Hermann/Hermione

Draco awoke to the faint sound of running water. He sat up slowly, taking note of his surroundings and rubbing his head, which was throbbing for some reason. He was stretched across the duvet of a very plush bed in a simply decorated smallish room. There was a rumpled suit laid across one of the chairs, yet he was fully clothed. He frowned.

Suddenly it all came rushing back to him. He shuddered violently as he recalled Hermione standing there, holding the undeniable evidence of her very male body. It was possibly the biggest and most unpleasant shock of his entire life. He touched his head tentatively, checking for bumps and bruises left behind after his collapse and finding none.

It was a brilliant bit of magic, he had to credit her with that. He’d certainly never heard of such a spell. It probably would have fooled anyone else. Draco Malfoy, however, was nothing if not obstinate, and he was certainly not about to let a little thing like a penis stand in the way of his conviction that Count Hermann was none other than Hermione Granger.

Perhaps it had all been some sort of a dream.

He was feeling a bit woozy. In his efforts to get Hermione so pissed that she gave herself away, he’d downed more than a few drinks himself. It was highly possible that the liquor had been the source of the strange image implanted in his memory.

He pushed off of the bed and padded over to the bathroom, casting a silencing charm on the door before gently nudging it open.

She was singing. Her voice was soft, almost a hum, but absolutely gorgeous. Her performances as the Count were astonishing; her voice was low and sultry and her stage presence was overwhelming. This, however, was undeniably and immeasurably better. She was half singing-half humming a tune that he’d never heard before, but her voice was hauntingly intimate. He pushed the door open a bit further, straining to catch a glimpse.

Please don’t be a man.

He peered into the steamy room. His breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of her silhouette through the glass.

Now that was more like it.

His eyes eagerly traced the contours of her body; the taper of her waist and the flare of her hips. As his gaze fell of her rounded backside, he felt his mouth go dry. His mind was assaulted by visions of his hands holding her hips in place as he took her from behind and thrust against that glorious arse.

She turned slowly, her eyes shut as she rinsed the soap from her body. He quickly took a step back, concealing himself in the shadows on the other side of the door. His lips curled into a victorious smile as she faced him.

All traces of whatever spellwork she’d used to give herself male plumbing had vanished, leaving behind a body that was indisputably female. He watched hungrily as her hands ran over the soft, full curves of her breasts and slid down her torso, smoothing away the last traces of soap bubbles. She reached to shut off the water and he slid away from the door, pulling it shut silently as he went.

By the time she emerged from the bath, he was sprawled across the bed again, feigning unconsciousness. He heard her sigh and felt the bed dip next to him as she sat. A gentle touch brushed the hair from his forehead. He could feel the heat of her gaze on him as he forced himself to remain motionless. She was humming softly as she caressed his face and he was surprised at how content he felt. It was nice – having someone look after him this way.

The tip of a wand touched his temple and he fought against every instinct that was screaming at him to defend himself. He willed his breathing to remain even as he lay perfectly still.

This was Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger would never attack an unconscious man.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t help the rush of relief when he heard her whisper, “Ennervate,” a moment later. He felt a gentle tingling sensation as her magic rushed through his veins and he allowed his eyelids to flutter open and he slowly sat up.

She was watching him a bit nervously, her earlier bravado gone. She’d evidently redone the spell. Even through the oversized pajamas she’d donned, it was obvious that her curves had been transformed again. Draco was surprised by the pang of regret that he felt at the situation. It wasn’t often that he found himself sympathetic to the plights of others, but watching her sitting on the edge of the bed, looking so lost and so anxious in those huge flannel pajamas, he suddenly felt ashamed of the entire charade.

Ashamed? She was the one who was currently deceiving the entire wizarding population of London, including the owner of this establishment, who happened to be a close personal friend.

But then he looked at her again and felt his resolve melting. In truth, he admired the fact the she’d refused to accept rejection. She’d done what was necessary to be successful, despite the fact that she was clearly more than a little uncomfortable with the entire situation, to say the least. Circumstances must have been fairly severe in order to push the utterly noble Hermione Granger to such extremes.

“Why are you staring at me?” She was watching him, her brown eyes filled with apprehension.

In that moment he knew that he could never expose her as a fraud, not when she sat there looked at him with that unbearably fragile expression.

His arms were around her before he even registered the action, and he found himself pulling her in close and breathing in the scent of her damp skin and hair.

“I don’t care if you are a man,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers. He heard her breath hitch in her chest as she pulled away slightly, regarding him with confusion in her dark eyes.

“But I’m not a man,” she blurted out, looking as though she immediately regretted the words. Her eyes widened and he could practically hear her mentally berating herself.

He pulled her in close, curling an arm around her protectively. “It’s all right, Hermione,” he began soothingly. “You don’t have to hide anymore.” He felt her go stiff in his arms.

“You knew it was me?” She looked stunned and a little annoyed.

“It wasn’t especially difficult. An immensely talented singer suddenly pops out of nowhere and is constantly flanked by Potter and Weasley. Not exactly arithmancy, is it?”

She huffed and opened her mouth to retort, but suddenly fell silent.

“You think I’m immensely talented?”

It was absolutely astonishing. One moment she was glaring daggers and the next she’d gone doe-eyed, gazing up at him almost bashfully.

“You know that you are,” he answered quietly, somewhat disconcerted by the display of naked emotion on her face.

She blinked and cast her gaze downward. When she looked back up, he was somewhat taken aback by the rather smug smile on her lips.

“It just feels really good to hear someone other than Harry or Ron tell me so.” She had the grace to look slightly apologetic, even while beaming at him.

He frowned. “People fawn all over you constantly.”

“People fawn all over Count Hermann constantly,” she corrected with a bitter laugh. “There has been very little fawning over Hermione Granger.”

Draco scoffed. “That is entirely untrue. I can’t think of anyone that hasn’t sung your praises at one point or another.”

She laughed softly, a more genuine sound this time. “Hero worship in the wizarding world and critical acclaim in the musical world are two very different issues, unfortunately for my career.”

She cut off his reply by covering his lips with her own, muffling his small noise of surprise. He relaxed into the kiss, parting his lips slightly and slanting his mouth over hers as he pulled her against him. She pulled away after a moment, panting.

“Let’s not talk anymore,” she whispered breathily, the tiniest hint of fear lurking beneath her wicked smile.

Did she honestly think that he’d be able to turn down an invitation like that?

She must have been accustomed to dealing with far more honorable types than himself. Draco was not one to decline such offers from beautiful women. He was fairly certain that there was some sort of rule to that effect in the Malfoy code of conduct.

He shifted slightly, pulling her with him as he reclined on the bed. Once it became evident that he was more than willing to cooperate, she relaxed in his arms and descended on his lips once more. His hands traveled up, stroking her neck and sliding into her hair.

He couldn’t help but lament the loss of the wild mane of curls for which she was famous. On some remote level of consciousness, it registered that this was probably the most effective alteration to her appearance. Hermione Granger was famous throughout the wizarding world, but he doubted few people ever looked past the hair. It was a trademark of sorts and she’d had it for as long as he could remember.

He hoped that she’d grow it back soon. Visions of it filled his mind’s eye – spread across his chest, across his pillows, tickling his thighs as he twined his fingers through the long strands…

He shuddered slightly and his hips pushed against hers, seeking relief for his rapidly burgeoning erection. She moaned softly and pressed back against him, grinding down.

Whoa. That was new.

“Hermione.” He broke the kiss and stared at her pointedly.

“What is it?” Her eyes were clouded with desire and a haze of confusion.

“You’re humping me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You started it,” she retorted with more than a hint of irritation in her voice.

He cursed inwardly as a slightly maniacal giggle escaped his lips. “No – I just mean that you’ve still got the-“ he paused, hesitating, “-extras?”

A look of comprehension spread across her face as she went scarlet. “Right.” She fumbled around for her wand, finally discovering that it had rolled halfway underneath the bed. Her hands were trembling as she turned her wand on herself.

Draco covered her wand hand with his own, wrapping his other arm around her shoulders and pulling her in to his body. “It’s all right,” he murmured, resting his chin on the top of her head. Somehow the pose soothed his masculine pride a bit. Feeling Hermione’s erection against his leg had done little for his confidence with the situation. Gender roles were something he’d never fully appreciated until now, and he felt a bit desperate to reinforce them. He held her tightly in what he hoped was a very strong, masculine embrace.

“Just a bit shaken,” she answered, turning her face in and resting her head against his chest.

He began to stroke her arms soothingly and she relaxed into his arms. Much better. She was deliciously pliable like this.

After a few moments, she lifted herself to try again. Her hand was much steadier this time. With a whispered incantation there was a faint shimmer of magic and Hermione sat before him, looking deliciously female and more insecure than ever. He guessed that if the situation was upsetting to his male ego, it had to be more than a little disconcerting to her as well. She had, after all, left herself very vulnerable to him on many different levels. It was that vulnerability that sent a fresh shudder of arousal through his system as he met her tremulous gaze.

He reversed their positions, pushing her back against the pillows and resting his weight on his forearms as he kissed her deeply. The feel of soft curves beneath him was especially intoxicating given the fact that they hadn’t been there a few moments ago. Her breasts were pressed snugly against his chest; he could feel the stiff peaks of her nipples through the fabric of their clothing.

He pushed himself off of her and tugged at her pajama top, yanking it over her head. The sight of her breasts left him temporarily paralyzed. He watched, riveted, as she squirmed beneath him, pulling ineffectually at his own shirt. Her breasts had been visible in the shower, but only through a haze of steam and glass. To actually be confronted with Hermione Granger’s rack, in the flesh, felt infinitely more momentous.

Finally growing impatient, Hermione huffed and pushed him away. She straddled him and grabbed his hands, planting them firmly on her chest before attacking the buttons on his shirt with great efficiency. She pushed his busy hands away only long enough to push the shirt off his shoulders and begin work on his pants.

They didn’t call her the brightest witch of her time without reason.

She had him stripped bare beneath her before he’d even registered her actions. Suddenly springing back to reality, he rolled her over and yanked her thin pajama bottoms down. He pulled back, unable to restrain the cocky smirk that played across his lips.

“No knickers? Aren’t you the naughty little witch?”

She kicked pants off and flung them off the bed with one leg. “Shut up,” she breathed against his lips, pulling him down for another kiss. He could feel the heat radiating from the juncture of her legs as his aching erection pressed against her damp thighs. He’d wanted this for longer than he cared to admit and he reveled in the fact that she too was obviously desperate for it.

In one fluid motion, he slid into her, eliciting a moan of relief as her eyes fluttered shut briefly. A subtle rocking of the hips earned him a gasp as she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him in even further.

He began to thrust in earnest and her eyes shot open as she moved against him. That unguarded gaze, full of naked emotion, was back. Years of pent-up frustration, anger, vulnerability, desire; it was all there. Draco felt another twinge of regret as he met her eyes. He slowed the motion of his hips, holding her close and bending to bury his face in her neck as he moved with measured, unhurried thrusts.

Her breathing was growing ragged as her cries grew more frequent. Suddenly she was shaking, convulsing around him as her nails dug into back and her legs locked around his waist. He let out a violent moan, his hips jerking against her body before thrusting deep and tensing as he came deep within her.

A pounding on the door shattered the moment, startling them both. They froze, staring at each other in confusion. Suddenly the door flew open with a crash. Draco grabbed the comforter from where it had been kicked to the foot of the bed, yanking it over their nude bodies just as Crabbe and Goyle came barging into the bedroom.

The three men stared at each other in mute horror for a few moments before Draco broke the silence. Hermione was pressed tightly against his back, peeking over his shoulder as discreetly as possible.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

“We heard noises,” Crabbe replied dumbly, his eyes glued to the short brown curls barely visible above Draco’s bare shoulder.

“We thought you might be in danger,” Goyle sputtered, blushing slightly as he looked away.

Draco swore that he could feel his blood pressure rising. “As that is evidently not the case, perhaps you would be so good as to take your leave now.”

The two men mumbled apologies and shuffled out of the room. Draco let his eyes fall shut and exhaled slowly. He had just turned to Hermione to apologize when they were interrupted once more.

“Boss?” Goyle had returned and stood watching him with a hopeful expression on his face while Crabbe peered out from the corner.

“What?” Draco snapped.

“I just want you to know how proud I am. Of you.” The burly man sniffed, and Draco had the horrified realization that his minion was on the verge of tears. “You’ve given us courage.”

Draco sat in stunned silence as his friends joined hands and ambled from the room once more. A muffled snicker broke his trance. He rolled onto his side to glare at Hermione, who was now giggling uncontrollably.

“Something amusing?”

She only laughed harder at the annoyed expression. “They still think I’m the Count,” she gasped, “and now you’re their role model!”

“Yes, well,” Draco sniffed. “They’ll soon be set straight, along with everyone else.”

Hermione froze. “Wait. What?”

“I suppose we don’t really need to announce that it was you all along,” Draco mused thoughtfully. “That would be rather unpleasant for you,” he added generously. “We’ll just let the Count fade away after we get you a real job.”

Visions of Hermione on his arm, dressed in markedly less ostentatious versions of the attire she wore to perform, displaying that undeniably gorgeous body, filled his mind. She’d soon be singing at Covent Garden, and together they would be the toast of London.

She stared at him. “What are you going on about?”

He opened his mouth to answer and was cut off.

“No. Don’t bother. I believe I’ve got it worked out.” She paused. “So you expect me to give up Count Hermann entirely and wait for you to buy me a job. Is that it?”

He frowned. That was a rather ungrateful way of characterizing his intentions. He’d expected to encounter some resistance along the way, but he’d underestimated the fiery nature of her spirit. Clearly there would have to be a bit of ego stroking before they could make any progress.

“I’m not going to buy you a job. I was merely suggesting that I use my considerable influence to persuade the right people to listen to you. You don’t need me to buy you a job. I merely assumed that you’d be as anxious to end this charade as I was.”

Hermione continued to glare, though her expression softened a bit. “While I appreciate the offer, I can’t accept. Surely that doesn’t surprise you.” She smiled gently. “Besides, I quite enjoy being Count Hermann von Engel. I don’t know that I’m ready to give him up yet.”

Draco laughed nervously. “So that’s it, then? You keep on pretending to be a man, and that makes me what? Your groupie? Your boy-toy?”

Hermione looked up at him almost bashfully. “Are you saying that you’re planning on sticking around for awhile?”

There were those eyes again.

Seeing the formidable Hermione Granger look up at him with that helplessly hopeful expression did funny things to him. He felt his heart leap slightly as she reached out to take his hand.

“I guess so. Yeah,” he whispered.

She rewarded him with a brilliant smile. “Then we’ll figure it out as we go along,” she answered, pushing him onto his back and rolling on top of him.

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A/N: I'm so glad that people are still reading! Thanks so much for taking the time to leave a comment - all feedback is greatly appreciated. :)