First Sight

First Sight

Hermione felt guilty when she lifted the lid to Harry’s trunk and began to pilfer around, but she rationalized it as completely necessary. She had begun to notice some of her things missing; not misplaced, she was far too neat for that. No, they were gone, and none of the girls in the dorm had confessed to borrowing them. She had searched the entirety of Gryffindor without success so now she was taking it to the next level—she was going to use Harry’s cloak of invisibility and the Marauder’s Map to locate her missing items.

Besides the Time Turner, though, she really couldn’t say what, if anything, was missing. Her favorite Muggles shirt was gone, as well as a snapshot that Colin Creevey had taken of her at the Yule Ball. The flash had blinded her and she nearly had taken a tumble down the stairs, but the picture had turned out quite well, in her opinion. It showed her long neck and shoulders off well from the angle of the picture, her hair was actually behaving itself thanks to the charms that she had used, and her smile was glowing thanks to the stunned looks from Viktor, Ron, and Harry.

Her fingers closed on a silky cloth at the bottom of the trunk and she hauled out the cloak with a sigh of relief. Now all she had to do was cast the Possesiolocus and see where it turned up on the map—if she could find the map. Harry was such a messy boy, she thought as she fished through the papers at the bottom of the trunk.

She finally sat back on her heels and looked outside. The shadows were growing longer, she realized, and if she didn’t hurry Ron and Harry would catch her. Quidditch practice didn’t last forever. She huffed a stray curl out of her eyes and whispered, “Accio map!” A parchment wiggled its way from between Harry’s mattresses and flew obligingly to her outstretched hand and she stuffed it beneath her robes along with the cloak. Now, to make her way to the third floor washroom….

As she hurried through the corridors and hallways of Hogwarts avoiding the milling students as they tried to occupy themselves on a long, dull Saturday, she thought about the last time that she had cast the Possesiolocus spell. It should have at least brought her a little closer to where her Time Turner had gone; instead, it had dragged her directly into Draco Malfoy.

Chewing on her bottom lip as she walked, she relived that afternoon, a blush burning its way onto her cheeks as she recalled how Malfoy had sneered down at her. “Lose your way, Muddy?” he had snarled.

Treacherous tears had sprung into her eyes when she heard the nickname he’d taken to calling her whenever they chanced on each other alone. Muddy—a reference to her Muggleborn parents and her lack of pureblood. God, how she hated those names! Magic was magic; it didn’t matter whether your blood was from a magical family or a Muggle family. Getting bigots like Malfoy to understand that, however, was a Herculean task that she would never be up to.

Hermione had looked up into his aristocratic face to see his light gray eyes staring down at her. “I was looking for my necklace,” she stammered as she dropped her eyes, completely missing the look on his face.

“You must think me insipid to believe that claptrap. Why would I have your necklace, Muddy?”

She couldn’t mistake the derision in his voice. “I didn’t say that you had it, Ferret,” she said, seeing her dig hit its mark when he flushed. “I simply said I was looking for it. My spell brought me here.”

Malfoy spread his arms wide, his tailored robes hanging perfectly from his shoulders. “Well, search me—on second thought, don’t. I would rather eat flobberworms than to have a mudblood touch me.”

That had been the final straw. She turned and ran all the way back to the gryffindor common room with tears streaming unheeded down her face. Thank heaven it was deserted and nobody had witnessed her humiliation. Just knowing that Malfoy had got the best of her was more than she could bear.

She finally reached the lavatory and locked the door behind her with another whispered charm. It wouldn’t hold if someone needed in badly enough, but it would hold them off long enough for her to cast her spell and find her necklace.

As she set herself up in a hidden corner, she wondered why it even mattered to her that she couldn’t find the Time Turner. Why, she hadn’t used it much at all in the last year, she thought. Lessons learned—she had overused it the previous year, sometimes for good reasons, like saving Buckbeak, and some for the not-so-good, like taking far too many classes. It had seemed wise at the time, but in hindsight she realized how much she had shortchanged herself. She was surprised when the Ministry of Magic had allowed her to keep it after that year; she wondered if with all the uproar about Voldemort, they had forgotten it.

With the cloak next to her and the Marauder’s Map on the floor, she pulled her wand out of her sleeve and touched the map with the tip. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” she intoned, and the map unfolded with a flourish.

She looked at the many dots moving around on the map’s surface. Good, nobody coming her way right now, she thought, and with the map as her guide and the cloak concealing her, she should be able to avoid anyone in the corridors. Waving her wand over the map clockwise, then counter-clockwise, she said, “Possesiolocus my Time Turner.” Her wand jigged in her hand like a dowsing rod for a moment, then jerked downward, pointing to a room with only one occupant. Looking closely at the dot on the page, she saw the name written by it—Draco Malfoy. She also noted that it wasn’t moving, and it was close by.

So the ferret did have her necklace! She should have known that he would lie, especially about having something so valuable and…dangerous. Dangerous in the wrong hands. She shook her head as she donned the cloak, the map in her hand and her wand in a ready position should she need it.

She slipped out of the lavatory quietly after noting that there wasn’t anyone in the hallway, then eased around a lone first-year student coming toward her with a huge load of books in his hands. She watched her path as it drew closer to that of Malfoy’s location, then saw two dots coming close on her heels.

Pansy Parkinson was complaining loudly to Blaise Zabini about Draco. Hermione ducked behind a statue of a large wizard in full robes as their voices drifted closer. “…And I don’t know what he’s been doing by himself all the time! He never has time for me anymore. The only thing that seems to give him any pleasure is ranting about that silly Gryffindor mudblood Granger.”

Hermione couldn’t hear Blaise’s reply over the thumping of her heart, but she definitely heard Pansy continue. “You know, the usual. Mudblood, buckteeth, huge arse, too big for her robes, too smart—the same things we’ve heard over and over for the last year. Circe, if I didn’t know any better, I would think that he was obsessed with her for an entirely different reason instead of just her putrefying presence here in Hogwarts.”

Their voices trailed off as the started down the nearby staircase and Hermione leaned back against the wall with a thud. That was a close call, she thought, replaying the overheard conversation in her mind. What did Pansy mean about a different obsession, though? Malfoy hated her with a passion.

Checking the map once again, she saw that Draco was still in the room just around the corner alone. She swiftly headed in that direction, only to stop short at the sign on the door. He was in the boys’ lavatory.

Shrugging, she whispered, “Alohamora,” under her breath, and the door opened silently. She slithered inside as she pointed her wand at her feet and hissed, “Silencio,” making her footsteps stealthy as she stepped around the corner and into the room.

She stopped short at the sight before her. She should have been prepared, especially seeing the room that she was entering, to find Malfoy in a compromising position, but not this one.

He stood at the far end of the lavatory, his robes on the ground beside him. His back was to her but she could see clearly the clean lines of his naked body as his hand worked in front of him. His face was buried in her favorite cashmere sweater and his buttocks flexed madly as he…. She couldn’t even begin to think of what he was doing with his hand…she just couldn’t!

She moved closer to him, inch by inch, fascinated by what she had only dared to think about. Not necessarily Malfoy, but any boy, naked. She had never seen a naked man and her curiosity was overwhelming her to see what the fuss was, but Malfoy? The thought nearly stopped her until she realized that while she remained cloaked, he would never know.

Like all of them, he was no longer the slight eleven-year-old that he had been. The years had taken their toll and he now stood tall, framed by the stained glass window that was even now leaving patterns of colors across his pale skin and frosty hair. His shoulders were broad and she watched the play of muscles in his back as his hand moved in front of him. His arse was sculpted as well, with deep dimples that only emphasized the roundness of his arse-cheeks. Even his legs had filled out and she noticed a halo of golden hair sprinkling over them, outlining them in the light.

As she grew closer, she tried to think of this as a clinical exercise in the human anatomy, but it didn’t stop the heat that began to coil in her belly or the itch that seemed to grow stronger between her legs. She was almost directly behind him when he turned and pressed his back to the window, affording her a full-length view of his front.

His chest had filled out as well as his back; she noticed that first, trying unsuccessfully to keep her eyes above his waist. She couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting downward to his hand, however, or what he held fast in his fist. It was her first sight of a man’s penis and it would stay with her for the rest of her life, long into her golden years.

The skin was as pale as the rest of him. It was larger than she expected, not having any previous knowledge on the subject. It seemed to fill his hand completely and then some, and there was not nearly enough of his hand to cover its entire length. She was panting; it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it over his own breathing, until she realized that he was moaning into her sweater.

“Oh, Hermione—yes, love, take it all in your mouth. Baby, that feels so good—like heaven….” Her mouth dropped open when she heard her name fall from his lips in such a worshipful tone. His hand was moving faster, gliding over smooth skin that seemed to be changing color before her very eyes. The tip turned a deep reddish-purple as he stroked himself from base to tip then his eyes flew open as he began to yank on it harder, losing control. She could see his mouth working as he gasped for air and shoved her sweater between his teeth, then his hips jerked violently as white fluid began jetting from the tip, landing too close to her shoe and the edge of the cloak.

She stumbled backward to avoid being hit and must have made a noise. He stopped cold, his hips still jerking but the rest of his body taut with a predatory grace. “Who’s there?” he called imperiously.

Hermione warred within herself. Should she sneak out and leave him to his self-love? Or should she whip the cloak off and demand her personal belongings be returned? She doubted that he would be difficult, considering the compromising situation he was in at the moment.

Her decision was made for her, however, when her heel caught on the back of the cloak as she moved and it was dragged over her head by her own traitorous shoe.

Hermione knew that her face must have mirrored Malfoy’s. He gaped like a fish as she appeared from nowhere, map and wand in hand and a pool of fabric at her feet. She regained her aplomb quickly, though, and stuck her wand in her pocket to free her hand. “I’d like my sweater back, if you please. And anything else of mine that you might have.” She was proud of the cool tone; as badly as she was shaking inside, she didn’t think that she could pull it off.

His cock still in his fist, Malfoy handed her the sweater. She tucked it under her arm and held out her hand again, and he dropped her Time Turner into the palm. She chanced a look at his face and instead of seeing the normal haughty expression that usually was pasted there, she saw embarrassment—and fear.

He cupped his genitals with his hand as he reached behind him for the last item. It was her picture from the Yule Ball. Her likeness smiled as she looked over her shoulder, curls bobbing as she spoke to someone off camera. He held it out to her and it trembled between his fingertips. “Granger,” Malfoy said, his voice shaking slightly, “Er…you aren’t going to tell anyone about this, are you?”

She tried to look malicious, she really did. “What do you think, Malfoy? Would you give me the same courtesy?”

She was surprised to see an abashed look in his eyes. “No. No I wouldn’t.”

She bent to gather the cloak from the floor and added it to the pile under her arm. “And that is where you and I are different.”

She paused when she reached the door, her hand on the knob. “You can keep the picture. And Malfoy? You’re not only a bigot, you’re a hypocrite as well.”

She heard him hiss as her jab struck home once again, then headed back to the Gryffindor common room. There was no magic in the world that would ever make her dislike him any less. At least, not right now.