Claiming Hermione

Draco shoved the note into his History of Magic book and made his way to his dorm. Or, more specifically, to his bath. Having been rather good at potions, Draco knew the properties of many herbs and decided that his strained leg muscles could benefit from some chamomile, and feeling especially indulgent this early morning, he stepped into hot water that had tiny white flowers floating on the surface. Oh, if Crabbe and Goyle could see me now. But Draco had no qualms about it. He was very secure with his sexuality, and at the moment he needed a little decadence.



It’s an odd thing to save the life of someone you hate. It made Draco feel like he’d betrayed himself. He wasn’t angry with himself for saving her. He was mad to find that he’d lied to himself. On every day prior, if he’d been asked, and even if he hadn’t been, he’d tell you his life would be better with out Hermione Granger. But the truth had been revealed, most of all to him. He didn’t want her to die.



As he carefully recounted the evening, and the motivations for all his actions, he realized that when he left the common room, he didn’t even think she was in danger of dying. He just didn’t want her to get hurt. This thought came surging forward in his mind and he examined it.



He didn’t want her to be hurt. Not physically, not mentally, and definitely not sexually.



A feeling, or maybe it was an idea, was very slowly revealing itself to him. There was a goodness to Granger, a kind of…purity, and while that wasn’t news, the fact that Draco suddenly felt like he needed to protect that goodness, was. He suddenly felt like the world needed it, he needed it. It made him a little squirmy.



And to compound the squirmy feelings, he remembered that if he had warned her in the first place, she and Longbottom would not have split up. He slapped his hand down on the water dejectedly and frowned. He made a pretty lousy guardian.



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Hermione Granger had come close to death before. She had been petrified by a deadly basilisk, smashed by a whomping willow while chasing a murder, and cursed by a Death Eater at the Ministry of Magic. Almost dying from a stupid snakebite felt a little anti-climactic. She knew she should be more shaken up, but she just couldn’t muster the feelings. She was a little confused that her nemesis had saved her – that was…odd. Mostly, though, she just worried about rumors run rampant.



Hermione went to the Gryffindor common room so she could walk to breakfast with her friends. She also hoped to keep the drama to a minimum by confining it to the cozy room. And she had been right about the gossip mill. Well, best to makes sure she set the story straight herself. She had a very good idea about the kinds of “evolutions” that story could make.



“Oh, MERLIN, Hermione!” Parvati exclaimed when she got to the bottom of the steps. “Is it true that Draco Malfoy saved your life?” The exotic girl looked like she might swoon. Hermione snorted.



“Good morning, Parvati. Yes, I’m afraid so.”



“Do you remember it? Neville said he carried you all the way to the infirmary!”



Hermione sighed and answered, “I was unconscious. I got bit by…”



Just then a clatter for footsteps came from the boys dormitory stairs. Harry, Dean, Ron, and Colin came tumbling into the common room.



Ron and Harry both rushed to Hermione’s side and took turns giving her bone crushing hugs.



“I’m okay, guys. Really. I’m fine.”



She relayed the story to the small crowd that had gathered around her (leaving out the tie, of course), happy to have so many ears at one time. Having to retell it over and over again would test her patience. But, by the time they all left for breakfast, she was already well on her way to supreme aggravation. No one, not even her best friends, seemed to care at all that she had been bitten by a snake! They all wanted to know about Malfoy. What was he doing there? Why did he save her? What was it like to be carried by him? (That at least got glares from Harry and Ron also.) She didn’t know the answer to any of those questions. Truthfully, she wanted to know about Malfoy too. But, riding next to her curiosity was a large knot of apprehension.



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Draco had a less enthusiastic response from his housemates. Pansy and Blaise, in particular, seemed to be having a contest to see who could send the deadliest glare at him.



Finally, he rolled his eyes at them. “Oh grow up,” he drawled in a lazy voice. “It’s not like I could just let her die there. With our past, it would look suspicious, and I have no intention of going to Azkaban over her. Besides, if she dies I won’t be able to pass off all the Head Student work onto her.”



Blaise’s shoulders slumped and he sighed, resigning himself to the truth of Draco’s reasoning, but Pansy was still spitting fire. “Is that why you were out there in the first place, then? Protecting your worker elves?”



Draco smirked devilishly. He had been waiting for someone to ask why he was there. “Just checking up on the Gryffindorks. Making sure they don’t do anything naughty in the dark.” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively, then added, “You know, rules are rules. Wouldn’t want anyone to get expelled.”



It appeared that Pansy was impressed enough with Draco’s devious (albeit false) plan that she forgot about being mad that he wasn’t standing over the unconscious mudblood laughing viscously.



Draco breathed an internal sigh of relief. To find out if Blaise had anything to do with Granger’s accident, he had to keep him in his confidence. Draco just had to figure out the best approach. His cunning Slytherin mind could dance a jig around a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, and even most Ravenclaws, but Blaise a Slytherin too, and a fairly intelligent one at that. His methods would have to be well thought out.



“Mr. Zabini,” the curt, dry voice of Professor McGonagall broke into Draco’s thoughts, “Your detention for this evening will begin at 10pm sharp, just like last night. Please report to Mr. Filch’s office again at that time.”



“Yes, ma’am.” Zabini answered dejectedly and then rolled his eyes when the old woman walked away.



“What the hell was that all about Zabini?” Draco asked.



Blaise rolled his eyes again, “McGonagall caught me with a bottle of Ogden’s Finest I snatched off a fifth year Ravenclaw. I was up until one in the morning helping the smelly squib clean up a Myrtle Mess on the second floor. Bastard wouldn’t let me use magic either.”



Draco’s eyes lit up with amusement as he chuckled at the frowning boy. “Well, I’m sure you and Argus had a grand time getting to know each other. Will you be bringing him as your date this evening? When the magic hour strikes you two can slip off into the night together.” Goyle chuckled around his potato-filled mouth and Pansy giggled. Blaise’s, however, just glared at Draco.



“Well, I would have asked him, but he told me he was going with you.”



Draco smirked and let him win this round. “Ah, touché, Zabini. Touché. See you suckers in class!” He finished as he stood up smirking. Well, that had been too easy. So, Zabini was serving detention last night…very interesting. Or, rather, it’s not interesting at all. Is it possible that it was just coincidence? Draco replayed Zabini’s comments in his mind as he walked to class.



“I’d like to take the Gryffindor Princess off her fucking pedestal. It’s about time someone showed her what she’s made for. I’d wipe the fucking shine off her pristine fucking face. She’s a goddamned prude and I’m so sick of the stick up her ass. She deserves to be fucked in the mud like a pig.”



Hmmm, so maybe Zabini didn’t want to kill her, but why would we want to… no, that’s ridiculous. Draco then remembered his little wank fantasy involving the Head Girl. Okay, so maybe not ridiculous, just…really unlikely.



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Spirits ran high throughout the day with so much jabber about the Halloween Masque that Hermione and Draco were both spared from too much attention. They were currently both reviewing their notes for the prefect meeting that was scheduled before dinner. Hermione had laid out most of the rules for the dance since Draco tended to be a little too lenient, and Draco had a small list of other “reminders” for the prefects.



They hadn’t said anything more than hello to each other and a few remarks about the meeting before the prefects started filling in. The group huddled casually on the couch and chairs, with some students sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace while Hermione reminded them of their duties as “responsible students that needed to set the tone for others.” Lavender shot a sly glance at Padma and snickered at this, making Hermione send her a scolding look. When she was done, Draco stood up and took her place in front of the group. Hermione sat down in the large squashy chair he had vacated, warmed with his body heat, and took a moment to consider the Head Boy.



Dumbledore made a good choice in Draco. He was respected (amazingly enough), thorough, and fair. And he was surprisingly good at assigning duties to the right prefects. Lavender, Hermione knew, wouldn’t ever be assigned nighttime patrols of the greenhouses or the astronomy tower. And while Malfoy had put her on the team to set up decorations for the dance, she didn’t have any responsibilities at the dance itself. But most surprising to Hermione was that he put her in charge any assignment dealing with the youngest students. Hermione and Malfoy actually had quite a heated argument over this (which Hermione sulked about losing) claiming that Lavender was too “flighty” to be trusted with eleven year olds. After that, Hermione kept a close eye on the tall Gryffindor girl, in hopes of proving Malfoy wrong, but it quickly became obvious that Draco was right and Hermione had to concede. Lavender’s warm smiles and general affability made her a trusted favorite with the nervous first years.



Draco’s posture suddenly shifted drawing Hermione out of her thoughts, “Last,” Draco drawled, his tone both imperiously and warning, “it apparently wasn’t made clear enough before,” everyone seemed to sit up a little straighter. “that when patrolling you are put in pairs for a reason. And it isn’t so you can split up and get the job done more quickly. Do not let me hear of this happening, or there will be consequences. I trust that I’ve made myself understood.” Draco glanced at Neville and then turned and pointedly kept his eyes locked with Hermione’s. She felt her face flush, but grit her teeth and held his gaze. He turned back to dismiss the group who were watching the exchange anxiously, and Hermione looked away into the fire with her arms crossed protectively over her chest.



As the prefects gathered their patrol schedules and notes from their cubbies, Draco busied himself with his belongings and watched out of the corner of his eye as Hermione quickly packed her bag and left the common room without saying goodbye to anyone. He scowled and slung his bag over his shoulder.



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Hermione ran her fingers over the delicate beaded half mask. It was encrusted with hundreds of glittering iridescent silver beads that became warm, pale golds and pinks as she turned it in her hand. It was elegant and feminine with long, sheer, shimmery ribbons to tie it on and Hermione thought it was a pain in the ass. These masks didn’t hide the identity of the wearer, not even a little bit. And there was something creepy about seeing someone’s eyes through a mask’s openings. Death Eaters come to mind. She set it down on her dresser thinking that she’d take it off as soon as she could.



Her dress on the other hand, she loved! It was a long beaded sheath covered in the same iridescent silver-gold-rose beads that skimmed over her body and came to a point (via some sexy side slits) just above her ankles in the front and the back. Looking in her full-length mirror in the privacy of her room, she ran her hands over hips and thighs and felt like she was wearing someone else’s body. The bodice had thin, sheer gossamer ribbon straps that matched those on the mask and a subtle V accentuated her full breasts perfectly without making her feel exposed. The long slits up the sides didn’t run much higher than her school skirts, but the feeling of the satin lined fabric swishing against her legs made her feel incredibly sexy. Her favorite part of the dress, though, were the two long shimmery panels of fabric that descended from the tops of her shoulders down her back. They were attached along their inner edges to the edges of the open back of the dress. If she grasped the tails and spread her arms a little, the glimmery panels transformed into long dragonfly wings that extended past her knees.



Hermione smoothed her hand over her nervous stomach, took a deep breath and tied her mask behind her head. She had spelled her hair into an elegant, but simple French twist that showed off her neck (one of her favorite features) and the long ribbons tickled her bare back. As she stepped into the corridor outside her room, she thought, here we go…