Author: the_woods_
Title: "Granger's Sessions"
Ship(s): Draco/Hermione, Hermione/Ginny, Hermione/Other, Draco/Pansy, mentions of Hermione/Theodore
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Contains: AU: "Voldemort? Who's Voldemort?" Bent some Hogwarts rules. Illicit substance use and experimentation (NOT abuse). Graphic sex. Foul language. Femslash. Prostitution. Dark.
Summary: After realizing Granger has been cultivating illicit plants, Draco becomes infatuated with the Mudblood.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
A/N: Whew! What a ride. This story was created based on the prompt "Children of the Sexual Revolution" for the 2011 deflower_draco fest. Thanks to the "Get Shit Done" Crew :) eevilalice for being such a great mod for the fest. And a HUGE thanks to my betas, lksnarry1 (full of excellent suggestions), Princess Storm (navigator of plot holes, loops, canon), L (the comma queen), and T (my experimental reader).
x.x.x
A sharp yelp cut across the Great Hall's monotonous din, stirring Draco from his usual apathetic reverie. Raising his head, he spotted Granger hovering over an opened package. It was rectangular, brightly wrapped with modest ribbons and a bow. He glanced up and noticed for the first time owls taking flight. She must have received it only moments ago, delivered by post.
Pansy craned her neck and said in a tone that belied her envy, "wonder what all the fuss is about."
"It's Granger's birthday," Theodore answered. His eyes remained on his copy of the Hogwarts Hippogriff.
"How would you know?" Pansy asked, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him.
Theodore shook out the newspaper, then folded it in half. Draco eyed the discrete headline he was pointing at: Happy 17th Birthday to our own Hermione Jean Granger. Love, your Session Mates.
Draco snickered. "Bloody pathetic! A loyal gang of study buddies? Wonder how many future librarians are in the group she actually calls her friends."
He turned his attention back to the Gryffindor table. The Weaselette was using her rapid Quidditch reflexes to reach past Granger and into the mysterious box. Granger gave yet another shriek, trying to wrestle the redhead's hands away.
"I thought they only announce deaths and weddings in newspapers," Blaise said nonchalantly.
"You forget this is a student publication." Theodore slid the Hogwarts Hippogriff away, returning to his meal. "Awkward Creevey photos and typos are abound."
Draco snorted, his gaze returning to the spectacle. The Weaselette was waving a strange, shiny object in the air. She laughed while Granger reached over, her face flushed as she tried unsuccessfully to reclaim her gift. Metallic and fuchsia, the item reminded him of a long parchment-weight he once saw at Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment in Diagon Alley. Lifting up his half-eaten muffin, Draco muttered, "Merlin, her gifts are as boring as she is."
Theodore squinted. "What is that thing, anyway?"
"Looks like one of those parchment-weights," Draco answered.
Everyone else in the Great Hall was beginning to slowly turn their attention to Granger and the Weasellete's exchange. Granger knocked over her water in an effort to slap a hand over the Weaselette's mouth.
Theodore shook his head slowly. "No...no, I don't think so, Draco."
Nearby, Tracey gasped when she spotted the object. Daphne nudged her. "What? What is it?"
Tracey leaned over and whispered in her friend's ear. Draco looked on as Daphne's jaw went slack and her eyes grew wide. The two girls burst into a fit of giggles, leaving Draco to reconsider his previous statement. It must be some Muggle device, he reasoned with himself. That still didn't explain the girls' strange reactions.
Granger finally managed to snag the thing away from the youngest Weasley. She attempted to compose herself, as well as her unruly hair, before placing it back in its original box. The other Weasley, Draco noted dully, sat stiffly on Granger's alternate side. Potter's back was facing Draco, and although he couldn't make out his expression, he'd wager Potter was just as embarrassed as Weasley.
After his meal, Draco exited the Great Hall by himself. He heard the familiar yet irritating voices of Potter and Weasley, echoing from the other side of the nearly empty corridor.
"Can you believe Ginny?" Weasley exclaimed, obviously upset. Draco quickened his pace. "I don't know where she gets it. She must have taken one too many injuries during our Quidditch practices this summer!"
"Think you might be overreacting, Ron? It's not like anyone—"
"The whole school saw! Including the professors!" Weasley's wail was on equal footing with the ghosts who haunted Hogwarts. "What are people going to think?"
"Who cares?"
"I do, Harry. I care. If I'm going to ask her out, I don't want..."
"What?" Potter pressed. Draco rounded the corner and faced the Gryffindors, their backs turned toward him. "Just say it."
"I don't want people thinking I'm just another notch on her broomstick."
"Good thing she doesn't ride, then."
"Harry, I'm serious!"
"So am I, Ron. Who cares what people think? And you know Hermione isn't—"
Draco sauntered over to the bickering couple, interrupting their spat. "Now, here's a priceless scene." Potter and Weasley spun around. Caught off-guard, their expressions contorted from shock to angry glares. "I see the two white knights—or rather, the two fools clad in shoddy armor. But where's the Mudblood in distress?"
"Sod off, Malfoy," Potter said.
Draco rolled his eyes. At least taunting the Mudblood required a bit of skill. "So, where is she? Outside playing with her new toy?"
Potter sprouted a soft shade of pink upon his cheeks. Weasley, however, was absolutely livid—his face twisted as blotches of delightfully dark spots graced his freckles. Draco grinned at the sight of the Weasel turning the same wretched color as his hair.
"Take that back!" Weasley sputtered.
"If you even think about Hermione like that," Potter yelled indignantly, "We'll—"
"You'll what, Potter?" Draco sneered as he straightened his robes, his prefect badge on display. "Besides, I'm not the only one in this bloody school who saw the gift. Now we're all just curious who it's from." He watched Weasley's hands ball into fists. "My bet's on Snape. The Mudblood has been getting all those extra credits—"
Weasley lunged. Potter was barely able to hold him back. Draco laughed and casually smoothed down his robes. He wondered briefly why Granger's strange Muggle paperweight caused such an uproar. "That's right, Potter. Better keep your leash tight on that one."
Weasley tore out of Potter's grip. Draco watched, wide-eyed, as the taller boy approached him menacingly. He ducked when the Gryffindor swung at him, but didn't anticipate the Weasel's speed. Draco felt the air escape from his lungs when Weasley hit him square in the gut. Draco doubled over, clutching his mid-section, when Weasley locked his arm around his neck.
Of all the teachers to stop Weasley from pounding Draco into a bloody pulp, it was Professor Flitwick who came rushing out of his classroom and into the hall. "Mister Weasley!" he called out, waving his wand. "Mister Malfoy! Mister Weasley, release that stronghold at once!"
Reluctantly, Weasley loosened his grip on Draco. Draco pushed Weasley away from him and took in a large bout of oxygen, his head bowed and hands upon his knees.
"I can't believe you boys," Flitwick said, addressing Weasley and Draco. "Prefects attacking each other!"
"He started it!" Weasley yelled.
Potter stepped up. "He did call Hermione a Mudblood, sir."
Flitwick wheeled around. Draco rolled his neck from side to side, massaging it innocently. "All I did was curse," he argued. "It was a slip. Unintentional. But they physically attacked me, two on one!"
Flitwick looked at him sadly. "Sometimes, words can be more dangerous than throttles, my boy."
Draco scowled. Flitwick assigned all three of them detention for tomorrow—the start of the weekend. "Expect your detention summons by the end of the day," he called out as he waddled back to his classroom.
True to his word, Draco found his summons at the head of his bed when he returned back to his dorm. Vince and Greg were huddled on the floor playing magic marbles—for money, it looked like. Vince looked up at Draco's scowl, then eyed the detention slip.
"What'd you do, Draco?"
"Nothing, as usual," he complained. "Potter and Weasley were making arses of themselves. I called them out on it, then somehow I ended up in trouble." He read the slip and paled. "Duty in the Forbidden Forest?! Are they insane!"
"Isn't that where you and Potter found that dead guy?"
"It was a unicorn," Draco replied evenly. "Its throat was slit. Some...creature was feasting on the thing's blood."
"I heard that if you drink unicorn's blood, you can live forever." Draco recognized Theodore's voice. He turned to face his friend, who had been listening in the doorway. "As long as you're willing to pay the price, that is. What are you going to do in the forest?"
Draco shrugged. "Collecting bloodroot is what the note says."
Theodore crinkled his nose. "Better than prepping it, I suppose."
That next morning, Draco exited the castle and eyed his fellow students with envy as they lounged about in the sun. Although it was autumn, summer still had a lingering hold on the trees and grass and sky. Almost immediately, the scenery changed as Draco crossed the threshold and stepped into the shadows of the Forbidden Forest. He warily eyed the imposing trees on his right. Why did Hagrid have to build his stupid hut so close to this place?
Draco forced himself to think of something less frightening and more comfortable: anger. He tightened his coat around him, cursing Potter and Weasley. It was their fault for getting him detention. Why was he forced to join them?
He was about to knock when the half-giant opened the door. "You made it," Hagrid said gruffly.
"Didn't exactly have a choice, did I?" He looked down at his slip. "I'm supposed to help you find bloodroot."
"Right. Well, we best be on our way."
"Where's Potter and Weasley?
"They're working their detention off in the trophy room," Hagrid replied. "Professor Sprout owled me when she heard you got detention. She specifically requested your help with the uprooting. Said you're one of the best."
"Remind me to thank her," he said dryly. "So you're saying I'm stuck out here, while those two idiots get to lounge about in the castle?"
"Highly doubt they're lounging. 'sides, it's a nice day out. Me and Hermione here already worked a strategy to get this done in under three hours."
Draco peered past the half-giant and into his disgusting display of a house. Granger got up from her seat and walked toward them. "We can do this easily if we follow this route I mapped out," she directed. Draco rolled his eyes, already bored.
As they exited the shack, Hagrid took off to find his burlap sacks, leaving Draco and Granger in an awkward silence. "So Granger," he started, always anxious to one-up the other person during uncomfortable moments, "what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"
She shot him a disinterested look. He pressed on. "Seriously. What'd you do to land yourself in detention?"
"I'm not in detention," Granger answered lightly.
Draco lifted his right leg up to place a spell on his suede Italian loafers. No way was he muddying even the cheapest pair of shoes he owned. "Then what the bloody hell are you doing here? Isn't this your birthday weekend?"
She shrugged, snapping a strange Muggle belt around her waist. It contained more pouches than Draco could count. "I'm working on a project."
Draco put his right foot down and lifted his left. "Which one?" They shared almost all their classes, to Draco's dismay.
"It's a personal experiment," Granger said, tucking away a small vile into one of her pouches.
"Why? What are you getting out of it?"
"Nothing but the satisfaction of a job well done and knowledge well gained." She tilted her head at him. "Not that you could even begin to comprehend either of those concepts."
"I get satisfactory marks."
"Enough to get by, maybe, but no where near enough to get ahead."
Draco glared. Before he could open his mouth, Hagrid's voice boomed from beyond the shack. The howl of Flurry, or Foofy, or whatever that blasted creature's name was, rang out through the grounds.
"All right, everyone," Hagrid boomed, obviously excited about the excursion. Draco looked on with mild contempt as he accepted the burlap sack offered to him. "We're off!"
They wandered toward the forest. A noticable chill welled up inside Draco. He glanced secretly at Granger, who looked about as unruffled as Hagrid himself. Makes sense, Draco thought. The Mudblood and the half-giant. No better than the creatures in the forest. But purebloods…
Upon stepping into the shade of the forest, Granger opened her annoyingly loud trap once more. "Ron and Harry told me you were teasing them about one of my birthday presents."
He seethed at the memory. "No thanks to them, I'm stuck spending my Saturday in this rotten hellhole."
Granger spotted a crop of bloodroot immediately. It was known to grow along the edges of the forest, rather than deep in the thick of it. She bent down and began sorting gently through its leaves, examining the plant with tenderness. "Hate to admit it, but I was a bit taken back when I heard you actually knew what a vibrator was."
"Vibrator?" Draco grimaced as he plucked one of the plants up, its roots seeping with a sap that eerily reminded him of blood. "Oh...erm, yeah. Of course. I thought everyone knew what a vibrator is."
"If they're Muggle, maybe. Hasn't quite caught on with the women of the Wizarding world, yet."
Draco lifted another plant. Its roots were decaying and infected with worms and maggots. "Women?"
"I suppose some men might have use for it as well. But it's marketed as primarily a woman's tool—we're better equip to handle it, you know."
"I'll have you know, Granger," Draco replied, "I can handle your wimpy tool better than you or any other woman can."
Instead of being insulted, Granger looked positively entertained by the prospect. "Oh, really?"
His pride won over his common sense. "It's pink for Merlin's sake. How much could anyone possibly accomplish with a dingy thing like that?"
Granger laughed. Draco blinked, slightly startled. Although her laugh was out of place, it was warm, genuine, and full of energy. He looked at her as she shook her head, curls lightly swaying from side to side. He had seen her laugh in class, laugh with her friends—hell, even laugh at him. He found that witnessing her cheery disposition wasn't as bad when he was on the other side of the fence.
Hagrid disappeared behind the trees with his beast of a dog. Draco and Granger stayed on the outer rim of the forrest, placing uprooted bloodroot into their burlap bags. As the pair worked, Draco noticed that even their methods were different. Whenever they would find a plant without deep red sap, Draco merely tossed the thing over his shoulder. Granger, on the other hand, took to solemnly burying the entire plant as though it were a tiny corpse.
As soon as Hagrid was completely gone from sight, Granger trotted over to a plant that was obviously not bloodroot. She dipped down and swiftly clipped the flower from its stem. After whispering a spell, a gleam of light emitted from the bloom and she immediately placed it in one of her many pouches.
"What was that?" Draco called.
Granger turned around quickly. Too quickly for Draco's taste. "Nothing. Nevermind."
Draco grinned. "What are you trying to hide from the oaf?"
"None of your business, Malfoy."
"It is if you don't want Hagrid to find out," Draco said with a sneer.
Granger rolled her eyes. "I'm working on a potion."
It was too easy getting Gryffindors to confess. Even still, Draco was suspicious; it wasn't like the Mudblood to turn down a prime lecturing opportunity. "Which potion?"
"You wouldn't know it."
"Why? Is it dark? Or a poison?"
"Of course not," Granger bristled. With a sigh, she launched into her academically egotistical mode. He instantly regretted asking. Her voice reminded him of the gnats buzzing tirelessly around his head as he worked. "I'm combining Muggle and Wizard medicines and potions to create a type of hybrid product. If you must know."
Draco watched incredulously as Granger marched off, her nose haughtily up in the air. Only a mental wench like Granger would choose to willingly venture into the Forbidden Forest, double her workload, then waste a weekend doing actual work—and a birthday weekend, at that.
The hours rolled by. Draco continued to dig up bloodroot while watching Granger identify a myriad of species and strains he had never heard of. He found his gaze lingering on her, at times. Her hands were filthy. There was dirt underneath each of her fingernails. He supposed that made sense, considering her blood status: of course she'd be comfortable crawling around on the Forbidden Forest floors. Upon that realization, he checked his nails often and breathed a silent sigh of relief each time they came up relatively clean.
When the work was finished, he left without saying goodbye to the half-giant or the Mudblood. He tried calculating how long it would take for him to shower as well as grab a late lunch in the Great Hall. Looking down at his unkempt clothes, he knew showering was a priority, no matter how hungry he was. A Malfoy is never anything less than high-class pureblood, his parents often said. With his hair disheveled and his skin speckled with dirt, Draco tightened his coat despite the warm weather.
As he made his way up the revolving staircase, he imagined the half-giant and Mudblood would probably show at the Great Hall without even bothering to clean themselves. Draco sniffed. He wouldn't be subject to the same judgement they were—not if he could help it. When he reached the fifth floor, he bolted toward the Prefects' bathroom, relieved to have made it without being recognized.
After cleaning up and eating lunch, he meandered over to the library without thinking. Lazily, he examined the books in boredom and wondered what his friends were up to. Theodore had gone mysteriously missing from most of their after-hour hangouts. Blaise was busy trying to find someone—absolutely anyone—to swap spit with for the evening. That left Draco with Vince and Greg, which was even less fun than being alone.
Draco found himself in the Herbology section. Curious, he browsed through titles. There was one spine that caught his attention, and so he took the book out, casually thumbing through the pages. Draco had never seen so many pictures of weeds, flowers, trees, seeds. Even in their Herbology textbooks, the information was condensed and limited. As he scanned the drawings and photographs, he tried to tap into why Granger was so obsessed with plants. They were...well, boring. They might be good for potions and making a place look pretty, but other than that, Draco found them to just get in the way.
Almost by accident, he turned the page and recognized one of the flowers she broke off. Hanging upside-down, the bloom was pretty and white, its petals curling at the end, almost like a dress. It had an elongated neck and reminded Draco of an extremely thin bell. He glanced at the name and mouthed it to himself, as if willing it to memory. His lips curled into a smirk as he noted the warning label underneath the picture: dangerous, toxic, and highly illegal.
Shifting through the index, he found a reference book on the flower that could help him understand exactly why a goody-goody Gryffindor like Granger would want such a specimen. Smiling smugly and proud of himself for finally getting one up on Granger, he returned the book to the shelf before heading for the front desk.
"I need to find a book," he demanded from across the way.
Madam Pince looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Let's try that again, shall we, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco waited until he reached her to rephrase his statement. "Is Datura: Muggle Goddess or Conscious Magic? still in the library?"
She tapped her quill a few times on her desk. To the right of Madam Pince, a cabinet burst open. The card catalogue shuffled through itself. Eventually, a card floated into her reach. She glanced at it before waving her hand, which reorganized the cards and shut the cabinet.
"It's checked out," she announced. "Under special conditions."
Draco wondered what kind of conditions those were. "Who? Who has it now?"
"That would be Hermione Granger."
"When is she returning it? How long till it's due?"
Madam Pince looked up. "Why don't you ask her?"
Draco snorted. "I'm not going to waste my time tracking down a Mud—I mean, another student just for a book. So how about you—"
"What exactly do you think you're doing?"
Draco turned to see an extremely annoyed Granger with her hands on her hips. She glared at him and he reminded himself she was just a girl, no matter how fearsome she looked when provoked.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Draco sneered. "You're not the only one around here with secrets."
"At least I know how to guard mine," she shot back. "What's your game, Malfoy?"
"Game?" He casually adjusted his dark green tie, purposefully avoiding her gaze. "No game. Just curious why Hermione Granger, Hogwarts' resident know-it-all, holier-than-thou prude and insufferable stuck-up, is interested in the cultivation of datura—"
Granger reacted quicker than Draco expected. She grabbed him by his sleeve and dragged him out the library without a word. As soon as they exited, she pushed him to the side of the corridor, away from the curious stares of their peers.
"Not as dumb as you thought I was, huh?" Draco said triumphantly.
"No," Granger said, rolling her eyes. "A lot dumber, actually. You can't go shouting out information like that on school grounds!"
"And you can't be collecting it on school grounds, either."
"It's a plant. They grow naturally in the forest, I might add."
He tsked, shaking his head. "Granger, Granger, Granger. I knew you were playing with poisons. And illicit ones, at that." He tilted his head. "Who are you trying to off, anyway? Finally had it with Weasley's idiotic antics?"
"If I were trying to 'off' anyone, it'd be you," she grumbled. "Look, Malfoy. You're way over your head. You don't have any idea of what you're talking about. Only a few of the students do."
He raised an eyebrow. "What, are you in a plant cult or something?"
"Just...do your research before you do—or say—anything drastic." She glared at him for good measure before leaving him to his thoughts.
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