. You aren’t here to pick up a man.

She willed herself not to blush, concentrating very intently on breathing deeply and feigning nonchalance, though she was certain he had to be able to hear her heart pounding. No man had ever looked at her with that expression before. The fact that the man in question was Draco Malfoy was simultaneously thrilling and sickening. He had grown into a charming and dashing young man, but there was no doubt that he was also arrogant, obnoxious, and extremely dangerous to her.

She was fairly certain that she could fall in love with him. There was also the small issue of his determination to expose her as a fraud. The fact of the matter was, he’d either be successful, thereby ruining her chances of success, or he’d have to accept the ‘fact’ that she was a man, thereby ruining any chance at romance. She was surprised at the disappointment that followed this realization.

When she looked up again, he was beckoning to Crabbe and Goyle, who seemed to be deeply in conversation with Harry and Ron. She had no idea what those four could be chatting about so amiably, but the possibilities did nothing to sooth her nerves. Surely it was a sign of the apocalypse; between Draco Malfoy trying to pick her up as she masqueraded as a man and her two best friends making nice with his two goons, she was growing distinctly anxious.

Harry and Ron appeared at her side a few moments later.

“You summoned?” Harry asked dryly.

“Have a seat, Potty,” Draco answered distractedly, kicking the chair across from him out in invitation. His eyes were trained on the bar, where Crabbe and Goyle were evidently purchasing another round of drinks. As they turned and made their way towards the table, Hermione noted that they carried an absolutely enormous bottle of firewhiskey and a tray of tumblers.

They set the offering before Draco, who poured six generous servings of the liquor and distributed them accordingly.

“Let’s have a toast, shall we? To Count Hermann, and his enchanting performance. He’s certainly captivated me.”

His eyes were trained on hers once more as he spoke. The tension was palpable at the table as everyone sat frozen for a moment. The sound of drunken giggling from Ron broke the tension. As Harry smiled adoringly at him and Crabbe and Goyle exchanged an odd sort of expression that she couldn’t decipher, Hermione wondered just how much they’d all had to drink, and whether she might somehow be dreaming all of this.

She looked back to Draco, who lifted his glass in her direction before draining its contents in a single swallow. She licked her lips nervously before raising her own glass and following suit.

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Several hours later, they’d lost count of the number of toasts that had been made. The party of six was in full swing as they grew rowdier with each passing minute. Hermione giggled as she realized that, after all these years of animosity, all it had taken to forge the bonds of friendship was one fucking enormous bottle of liquor.

“I assume that you’ll be staying the night? Our Floo connection is locked after two and I wouldn’t recommend Apparating, given the circumtances.” Adrian Pucey was standing behind Harry, making a valiant effort to withhold his laughter as Ron and Goyle began the second verse of the show tune they’d been singing. “I’ll get you a few rooms.”

“Not me,” Hermione declared. “I’m going home.” Her head drooped, and she finally succumbed to the temptation to rest her cheek on the cool surface of the table. “To sleep,” she clarified, not bothering to lift her head or open her eyes.

“Right.” Adrian looked distinctly unconvinced and the tiniest bit annoyed that his star performer was presently half-conscious and drooling on the table. “Well, just in case, I’ll get the keys.”

He returned moments later bearing three room keys. “These are the last three rooms available.” He tossed the keys to Malfoy. “You’ll have to bunk up. Shouldn’t be too much of a problem though,” he finished with a wink.

Draco slid one of the keys towards Harry, who was perched on Ron’s lap, and the second towards Crabbe and Goyle, who were currently sitting awfully close, and seemed to be whispering to one another. He turned towards Hermione, who was still face down on the table.

“Wait a minute.” Harry’s green eyes had suddenly become very alert. “You two can’t stay together.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest. He hadn’t been able to believe his luck when Pucey had shown up with three keys; there was no way that Potter was going to foil his plans now.

“Potter,” he began, rolling his eyes, “there’s no need for caution here. He’s not exactly my type, in case you hadn’t noticed. We aren’t all interested in seducing other men.” His gaze fell upon his two childhood friends, whose fingers were now intertwined as they continued murmuring to each other.

He looked back at Potter, who was smirking slightly.

“Fine. I’m not interested in seducing another man, then.” He punctuated his remark with a pointed glare at Crabbe and Goyle. It wasn’t that he minded their evident affection for each other. He did, however, resent the fact that his two henchmen were currently cuddling each other in public. He was fairly certain that this was not suitable behavior for minions of intimidating and dangerous wizards such as himself.

Hermione pulled herself up and stood, stumbling away from the table. Draco and Harry simultaneously lunged for her as she tripped and nearly fell into a chair. Draco reached her side a split second earlier, gripping her tightly and pulling her upright. She looked up at him in confusion briefly before wrapping her arms around his neck and letting her body go slack against him. Draco frowned.

The body in his arms was slender and compact, certainly no heavier than he’d expected, but the areas in which her body was pressed against his own were much firmer than he’d anticipated. He had to wonder how she’d managed to totally vanish her breasts, for instance. The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted his thoughts.

Potter was staring at him, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“I need the loo.” Hermione, evidently still conscious, was staring at him imploringly.

Damn, but she was cute.

As he met her gaze, he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t recognized her straightaway. He’d know those eyes anywhere. It wouldn’t matter whether they were charmed, there was a sharpness and brilliance to Hermione Granger that couldn’t be hidden, not by charms and not by an alcoholic stupor. She was nice like this, though; warm and pliant in his arms, her lips slightly pouty as she looked up at him expectantly.

“Fine. I’ll go by myself.” Evidently tired of waiting, Hermione broke free of his grasp and began to barrel towards the restrooms. Draco and Harry stared at each other for a moment before tearing after her. Harry reached her first, grabbing her elbow and subtly directing her towards the men’s room.

As the group of three moved into the restroom, Hermione seemed to be the only one in the room who wasn’t ill at ease with the situation. Draco and Harry watched each other warily.

For his part, Draco could not fathom precisely why Potter would be so eager to be a part of this. Was it possible that he thought he could somehow prevented Draco from noticing the inevitable? Hermione was totally pissed; he doubted if she’d remember even to attempt to hide the fact that she was a woman. Potter was eyeing him a bit nervously, but there was something off about the situation. There was something else in his expression, and in Hermione’s also. They were looking positively smug, strangely enough.

The sound of a zip being lowered drew his gaze to where Hermione stood, facing a urinal.

What the….?

He suddenly felt the blood drain from his face as he stood, gaping at her. “Count” Hermann/Hermione was grinning at him victoriously as she stood, holding in clear view what appeared to be her penis. Potter’s drunken giggling was the last thing he heard before everything went black.


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A/N: So. There it is. Erm… I promise that it’s only temporary!

The bad news is that it's been months since I've updated - I didn't even realize AFF was running again until a few weeks ago. The good news is that I have the next 4 chapters (and the story) completed and will be posting them over the next couple weeks. Sorry for the delay.

All feedback is appreciated!