Thriller

Author's Notes: This is actually a much older story, pre-HBP. I just noticed that it wasn't archived anywhere (except for my LJ). Originally written for dmhgficexchange challenge fic for SaraC

“Mudblood.”

THWAP!

“Damn it, Granger, what did you go and do that for?”

“It’s really quite elementary, Malfoy. Whenever you call me Mudblood, I hit you in the head with Hogwarts: A History.”

“I don’t understand why you’re getting your knickers in a twist. It’s not said with contempt like before; it’s more of a buddy thing, really. Like the way Blaise calls Goyle a motherfucker.”

THWAP!

“I didn’t say the word!”

“That’s for being a complete dolt, Malfoy.”

Draco gave her a menacing glare, looking very much like the devious snake that he was. Hermione only grinned innocently as if she were staring at a rainbow up ahead. Although completely twisted, there was a grain of truth in Draco’s reasoning. He, after all, wasn’t You-Know-Who’s little errand boy.

Over the summer before sixth year, he was asked to choose whether to return to Hogwarts or vow servitude to the Dark Lord. He obviously chose to go back to Hogwarts. But he still wanted to prove to them that he had not chosen the path his father took. And thus on the very first day of their sixth term, Draco Malfoy, pureblood brat walked up to his fellow prefect, and shook her hand as an equal. That was all it took for Hermione to give the boy the benefit of the doubt. And perhaps that little gesture closed the deal of his Head Boy status for the next year with Dumbledore as well.

That isn’t to say that they instantly became friends, or even got along well. Draco refused to wave wands for the order, something Hermione couldn’t understand. He couldn’t see what was so difficult to grasp; Lucius was still his father and Draco did not want to fight him.

But there was no animosity between them. And that made their working relationship productive and bearable.

And though Hermione would never say it out loud, Draco was now a part of her life, and she didn’t hate it. There was an odd sense of humour about their relationship. True, in the midst of their spats she would shout and insult and completely abhor him but once they’ve both subsided, she would sit in her red armchair, and he on the couch directly in front of the fireplace, and replay the earlier events and start laughing at the silliness of it all.

She became used to him calling her Buck and Bushy and she wasn’t so self-conscious about calling him an anemic fucktard. But there was one thing Hermione could never get past, his use of the word Mudblood.

She knew he no longer meant it the way he once did. But the historical semantics behind the word was too powerful, even for her. It marred and derided so many before her; it was not a word to be taken lightly. It had too many painful memories that came with it.

It reminded her of who he once was.

“Granger,” Draco interrupted her thoughts, “I don’t want to fight today, alright, I have a headache. I only wanted to tell you that Dumbledore wanted to meet us in his office after dinner. Something about this year’s Halloween.”

“Okay, get me from the Gryffindor table when you’re done eating so we can walk there together,” she instructed.

“Why do I have to get you? I always pick you up at the Gryffindor table, why don’t you pick me up at the Slytherin table for a change?”

“Malfoy,” she said her voice fading with a threat.

Draco scrunched his nose as if trying to stop the steam from coming out of his ears. Hermione guised her grin with a frown because heaven help her Draco looked adorable when he’s pushing his temper.

“Fine, I’ll get you from your house table once I’m done. Don’t make me wait,” he agreed with defeat.

“Good then. I’m off to class, I’ll see you later.”

“See you, Mudblood.”

THWAP!

BLAG!

That one might’ve been a bit too strong. Hermione contemplated whether or not to help his sorry arse up from the floor. She finally decided not to for the simple reason that a hamster would’ve got the drill by now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione just scooped up the final bite of pumpkin pasties from her plate when Draco swaggered his way to the Gryffindor table. He stood behind her chair and Hermione could tell from the way he breathed as if he was about to transform into Dr. Jekyll that he was staring down at her two best friends. Some things never change.

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

“Weasley.”

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

“What the hell, Ron?”

“Sorry, mate, I thought we were playing some sort of name roll call.”

Ron winked at Hermione. So maybe some things do change. Ron was now some sort of comedic pacifist. Albeit unwittingly. Basically he had fantastic timing.

“Now that everyone’s acquainted with everyone, Malfoy and I are going to Professor Dumbledore’s office before either of you,” she paused to give Harry and Draco warning looks, “produce some sort of greenhouse effect with all the breathing you’re doing.”

She stood up and gave Draco a little shove to get him to move along. She looked back and waved Harry and Ron little goodbyes and jogged next to Draco, who walked briskly ahead of her. Hermione called his name but he continued walking. He was out the Great Hall doors when she finally caught up with him.

She poked the spot just below his side stitch when he still ignored her.

He just looked at her sideways with a raised eyebrow.

“Malfoy, why are you ignoring me?”

Silence.

“Alright, I’m just going to keep poking you until you say something.”

They were already in front of Dumbledore’s office when he finally gave in.

“Damn it, Granger, that’s going to leave a bruise.”

“You should’ve said something the first poke, then.”

“Your fingers are freakishly pointy.”

“All the better to poke you with. Now what crawled up your arse and started a resettlement project?”

“It’s nothing; we’re going to be late.” He turned his heel and was about to say the password when Hermione poked his ribcage.

“Seriously, Granger, that’s starting to get really annoying!”

“Tell me what’s bothering you first,” she insisted.

“No!”

“I’ll poke you,” she threatened with a finger wave.

He considered it deeply before finally saying, “I want equal billing.”

“What?”

“When you introduce us to other people you say ‘These are my best friends Harry and Ron, oh and this is Draco.’”

“Am I hearing this right? Do you want me to say ‘These are my best friends Harry, Ron and Draco’?!?!” she asked incredulously.

“Bloody hell, of course not; I want you to say ‘These are my best friends Harry and Ron, and this is Draco,’” he explained long-sufferingly.

Hermione looked at him oddly. “That’s the same thing.”

“It’s not. There’s no ‘oh.’”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well for one it wouldn’t sound like I’m the most painful person you’ve ever had the misfortune to meet and two it would suggest that you had actually meant to introduce me. I would not like to be treated as though I was an afterthought. It’s bad enough I come after Potter and Weasley,” he said.

Hermione thought it might’ve been a yarn he was pulling but the vein in his temple told her otherwise.

“Fine, Malfoy, I’ll exclude the ‘oh’” she said as sincerely as possible.

“Good, now let’s go see Dumbledore,” he said with his hand gesturing her to walk ahead.

Hermione shook her head at the rather peculiar exchange and said the password to the Headmaster’s Office (Chocolate Frog Card No. 28). They walked through the passage and was greeted by a twinkling Dumbledore; literally this time. It appeared that he had discovered sequins and had hundreds of blue ones sutured to his robe.

“Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy. Take a seat both of you,” he said jovially and pointed them toward the twin arm chairs of blue velvet in front of his desk.

Hermione and Draco both obliged.

“You wanted to discuss this year’s Halloween celebration with us, Professor?” Hermione asked as she primly crossed her heels on one side.

“Correct, Miss Granger. I was looking through old Hogwarts’ albums and I came across a most interesting picture which gave me an idea to revive a tradition we once followed religiously,” he expressed enthusiastically. “This might make you understand better.”

The Headmaster handed her an album about half a ruler thick with an unmarked rusting bronze cover and brown paper leaves. A yellow tassel was pressed between the pages about midway of the album. Hermione looked to Dumbledore for approval and he gave her a curt nod in reply.

Hermione settled the album on the contiguous arms of her and Draco’s chairs. He leaned in closer, their foreheads almost touching, as she pulled at the tassel to find the page in question. What Hermione saw was anomalous indeed.

There in the ageing sepia of a moving picture were Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, standing on what looks to be a makeshift stage on one side of the Great Hall where the professors usually sat. And it didn’t appear as if they were engaged (or engaging or about to be engaged, for that matter) in a rumpus. In fact, if Hermione didn’t know it was a completely batty concept that could only be arrived upon when one is on the brink of death, it would seem that they were doing some sort of choreographed dance number.

“Headmaster, why is my father tap dancing with Professor Snape?!” Draco questioned alarmingly. Hermione was afraid the scene would render him catatonic.

“Good question, Mister Malfoy, ten points to Slytherin! You see a good many years back we had this tradition every Halloween wherein the seventh year students would prepare a programme for the entertainment of their younger schoolmates. The practice was stopped during the War, a shame really, but a bigger shame is how we have failed to re-establish it even after,” Dumbledore explained.

“But professor,” Hermione began without looking up, unable to take her eyes away from a Sirius who was doing tricks with his top hat, “I realize I haven’t known these four men for very long, but I’m quite certain they wouldn’t appear on a stage together gyrating to whatever beat it was they were gyrating to willingly.”

“You’re right, Miss Granger, they wouldn’t. It was their detention and they had no choice. But that’s not what we’re here to talk about Miss Granger. I believe it is high time we return this tradition. It is a perfect way to increase unity amongst the houses. Now, since Halloween is a mere two weeks away, I will only ask you to prepare one performance with at least two representatives from each house. Miss Granger, I realize the muggle world is rich with magical performances and I am placing you in charge of this project,” he addressed them with a frail yet deciding voice.

Hermione groaned at the thought of the task. Draco snickered under his breath at her misfortune.

Dumbledore twinkled mischievously. “Of course, Mister Malfoy, I would not like for you to feel left out. You are thereby required to represent your house as a performer and of course assist Miss Granger in whatever she may require.”

Hermione surreptitiously showed him a raspberry and Draco retaliated by pinching the skin on her knee.

“I assume you have no questions,” he said as he watched their exchange with curious eyes.

Hermione slapped Draco’s hand away. “No, Professor, we don’t have anymore questions.”

“Excellent! Yes, Mister Malfoy, you may now go,” Dumbledore anticipated the question on Draco’s face.

Hermione stood to leave as Draco followed. Once outside Hermione headed back towards the Great Hall.

“Where are you going?” Draco asked, rooted in his spot in front of Dumbledore’s office.

“Back to the Great Hall, Harry might still be there and I need his help for the presentation,” Hermione replied without stopping to walk.

Draco frowned ungratefully. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one helping you?”

“Yes, but you don’t know anything about muggle dance productions!” And with that Hermione left Draco standing in the middle of the corridor with his mouth agape.

She caught Harry in the nick of time, he was already out the Great Hall doors when she caught his sleeve and tugged at it mightily.

“Harry, I need your help!”

He pivoted on his heel and drew up a huge grin when he knew it was her. “Sure, what for?”

“Dumbledore gave me this assignment for Halloween. The seventh year class has to prepare some muggle dance production for a show on Halloween night. The problem is I can’t seem to think of any, because I don’t know any,” she said in a half whine. She was definitely frustrated that Draco Malfoy would probably be better at coming up with a solution to this than she will be.

It only took Harry a second of contemplative look before the idea bulb atop his head literally lit up. “Thriller!”

“What?” Hermione asked, obviously befuddled.

“Thriller?!” Harry repeated, not able to believe that Hermione wouldn’t instantly get what he was talking about.

“Right, ‘Thriller.’ What about it?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, her eyes trying to follow their conversation.

“Michael Jackson? Thriller?” Harry continued.

Hermione only shook her head.

“Thriller,” Harry began with a sort of tune that didn’t quite get there.

Luckily he got some help.

“Thriller night! And no one’s gonna save you from the beast about to strike!”

Hermione turned around to see Justin Finch-Fletchley, blondest blond next to Draco Malfoy, singing in perfect tune complete with hand and hip calisthenics.

“You know it’s Thriller! Thriller night! You’re fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight!” Harry continued enthusiastically.

Justin bounced to Harry’s side as they began an impromptu dance number with a choreography they seemed to have learned by heart. Both provided for their beats with synchronized “Dunnundundundundun.” Hermione had to admit they were both very good.

They finished with some sort of exposition hands that Hermione wanted badly to copy. She clapped excitedly.

“And that, my friend is Thriller,” Harry said with a bow.

He turned to Justin as they gave each other fives.

“That’s fantastic! You’re both going to perform on Halloween night!” Hermione exclaimed.

The two stopped abruptly mid-congratulatory hugs.

“We’re what?!”

“I assumed that was your audition piece!” she explained cheekily.

“Er, Hermione…,” Harry began.

“No backing out!” Hermione warned with ‘thrilling’ scream. She turned to Justin with a scarily quick mood switch. “You’ll have to teach me that flippy thing you do with your arms.”

Justin merely nodded afraid of what Hermione might do if he said no.

For the next three nights Hermione busied herself with dance lessons from Harry and Justin in the Room of Requirement, (floor length mirrors and record players are very helpful). She was happy that she did not resemble an epileptic duck whilst dancing but was still highly distressed that both Harry and Justin had more flexible hips.

Harry was leant over, his legs bent, his hands rested on his knees as he watched Hermione do all the steps on her own. “Alright, Hermione, just sway it a little more, a little bit more, just sway your hips, and give it a bit more bend.”

“That’s all the swaying my hips can do! I’m not like you, you malleable rubber-hipped bit of rum!” she finally lashed out in vexation

Harry raised both his hands as if to protect himself from an oncoming attack. “Fine, Hermione, calm down.”

Justin piped in from behind Harry. “That means we’re finished here?”

“Not quite,” Hermione replied a bit more tranquilly, “The three of us are going to have to teach this to the rest of the group. I’ve gone around the castle the past few days and managed to get some students to join.”

“You didn’t, by any chance, threaten to turn them into chickens, did you?” Justin interrupted.

“Of course not!” Hermione replied looking very much offended. “As I was saying, before Justin’s very rude accusation, I’ve managed to enlist some students to perform with us. Harry, you and I will represent Gryffindor house, but Lavender and Parvati insist they can dance so they will be joining us too. For Ravenclaw, Parvati managed to convince Padma to join up stating that she will tell their parents about her encounter with Roger Davies in the Prefect’s bathroom if she does not, all Parvati’s doing by the way; I had no hand in it whatsoever. Stop smirking Justin. There’s also Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner who both owe Padma a galleon each. Again, Padma’s idea, not mine. I would appreciate it Harry if you did not snicker. For Hufflepuff, there’s you, Justin, and Hannah Abbott. She did not require any coaxing. And for Slytherin we have Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. It was Malfoy who threatened to castrate Zabini with a Severing charm, if anyone asks, not me.”

She was met with twin raised eyebrows.

“Oh come on! This is Malfoy we’re talking about!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After much deliberation and childish name-calling a practice schedule was finally set. They were all to meet every afternoon after class in the Room of Requirement and it was also decided that they are to eat dinner together in the same room to save on time. (And according to Justin, it was so Hermione could control how much time they are to spend eating.)

Everything went very well and Hermione thought so too. No one ever missed practice, and Justin was the perfect dance instructor, always patient with those who can’t keep up as well as the others, Draco Malfoy, or came late to class, Draco Malfoy, or was most uncooperative, Draco Malfoy, or had the most horrendous jazz hands known to man, Draco Malfoy.

“Seriously, Malfoy, I don’t fancy you so will you just let me touch you?” Justin asked patiently though Hermione could see the stress ball he had clenched in his hand go down the size of a pea.

“No!”

Justin took a moment to do some breathing exercises before he finally gave in and walked to the corner farthest away from Draco.

“Malfoy, please, please just don’t be you for a day. We need to perfect this in three days. Everyone has done their part, please do yours,” Hermione liaised for Justin.

“I don’t like Muggle dancing Granger. And I definitely do not like it when the queer boy tries to feel me up,” he complained.

“Firstly, you prejudiced twit, he isn’t queer, secondly, even if he is queer I’m certain he does not like you in any way and thirdly, you have no choice!” Hermione was losing the little patience she had. Malfoy definitely was not helping matters.

He was not daunted by the look she gave him (Harry would describe it as a tiger on the prowl). With his arms crossed over his chest, Draco used his full height to tower over her. “Firstly, he’s as queer as a nine bob note, secondly, everyone likes me in that way, and thirdly…fine you have thirdly.”

“Honestly, Malfoy, why do you have to make things difficult? Please do this, so we can all go back to bed, please Malfoy,” Hermione had tears in her eyes out of frustration, she did not know how else to make him just follow instructions and out of sheer madness added, “for me?”

Draco’s face softened almost instantaneously, to Hermione’s puzzlement. “Fine. But I still won’t let Finch teach me. He has sweaty hands.”

“You’re such a delicate nance,” she half-teased with a roll of her eyes, “Who else do you think would teach you?”

Draco grinned wickedly. “Why, you of course!”

“Me?”

“Is there anyone else in this room who can tolerate me at this point?” he smirked gratuitously.

“What makes you think I can?” she replied tetchily.

That wiped the smug look on his face but he continued nonetheless. “You’re incredibly resilient.”

“I agree whole-heartedly, and thus I say we can all call it a day and leave you here to deal with Malfoy,” Justin said decidedly.

He stood up and shooed everyone out of the room ignoring Hermione’s protests.

“Everyone you’re free to go, please ignore the cricket noises that vaguely sounds like Hermione, it’s nothing!”

“Fine, leave me here!” Hermione squealed in a fit.

At this Harry stood up from where he was sitting on the floor. “I was going to offer to stay but if you insist.”

“Wait, Harry!”

But he was already out the door before she could even get the word out.

“And then there were two,” Draco’s conniving voice came behind her.

“Let’s just get this over with so we can both get a good night’s rest. This week had been really taxing,” she told him, mood still testy.

Draco was surprisingly cooperative although he was still about as flexible as a steel pipe. At the end of two hours, he finally had all the steps down; he would just need to learn that when dancing, it would be bad to look as if you’re trying to quash a cockroach. Maybe they’d just place him at the very back; behind the curtains.

Hermione put on the record and had him run through all the steps, first with her and then alone. She sat on the floor, knees tucked under her chin, and leaned back on the mirrored walls. The beat began and Malfoy with a stern face as if he’s getting prepared for a Quidditch match took his first step.

“See, Malfoy, that didn’t look to…At least you’ve memorised all the steps now!” she complimented carefully.

“It’s a complete disaster,” he said morosely. He was taking much more gravely than Hermione thought. Well, if she looked like a goat at the moment of being struck by lightning, she’d take it gravely too.

“You’ll be fine,” she reassured emptily.

“Everyone will laugh at me!”

Hermione thought on it for a moment. An idea hit her. “Malfoy, it’s Halloween, you can wear a costume. In fact, we all should wear really scary costumes on stage, of monsters and zombies!”

“You want me to look ugly in front of everyone?” he asked sounding very much appalled at the idea.

She rolled her eyes but was not unamused. “No one would have to know it’s you! It’s the perfect solution!”

After little consideration, Draco realised being ugly and anonymous was a lesser evil than being his handsome self and the laughing stock of Hogwarts.

“Then it’s settled. You know you’d make a perfect vampire!” Hermione squealed in delight. He could just see the wheels turning in her head.

“Blood sucking murderers no better than a leech, thanks Granger,” he jested. He took the spot beside her, sitting with one knee raised to chest height and the other leg sprawled on the floor. Their shoulders touched but neither paid heed.

“You mean enigmatic, powerful immortals, with centuries of knowledge and charisma. And sexy to boot,” she finished with a grin.

He turned his head, their foreheads almost touched. “You think I’m sexy?”

Hermione ruminated on what she would say but figured that she didn’t care. “Well, yes.”

She never quite pictured what a deer caught in the headlights would look like until then.

“Did you just say what I think you did?”

Hermione bit her lip in amusement. “Don’t worry, Malfoy, I’m not about to jump you. All I’m saying is that as a person of the opposite sex, yes, I think you’re very attractive. Have you seen your own arse? Just so cute, like a muffin I’d love to bite into.”

“Granger!” Draco was about as red as tomatoes at high noon.

Hermione only laughed at his obvious embarrassment. “Malfoy, you’re acting like such a prude. What’s wrong? I’m sure you’re used to this, I mean you must get it from girls, boys even, all the time.”

Draco shifted in his seat slightly. “Well, that’s true, but I never thought I’d get it from you.”

She furrowed her eyebrows at him. “What makes me different? I have eyes you know.”

He started playing with the hem of his shirt. “You just are. You’re Hermione Granger, you’re…I don’t know, I can’t find the words.”

“A mudblood?”

She hadn’t meant to drop the word, she didn’t want the teasing and lighthearted atmosphere to go away and she knew it would if she let it out. But it just kept pushing, like the lady in the red coat behind her at the grocery the morning before Christmas last year. That lady was shoving actually. She hoped that lady slipped on the way home, face on the curb arse in the air.

”Of course not, you know I don’t think of you that way,” he retorted without a second to lose. And she could tell from the way his eyes were a shade of blue lighter that he was sincere.

“I know that but, I just, oh never mind.”

“Go on.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Spit it out,” he said rather forcefully.

“Why do you still use that word? You know I hate it,” she confessed.

“I didn’t know it bothered you so much,” he replied meekly.

“Of course it bothers me, idiot. It hurts,” she said to him.

“Then I’ll stop using it,” he said with every intention to keep it as a promise.

“Good.”

He only nodded, wanting the ugly conversation to go away so they could go back to what they had a few minutes earlier.

“But, Malfoy, why keep using it in the first place?” she insisted.

He took a deep breath, wishing desperately that she just let the matter drop. “It’s silly.”

“Spit it out.”

“I just thought, that if I used the word casually, that it would lose its venom and maybe, you could forgive me for the way I acted before,” he explained.

“But I already forgave you? Can’t you tell?”

“You have?”

“If I haven’t, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now, would I?” she rationalized to him.

He smiled grimly. “And of course there’s that other silly reason?”

“How many silly reasons do you have?”

“Just one more,” he assured her.

“Pray, do tell.”

He stretched his leg forward so both his legs were now sprawled in front of them. His hand flew to his nape, moving back and forth as if in a gentle massage. “It was ours.”

Hermione raised a confused eyebrow. She encouraged him to continue with a look.

“Well, you, Potter and Weasley, you have these private jokes and little nicknames. Potter calls you Hermy and you snicker as if he’d just shown you a picture of McGonagall in a pink spandex. And you and Weasley talk about guinea pigs a lot and I mostly don’t get what’s so funny but apparently it cracks you up. And we, we have the M word.” He seemed thoroughly discomfited with his confession.

“McGonagall in a pink spandex; I never thought,” she joked half-heartedly.

“I feel very self-conscious right now,” he sniffed as if injured.

“We can have other things, Malfoy,” she offered genuinely. She placed her hand tentatively above his.

“You can’t even call me by my first name.”

“I tried once and you told me you’d make the nose on my hair grow up to fifteen yards if I try it again.”

“Oh right. I really despise my name. My father’s a complete wanker.”

“It’s very strapping.”

“Tell that to Stanley Ebola.”

“Stanley who?”

“He was a sixth year when we were in first and he used to hang me upside down from the common room banister in just my pyjama tops all because my name annoyed him. That bastard, I wish he grows a second nose.”

“Poor baby,” she commiserated. She squeezed his hand gently; unmindful that she had been holding it all the time.

“I really want him to grow a second nose.”

“I could help you with that,” Hermione offered.

He looked at her with a mixture of surprise and admiration. “You would?”

“Yes, and it’d be something that’s ours.” She smiled as if they’d just learned the value of punctuality from a children’s show on the telly.

Draco returned her smile. “You know what else we could share?”

Hemione shrugged. “A cookie?”

He grinned at her and leaned closer. For a moment Hermione had no clue what he was going to do and when it dawned on her it was over before she had a chance to decide what to do.

“You kissed me,” she said weakly.

Draco gulped distinctly. “It just seemed like the right thing to do, I’m—.”

But he never got to finish what he was going to say when Hermione fisted a copious amount of his t-shirt’s cloth in her hand and pulled his lips to hers. The first contact was awkward, her nose was in the way, or his nose was in the way and most of his lips landed on her chin. Their position had him straining his neck trying to get closer to her, having to cross both of their shoulders. But everything fell into place as he fell into her shape.

She kissed him softly and made little, wet smacking noises that prompted Draco to put his hand around her hips and pull her to sit on the space between his open legs. This was definitely more comfortable and gave him better access to a lot of other things he wanted access to.

She licked her chapped lips, running over her upper and wetting his lower. It was a contact he liked very much and would love more of. His tongue darted out, gingerly slipping between her lips to dance around the heat of her mouth. He massaged her tongue with his in long, hard strokes and then used its pointed tip to taunt, thrusting back and forth before he drew back to his own mouth, coaxing her to follow. She obliged willingly as she opened her lips wider, pushing his along. She darted her tongue inside him in frenzy as she ran the pink soft muscle along the cheek of his mouth, his palate and the soft bed under his tongue. Her hands flew around his neck and pushed him closer to her, their mouths molding together as her tongue continued its assault in his mouth. He let her dominate him; the control she had on him turned him very much on.

Hermione knew perfectly well what she was doing, and she was surprised to know that she wanted him, and not just at that moment. She wanted him so much that she couldn’t breathe and the only way she could get to was if she had more of Draco. Her sitting position doesn’t give her that.

She shifted her weight, swiftly crossing one of her legs over his lap, kneeling above him for a moment before she settled on his thighs and straddled him without ever breaking their kiss. This was much better. He thought so too. He wound his arms around her hips and pulled her closer. His fingers flitted dangerously on the small of her back, just a slight millimetre from fully feeling her arse.

Hermione moaned as he pushed their tongues back into her mouth and he explored every inch of the heated cavern. Draco timidly ran a finger over the left cheek of her buttocks. Hermione smiled at his hesitance. She reached around her back, grabbed his hand and placed it fully on her rump. He quickly responded to the encouragement as his other hand followed to cover both cheeks of her arse and squeezed. It drew a loud whimper from her mouth that Draco caught with his tongue as he massaged her arse with soft, slow clutches.

She was getting restless as her core continued to drip. She could feel her knickers wet and the smell of her own arousal reached her nose and she wondered if he had noticed. She needed to relieve herself. She pushed down and grinded her mound directly on top of his burgeoning erection. Glad to know she wasn’t the only person happy about this situation.

She knew what she was doing, and she knew it might give him ideas. And it shocked her that she didn’t mind if he did get ideas. In fact, she wanted him to get ideas and she’d be sorely disappointed if he didn’t get any ideas. Ideas are good.

Draco, for his part, enjoyed the lap action utterly. Who knew bookish, serious, touch me and I’ll kill you Hermione Granger had it in her? He definitely wished he was the only one who did.

He almost choked on the thought. It was completely foreign for him to pay attention to such details. Normally he didn’t care what or who a girl did before and after, just as long as he had his time with her.

But then again, she wasn’t most other girls. She was Hermione Granger. She was pristine. Even when he was a twisted fuck who judged people based on their bloodlines, he thought she was pristine. She was beyond intelligent, she was wise. She was someone whose morals were never compromised, who valued people for who they are and treated everyone as an equal. She was beautiful and pure. And here he was, holding her with his sacrilegious hands, coveting her body with his dirty needs. He couldn’t do that, not to her.

“Granger, we have to stop,” he blurted out, trying very much not to get distracted by the way her tongue made love to the sensitive dip of skin at the base of his throat.

She emerged from beneath his chin, strands sticking out of the neat bun of her hair and the top buttons of her shirt were missing. He didn’t notice his hands had roamed so much.

“We have to? But I thought that you wanted to, with me?” she asked with doe eyes.

“Granger, I can’t do this.”

The look on her face when he said that told him that it came out very wrongly.

“Granger, it’s not what you’re thinking.”

“I know I’m not very pretty,” she said with resentment.
“You’re beautiful, but this isn’t about that,” he tried to explain. He kissed her lips gently, a move so instinctive that neither noticed that it even happened.

“Just leave, Malfoy,” she said quietly. She crossed her arms over her chest as if to shield herself from the non-existent draft as she slid to the side and sat on the floor, her legs tucked underneath her.

“Granger, you have to understand--,”

“Please just leave,” she entreated. He could hear the lumps in her throat, begging to come out.

“Come on, let’s go back to our quarters,” he tried to persuade her with a casual tone.

“I’d just like to be left alone,” she said with a shaky voice he couldn’t quite make out.

He nodded curtly. He wished he could see her eyes before he left, to make sure she was still her, but she refused to look up to him. He turned, not wanting to see her curled up form a second longer. He wasn’t sure he could handle to see her like that.

It was quiet the following days. He found out that life was completely banal without her. He would give anything for her to acknowledge him in the corridors. He’d be satisfied with a wave, or a curt nod or even a “Hello ferret.” During their night practices she would always be on the other side of the room and whenever he tried to move closer she would somehow find her way across him, in the far end where her light didn’t reach him. It made him feel very cold.

He settled with Blaise for a tutor. Justin had refused to go anywhere near him and Harry had said he looked like an asphyxiating trout and there was obviously no way Draco would ask for his help now. Blaise was very patient in running the steps with him, but Draco had accepted the fact that he was one pale boy who can’t dance.

Draco tried to corner her after practices but Harry or Justin would always have something or other to talk about with her and they would walk together until she reached her room. Now, he wasn’t the smartest cookie in the jar, but Draco could tell she was avoiding him. Perhaps he should’ve just gone with his instincts and gave in to what they both wanted. But then what? He’d be a complete arse and she’d hate him forever. Well, she hated him now, so there wasn’t much difference.

He tossed and turned in his bed, still thinking of what might’ve been. The first time he tried to do the right thing and it goes awry. He had to talk to her, and let her know why things happened the way they did. If he could exhaust all his willpower to suppress his raging hormones because he thought it was the only way to keep her friendship, he could work up the courage to talk to her for the same reason.

That sliver of hope got him a good night’s sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Great Hall on Halloween night was something that Hermione looked forward to every year. It didn’t matter if you were eight or eighty, Halloween at Hogwarts would always make you take in a breath and feel fuzzy, light bubbles cloud up in your head. The entire experience was exhilarating, from the warm colours and sweet smell of candy and truffle and bobbed apples, to the carved pumpkins and lit candles floating mid-air and the perfect round moon reflected on the Great Hall ceiling that one could only get on a clear Halloween night at Hogwarts.

They had all decided to meet outside the hall before going on to the front of the hall where the stage was set up. Everyone stayed loyal to the concept of wearing costumes of monsters and zombies. Hermione came as a zombie bride; and so did Blaise. Anthony Goldstein decided to go as Frankenstein and Padma came as the bride of Frankenstein (seemed to be the theme of the night). Michael Corner dressed as a recently axed wizard, complete with blood dripping down his nape. Lavender and Parvati were medieval ghosts and Hermione had to admit their pale make-up, black eyes and long flowing hairs gave her the chills. Harry impersonated the Bloody Baron and Justin came as Boy George.

“I always thought he was a bit creepy,” was his comprehensive explanation.

There was one person missing and Hermione tried very hard not to ask. Thankfully Harry did.

“Where’s Malfoy?”

“Late, what did you expect?” Justin whinnied.

“I am not,” came Draco’s resounding voice from behind Hermione, “call time is seven-thirty sharp. It’s not my fault you all suffer of anal retentiveness.”

They all turned to see him. He was covered in black, black turtle neck shirt, black trousers and a black cape. His hair was slicked back without a hair out of place. In his left hand he held a shimmering black object.

“Are you coming as Snape?” Lavender asked innocently.

“No, you moron, I’m a vampire.” He widened his smile to show off his pointy incisors.

“I see. Well what’s that for, then?” Parvati asked, indicating the object in his hand.

“It’s a mask, to keep my anonymity,” he explained. He put it on; it was like half of a ski mask that covered his hair and half of his face. Hermione didn’t have the heart to tell him that anyone could tell who owned that aristocratic chin anywhere. Or maybe she was just afraid she’d find out she was actually the only one who could.

“If we’re all set, let’s get this show started!” Justin enthused as he clapped his hand together as if to spark the adrenaline in all of them.

It was actually kind of effective. Hermione could feel the pressure of the blood in her veins now. She held onto Harry’s hand which was sweating profusely. They gave each other encouraging smiles. The group walked up to the stage in pairs before going to their respective positions. The professors sat on a long table right in front of the stage. Dumbledore stood up and addressed the class.

“Good evening, students. I am proud to present a select number of students from the seventh year class. They come from four different houses, each carrying their own house name and characteristics. But tonight, they come together, diversities and rivalries aside, united with one purpose in mind; to give you, their fellow witches and wizards a most entertaining night. Music!”

The all too familiar beat came on. They’d all heard it a hundred times over and they’ve memorized every single chord, drum and bass line by heart. Their feet and hands trembled but it didn’t show in their moves.

It’s close to midnight and something evil’s lurking in the dark
Under the moonlight you see a sight that almost stops your heart
You try to scream but terror takes the sound before you make it
You start to freeze as horror looks you right between the eyes,
You’re paralyzed

Hermione thought she shouldn’t have worn those shoes but there was nothing to be done and so she stomped though her heels ached and bounced even when she still felt idiotic doing so. That’s what the stage does.

’cause this is thriller, thriller night
And no one’s gonna save you from the beast about strike
You know it’s thriller, thriller night
You’re fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller to
Night

In what felt like a matter of seconds she did her final steps. She stood in her final pose, amazed at how quickly it had gone by and how she wanted to just run it through again. Hours of practice and gallons of sweat all spent in that moment. It was exhilarating.

That this is thriller, thriller night
’cause I can thrill you more than any ghost would dare to try
Girl, this is thriller, thriller night
So let me hold you tight and share a killer, diller, chiller
Thriller here tonight!
They were met by a thunderous applause. Everyone had clearly gone apeshit. Hermione was glad to note that they were a hit.

Someone hugged her from behind and she turned to see Harry’s comforting and familiar face.

“We’re we fantastic or what?” he asked with a wide grin on his face, showing off his fake rotting teeth.

“For the first time in my life, I have no words!” Hermione shouted over the mass of noise around them.

“Good!” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before he let go to make congratulatory rounds and Hermione did the same.

Lavender and Parvati were busy fending off offers of walks around the lakes from some third-year Gryffindor boys but Hermione was able to give each a squeeze on the shoulder. Michael and Anthony each gave her some sort of Quidditch bear hug (involved flinging her around the air like a Quaffle). Hannah and Padma offered less hazardous hugs. And Justin gave her a bow and kissed her hand.

“You are fabulous,” he appraised.

“Not as much as you,” she returned.

“If you insist!’

There was one person left Hermione had not acknowledged. And when she turned her back, she found him.

He had taken off his mask, his hair was mussed. A lopsided grin had taken its form on his face. The celebration in her chest died down.

“Some of the first year Slytherins thought I was most effective in the scaring department,” he joked.

She was not ready for him to act so…normal. After what he had done, he had no right to act normally.

“I’m sorry I have to excuse myself. I need some air.”

She walked away with quick nervous steps. It was hard to break-away from the crowd when everyone was trying to get to her and wanted to tell her how great she was. Not that wasn’t grateful nor flattered, she was very, but she wanted nothing more than to be alone with her thoughts.

Hermione swiftly inhaled the sweet scent of night air when she reached the Great Hall. A ceiling of bats fluttered above her head. She looked up as they stared her down with emerald green eyes, threatening to embrace her with the night.

“Be careful, they turn into vampires at the stroke of midnight.”

The silky voice startled her, causing her to jump in her place. It could only belong to one person.

“You shouldn’t be out here all alone,” he said as he walked to stand in front of her. He removed the clasps of his cloak, took it off and settled on her shoulders.

“They’d love to taste lovely girls like you; girls with soft skin and smelling of lilac and jasmine,” he said as he tightened the knot around her neck, never taking his eyes off hers.

“Can’t say I blame them,” he whispered, his breath tickling her nose. He traced her jaw, barely touching it with his finger. She could feel the static of thrill line her face but it did not faze her.

Hermione slapped his hand away and took a step back, leaving only his cloak to remind her of his warmth. Not enough. Not at all.

“You can’t just do that! You can’t just stand there and flirt with me as if you hadn’t hurt me!” Her voice was unsteady as she choked back the tears.

“I hurt you?” he asked her. Innocently.

Bastard.

“I was practically throwing myself at you! I was so ready to do anything and go anywhere you’d take me and you just up and left me!” she berated.

“You have to understand my reasons, please listen to me.”

But she was through listening.

“And to think you weren’t even my boyfriend! We’ve never even dated and I was going to sleep with you! Oh my god, I’m a whore! I’m a whore and you didn’t even want me!”

“Mister Malfoy, Granger, what is going on here?”

Draco rolled his eyes. Fantastic, it was Professor Snape, of all people. Now, how to get out of this?

“Professor, Granger and I were just, er, practicing a play we’re going to present come Christmas. It’s called ‘I’m A Whore and You Didn’t Even Want Me’” Talk about pulling an excuse out of your arse.

Snape eyed him suspiciously. “That sounds a bit dreary for a Yule play. I like it. Carry on then.”

Draco watched as Snape walked away, robes billowing behind him like a vengeful bride’s trail. When he was out of earshot, he turned to Hermione who had somewhat calmed, once more.

“Let’s go back to our common room, we’ll talk there,” he pleaded with her.

“I’m fine right here,” she replied stubbornly.

“Please, Hermione,” he said the name only to be invoked for urgent matters.

“I don’t even know what we are to talk about. Clearly you don’t want me and I don’t fancy forcing myself on someone who wants nothing to do with me,” she sniffed arrogantly.

“That’s not the case, we have to talk.”

“I don’t care what the case is; I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. We can just go back to the way things were if that’s what you want—“

“I didn’t go through with it because I love you.”

Hermione was stumped.

Draco continued. “I’m not saying I’m in love with you, I could very well be, there’s no way to tell for sure. But I know that I love you and I can’t risk losing you over a quick lay. Heaven knows how much I wanted to that night but I wasn’t sure if I’d still want it in the morning. And I love you so much more than that.”

Hermione stood petrified in her place. She could do nothing more than stare at him, eyes wide with shock, for a long moment.

“That’s really a shame because I was.”

She loosened the knot around her neck and dropped his cloak as it made a pool of black sea on the floor. She made to leave but Draco grabbed her arm before she could go past him two paces.

“I wasn’t finished yet. I wanted to tell you, I am now.”

Draco moved in so swiftly, dragging her lithe form into the circle of his embrace before she could even protest. Lissom tongues coiled around each other as frantic hands sought for more flesh. Draco quickly found his way to the pearl buttons on the back of her white dress and began to undo them one by one.

“Wait, we’re still outside the Great Hall,” she reminded him.

“Damn it, Granger. I told you earlier we should’ve talked in the common room,” he scolded mockingly.

He picked up his cloak on the floor and grabbed her hand and they half-walked, half ran (and she half-dragged) to their quarters. He mumbled the password and the Early Victorian poet took pity at his state and let them in. He led her to the door on the left side of the room.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Weasley rocks my socks.”

The door flew open and they stumbled in. Hermione looked at him in askance.

“Your room’s cleaner. By the way, you’re going to have to change your password.”

“Demanding aren’t we?” she teased.

“Just getting a head start on you.”

He pulled her face up to his and kissed her thoroughly. He kissed the way she imagined she would be kissed when she was a little girl, in soft, light caresses that sent tingles all the way to her toes.

He lost no time and found his way to the back of her dress once more and resumed the unfastening of her dress. While he would completely respect her wishes if she pushed him away, he wasn’t about to give her a chance to think about it.

He reached the last button placed just along her hips. He slipped his finger inside the backside her knickers and ran it along the topmost of the crack of her arse, making her shiver in his arms.

She pulled away from him, his lips following hers as she did. She pushed him down on her bed and stood a foot away from him. She smiled wickedly at his dissatisfied pout. She took a hold of the straps of her dress and peeled them down slowly, revealing herself in an excruciatingly teasing fashion. His eyes followed the trail of pure white as it stroked the fine lines of her flesh, moving from her arms to her bare breasts, down sweet depression of her belly button before it reached her centre, veiled in a lace of white. He couldn’t wait to take it off and taste her.

She let the dress drop and stepped out of the circle around her feet and walked to him. She kneeled on the bed, legs on either side of his thighs, her breasts leveled with his eyes. Her nipples tightened, almost hard as rocks as they felt the hot breeze coming from his mouth. He placed his palm between her legs and felt her. She was already soaking wet

She moaned as he rubbed her through her knickers and pressed herself down his hands.

“Granger,” he whispered in the skin between her tits, “just have to ask you if you’ve done this before.”

“Yes,” she admitted amidst groans of pleasure.

This answer made his gut twist. There was only one person he knew she had any romantic past with. “Potter?”

“Mm-hmm,” she moaned, oblivious to the jealousy in his voice.

He made a resolve within himself to make certain she forgets all about the four-eyed turd after that night. And if he were going to judge by her moans, he was going to succeed.

He pulled them both down on the bed and rolled them over, landing Hermione underneath him as he settled between the wide open space of her legs. The cloth of his trousers made delightful friction against her swollen clit.

Draco kissed her lips once more, using his tongue to tease them open before he made his way to her throat, suckling over the base beating with soft pulse. He went farther down, licking the tips of her breast on the way, leaving her nipples wet and shining in the candle light. He passed her stomach, and suckled on the skin there producing soft, smacking noises on her belly that made her emit egregious giggles.

He reached the end of the bed and went down to kneel on the floor. He hooked his arms around her thighs and pulled her towards the edge of the bed. He lunged deep for her moist centre, fully exposed to him. The scent of her arousal invaded his senses as he drew near, kissing the skin outside the wound-like flesh before drawing his tongue out to lick the swollen lips of her opening. She made incoherent sounds of approval and tangled her fingers in his silky hair, her pulls lending a soft, massaging pleasure to his veins. She goaded him deeper and he buried his face into her core, his nose rubbing the little nub of above her opening as his tongue fucked her cavern. Her juices dripped from her depths and down to his mouth, tongue and chin. Her thighs shook in his hold. She was very close to coming and he knew it was time.

He came up from the heaven between her legs. She whimpered at the loss of contact but he only gave her a smile that promised something more. He quickly unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly and shimmied out of his pants and boxers. Without preamble, he buried his hard cock deep inside her core, quick and graceful like he was.

The brazen move took the control out of her. She arched her back and yelled out his name. Her whole body shook as the spasms from within her vaginal walls traveled through her. He watched her come in his arms, taking note of the vulnerable pout of her mouth, uttering the most beautiful sounds of satisfaction.

Draco did not stop his thrusts and rode her to the very last vestige of her orgasm. Her walls clamped around him the way her snug little hands scratched the skin on his back. Her hands traced his spine and ended on the twin cheeks of his arse. She squeezed them hard encouraging him to come inside her.

Hermione’s adventurous little finger veered its way to the crack between his cheeks. She mapped out the warm ravine and Draco felt his first shudders. Her inquisitive finger didn’t stop and went down lower, until it found its way to a little hole that she decided needed a fuck. It was his undoing.

He lost himself completely as he took unmeasured thrusts inside her, emptying his cum in her welcoming warmth. She held onto him and watched him curiously as he came, calling out her name again and again as if it were an answered prayer. She had fallen in love with him without ever knowing it.

He slumped onto her, his head secrete in the nook of her shoulders, breathing heavily. The thin layer of hair on his chest tickled her softened breasts nicely. She wrapped her legs around him and hugged him with all her might and wondered if it was possible to just stay like this all night.

“Love you,” she said casually.

“Love you,” he answered back.

Neither was ready for I love you’s. But she could tell from the way he grinned at her as she wiped the fringe moist with sweat away from his forehead, that one day they will be.