Summary: Hermione Granger discovers that Draco Malfoy's got no game in bed. Crack fic! A remix on Vera Rozalsky's challenge fic prompt.
Rating/Warnings: M, adult sexual situations, proceed at your own discretion.
Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter is solely the property of J.K. Rowling and I am merely borrowing her characters.
A chill wind tugged at Hermione's scarf as she hurried down the snow bound streets of Paral Alley. Unlike its sister street, Paral Alley was dotted with cafes and restaurants. The rosy glow of frost covered cafe windows and wonderful aromas of coffee, pastries, and all manner of foods beckoned, as did some of the servers, standing outside their establishments, armed with warming charms.
Hermione smiled politely at them all as they waved at her, shook her head and hurried past, tugging her scarf higher up her face until she reached a tea shop, near the end of the street.
Alice's was a nod to a Muggle author, made popular by import via Andromeda's new bookshop that had opened on Diagon Alley. Muggle books were 'fashionable' these days and though Alice's had a kitschy feel with servers dressed in paisley patterned spats and elegant top hats, they did have the best tea blends to be found anywhere in Wizarding London. They sold their special loose leaf house blends in large glass jars near the counter by the door.
It was the aroma of tea leaves that first greeted Hermione, followed by a sense of disorientation. Wizards had ways to make true the most fantastic of things that one could possibly imagine. If Lewis Carroll could have seen it, Hermione thought he would have been proud. And possibly a little frightened.
The ceiling, by dint of some clever bit of spell work, mirrored the top floor, only inverted upside down, so it looked as though people were having tea at tables mounted on the ceiling. It was particularly disorienting watching someone pour a cup because one kept expecting hot tea to be raining down at any moment.
Ginny spotted her from her booth upstairs, and waved through the ceiling.
"Lovely weather, isn't it?" Ginny said by way of greeting as Hermione slid into the seat across from her.
"Very...seasonal," Hermione murmured. Ginny's mild words did little to hide her curiosity, and her bright blue eyes were scanning her from head to foot like laser beams. She wasn't going to get out of this meeting without spilling her beans. Ginny was tenacious, like a bull dog. If she weren't such a great Quidditch player, Hermione was certain she would have made an excellent investigative reporter. No secrets were safe around her, but conversely, when she didn't want to reveal something about herself, she clammed up like a steel trap.
It really wasn't fair, Hermione reflected as she patted down her hair self-consciously. Fortunately, her story this time begged to be told, although some small (very small) mischievous part of her wanted to make Ginny work for it.
"Where's Luna?" Hermione asked looking around to stall. There weren't that many people on the top floor as the inclement weather made people inclined to stay indoors. Of course, Ginny was an unstoppable force of nature herself when it came to gossip about others, especially the parties concerned...
Hermione silently commended Ginny on picking a semi-private venue for their weekly brunch. There were only three patrons, aside from them, two lovebirds by the fire, enjoying an intimate tea set and tray of lady fingers between them, and another lone figure a few booths down, who still had their hood thrown up against the cold.
"Luna'll be along shortly, I'm sure. You know how she is," Ginny said, giving her a look that said, I will let you get away with this just one time, as she sipped from a mismatched cup and saucer. A pot of tea sat by her side, steam rising up and condensing by the window.
"I think I might have a shock if she were to actually show up on time for once," Hermione remarked. Luna was a magical cryptographer, and her latest cipher project was the Voynich Manuscript, which in her words was 'fascinating'. Since Luna's way of looking at the world came from a strangely skewed perspective, Hermione could only guess that 'fascinating' to Luna had a different connotation than the context it was normally used.
"Speak of the devil," Ginny said, as Luna's blonde head peeked over the staircase, followed by the top hat of one of Alice's servers.
"Hullo," Luna greeted as she unwrapped herself from her orange day-glo muffler and peeled off her mittens, "Oh I'll have the Jabberwocky blend," she said to the server who followed close at her heels, looking dashing in his polished sateen purple top hat.
"Excellent choice, it's our house special today." The server looked at Hermione expectantly. "For you miss?"
"Orange pekoe, please," Hermione said, "and the Mad Hatter sandwich set." The server looked taken aback at such a conservative choice, because he blinked at her a few times as though he hadn't heard correctly before hastening off for their orders.
"Mind, don't let the tumtum leaves steep too long," Luna called towards the retreating top hat. "Have I missed anything?" she asked turning back to Hermione and Ginny.
"Well Hermione has yet to begin her titillating tale of the perversions and moral dereliction of pureblood prats..."
"When did I ever say I was going to tell you anything?"
"Hermione!" Ginny wailed, "I braved the cold just to see..."
"Just to see if I had any good gossip? Is Quidditch that boring these days?" Hermione arched an eyebrow relishing the power of being the purveyor of knowledge.
"It's the off season," Ginny said mulishly. "I need something to entertain me when Coach decides to make us run circles around the pitch. In the snow."
"Tales of pureblood perversions are often entertaining," added Luna (who was something of an academic expert on the subject).
After the server brought their teas and sandwiches, Ginny and Luna looked at Hermione expectantly as she sipped her tea.
"I'm not sure where to begin," Hermione said setting her teacup down with a soft clink.
"What about at the beginning?" said Luna helpfully as Ginny snorted into her cup. "Although it's a bit too pedestrian of a start," she mused. "You could start at the end and work up. I find knowing how it all ends is very comforting."
"I think I'll start at the beginning," Hermione said hastily.
"Oh, if you're sure..." Luna said, a bit crestfallen.
"But first, you need to promise me." Hermione pulled out her wand and tapped it against the table.
Ginny eyed her warily. "Promise you what?"
"I need your word that what you hear today is strictly confidential, and never to be told in full with disclosed identities and details..."
"Oh, I won't tell anyone," Luna said at the same time Ginny burst out, "Are you serious?"
"Who would we tell? Is it that embarrassing?" Ginny's expression was suffused with exasperation.
"Well not for me, Hermione murmured absently. "And you'd probably tell your whole Quidditch Team, like that time you told them how Harry accidentally got hit with a stray boil hex and ended up with boils all over his-"
"Alright, alright!" Ginny said throwing up her hands in a dramatic gesture of defeat.
"Do I have your word?" she asked impatiently, giving them a steely eyed stare that would have made Professor McGonagall proud. "Swear it."
"I swear on the existence of the Greater and Lesser-Horned Snorkacks that I will never tell a soul...well, I won't even tell souls," Luna swore solemnly with her hand raised.
Hermione's right eyebrow twitched as she reigned in the impulse to tell Luna that Snorkacks were fictitious creatures, having long learned that it was a futile effort.
They both turned to Ginny who was nibbling on a smoked-salmon and cream cheese sandwich. "What?" she said with the wide-eyed innocence that could only fool someone like Harry.
"Ginevra..."
"Fine, I swear that if I ever tell anyone, I'll get struck by lightning during a play-off match with Falmouth, fall off my broom, and...and...rip my pants in the process, thereby embarrassing myself in the most public way possible as well as lose the match for my team. Is that good enough?"
"Quite," Hermione said, looking as though she was trying to suck down laughter at Ginny's petulant expression.
"Shall I make a new and better oath?" Luna asked Hermione, seemingly impressed by Ginny.
"No, you're fine," Hermione said.
"Ugh, get on with the story, woman!" Ginny said, leaning forward impatiently.
Very quietly, since the tea shop wasn't all that crowded, so Hermione felt no need to cast privacy charms, she began to recount the salacious details her meeting with Draco Malfoy, in the most unexpected of places.
oOoOoOo
She had just gotten through a family dinner relatively unscathed. November was the beginning of what Hermione liked to think of as The Season. In her mind, it was always capitalized, to highlight her dread for mandatory attendances at family dinners where she was relentlessly bombarded by questions from her cousins, aunts and uncles on her romantic partners (lately the lack thereof), and career (which she could only supply the vaguest of answers) and comments of how it was a shame that she didn't follow in her parents' footsteps.
"If I told you what I really did, I'd have to Obliviate you," Hermione was tempted to say on more than one occasion to the dreaded question of: "So...what do you do now?"
Thankfully her parents' were supportive, and together the three of them provided enough vague hints and indications to point towards some kind of secret government work, some place similar to Porton Down (which wasn't all that far from the truth, only it was the government on the other side.)
Tonight she had handled herself with relative grace, she thought, and when some of the younger cousins suggested that they pop into a local pub right around the corner, she jumped at the chance.
Especially since great aunt Ethel had begun cornering her and saying, "I know a nice young boy that goes to my church. I should introduce you..." After the third polite refusal, Hermione wasn't quite sure whether Great Aunt Ethel had begun to slide down the slippery slope of senility in her twilight years or whether she thought Hermione was too dense to get the hint that this 'nice young boy' was a fine specimen and might be her last chance not to die a lonely old spinster, with naught but cats for company.
Nice young boy or not, Hermione didn't want to be introduced...as though she couldn't introduce herself to someone she found fit...
Hermione perched herself on a vinyl covered barstool at the bar instead of mingling with the crowd as her cousins were doing. Liverpool was playing against Manchester United at Anfield, which gave them a home advantage and it was a big rivalry grudge match. Man U, the team that everyone loved to hate was one point down, everyone was in high spirits. Strangers bonded together in the camaraderie of sports fans, the mutual hatred of a common enemy, and liberal libation of alcoholic drinks. Hermione preferred to sit back and watch the crowd as her own little anthropology study rather than try to figure out what was going on. Lifting her pint to her lips, she took a pull of the foamy dark rich ale and scanned the crowd.
In a corner where small (vastly outnumbered) contingent of glum looking Man U fans sat nursing their beers, she caught a flash of blond hair in the dark. It looked exceedingly familiar...in fact...
"No..." Hermione muttered under her breath, "it can't be...but it is..."
In the corner, looking twitchy and constipated as usual was Draco Malfoy. He seemed to have caught sight of her before she caught sight of him, because as Hermione's mouth fell open, and mouthed a silent 'Malfoy?' he nodded minutely, and did a stiff little glass raise from across the room.
Hermione did a double-take, and it was him.
She turned back to the bar, took another pull of her ale, letting the effervescently bitter bite of hops and wheat wash across her palate.
Since the war, the fortunes of the Malfoys had taken a turn for the worse. There was the lifetime ban against leaving the country, a seizure of off-shore bank accounts and assets (though eventually their Gringotts account was given back to them), and then there was probation, where Aurors would go to their manor in Wiltshire every last Friday of the month to check the spell history their wands had cast the month previous.
Every chance they had to ingratiate themselves and get back into the good graces of society was rejected, such as the time they had made a move to donate to the Permanent Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's.
Chief Healer Derwent had fumed and railed to the board of St. Mungo's about how the Malfoys were trying to 'buy themselves out of disgrace'. Somehow the story got picked up by the Prophet. Needless to say, the donation offer was hastily withdrawn.
Hermione thought that it might have been more palatable had the donation been under an anonymous cover, but the Malfoys in her opinion had always been rather less clever than most people expected.
So, the public shunning had continued even after the lengthy post-war trials. Draco Malfoy had no social life, so who could blame him for wanting to get out (where no one would know him)? Muggle establishments were his only option at this point. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Well mighty might have been an exaggeration...
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the whole of his stiff posture was screaming an SOS to anyone who cared to see it (no one did; the Game was of far greater importance). Hermione found herself wanting to giggle hysterically. She didn't even know that he knew how to get OUT of Wizarding London, let alone disguise himself well enough to blend in at a Muggle pub.
Appropriation of Muggle culture had occurred rapidly, post-war, part reactionary, as proof against racial bigotry, and partially from an insatiable curiosity for the new and exotic. Hermione wasn't quite sure how she felt about it, especially since she found herself at the receiving end of quite a different kind of gaze than she was accustomed to from her days as a Mudblood at Hogwarts. A gaze that was currently being directed at her from Malfoy.
She had her suspicions as to what Malfoy's business was, at this particular Muggle establishment. Plenty of fish in the sea, so the saying goes, and Malfoy (whose charms were insufficient bait for fish in the Wizarding World) looked to be in a fishing mood.
oOoOoOo
"Can't say I'm all that surprised," Ginny cut in, shaking her head and wearing a wry expression. "Wearing Muggle clothes... trying to pick up Muggle girls...typical skeevy pureblood pastime these days. Though I have to say, Malfoy has been less nasty lately."
Hermione, who was trying to look at the positives said, "At least they're not peddling biting tea cups in antique stores anymore. I'm starting to see them more and more around Muggle London."
She blamed it on the articles in the Prophet, many of which read like tourist pamphlets that suggested places to go to experience Muggle culture. It was ironic that the influx of sometimes garishly dressed wizard tourists had begun to make Shoreditch and Hoxton popular and hip among Muggles.
"Tell me about it!" Ginny said with impetus. "Just try walking down Brick Lane, and I guarantee you can't swing a cat around without hitting a wizard. I can't even go grab a bite of curry without being recognized by at least five people."
"The average length of a house cat from tip to tail is about 23-25 centimeters, so that just gives you an idea of how dense we are in Muggle London," supplied Luna.
"What's the appeal? I don't get it," Hermione said thinking about how the Muggle section in Andromeda's bookshop was generally packed on any given day, mostly with purebloods at that.
"That's because you grew up with it," Ginny said matter-of-factly. "You have to understand, since the war..." she gave a little shrug.
"Muggles are exotic," finished Luna, as she plucked a sandwich off the tray.
"And I suppose more fashionable than we had been since before the war," murmured Hermione.
All of it had basically translated to 'desirable'. Add the old social restrictions, limited attainability, the mystique and lure of the unknown, and you get a perfect recipe for fetish. Case in point, Arthur Weasley was invited to write a weekly column in the Prophet about Muggle appliances, and it was a pretty big hit.
"So, what happened next?" Ginny asked, leaning forward with equal parts apprehension and relish written all over her expressive face.
"I was just getting to that part," Hermione answered.
oOoOoOo
Hermione thought that the standard acknowledgement was done, and both she and Malfoy would go about their separate business at the bar. Meeting old classmates and being forced to interact with them was bad enough for the people she barely knew at Hogwarts, let alone for someone who she found to be on the opposite end of the spectrum of 'tolerable'.
Just because they were both the only Wizarding folk here, didn't mean that there needed to be obligatory conversation.
But he wouldn't stop STARING! Of course, knowing that someone was staring at you made it ten times harder not to stare back at them. She inadvertently met his gaze across the room on a couple occasions and was sufficiently unnerved enough when he didn't look away, that she was struck by the urge to leave her perch for the washroom just to check whether or not there was anything on her face.
Suddenly, he appeared at her elbow, clearing his throat delicately. How he had made it sound so proper, and pointedly directed at her, she had no idea. Turning, she tentatively gave a smile that she hoped wasn't as painful and awkward as it felt on her face.
Up close, his Muggle disguise wasn't quite so flawless. There were a few telling accessories, like the old signet ring, passed down the Malfoy family for untold generations, the snake set with emerald eyes pinned on his lapel, whose scales rippled like mercury if you looked really really closely...all typical Muggle drag, with a pureblood twist.
"Granger," he greeted in those lazy drawling tones of his. "Mind if I buy you a drink?" he asked politely, peering at her from under his blond fringe. In the dim light, she had to admit, he looked looked quite fit.
oOoOoOo
"...this is going where I think it's going isn't it?" Ginny said.
Luna nodded dreamily. "I do believe that the buying of drinks is generally considered to be a social lubricant and a prelude to more intimate moments."
Hermione ignored Luna's musings. "Oh Ginny. You suspected that from the word go."
"Yes, but I wanted to hear it from you," said, momentarily distracted by the couple playing tonsil hockey by the fire. "Yeesh, you'd think he's trying to fuse with her face."
The lone individual enjoying their tea with their hood still up, shifted and made a small noise of annoyance.
"I do believe one time, I caught you and Harry during the post-war celebration-" Hermione mentioned off-handedly.
Ginny turned red enough to rival her hair. "That was...emotional duress...and stuff..." she sputtered. "Damn your memory."
Hermione gave her a smug smile. Her memory, of course was legendary, which was part of the reason why she and Ron made better friends than lovers. After the post-war adrenalin rush faded, so too did their short lived romance, when they realized that they didn't have many overlapping interests.
oOoOoOo
Malfoy was definitely looking. And the looks he gave her were of a complimentary fashion, flirtatious, and completely disconcerting.
He had approved of her'authentic' Muggle attire. Not like the stuff they tried to pass off in Madam Malkin's.
"Are they always this...tight fitting?" he had whispered in her ear, over the loud cheering of Liverpool scoring another on Manchester Utd.
The statement was bland, but the hot look he had given her transmuted his icy countenance.
The impression Hermione got was that he liked Muggle things, and by extension Muggle people, and was out to 'sample new things'. He was less than subtle about it, and Hermione read the hint loud and clear.
Malfoy's style of flirtation would have worked much better if he had just sat there and looked pretty. Though, keeping quiet when he should wasn't exactly his MO.
There was the line about how exotic the Muggle look was (which in Hermione's opinion was no different than wizards), but Malfoy had insisted that Muggles had a different 'feel' than wizards.
And wasn't it quaint the way they used electricity instead of magic?
Then there was the speculation about what Muggles (and by extension) Muggleborns did in the bedroom. Which very nearly killed the mood.
Apparently he hadn't gotten that far afield, but hinted heavily that it might change tonight. Subtlety wasn't his strong suit.
Hermione was intrigued, perversely so. On one hand, her mind could barely reconcile the Malfoy of old with this...new Malfoy. On the other hand, he hadn't grown out of his penchant for making comments that had a distinctly offensive flavor, made no less inappropriate that he had said them in inadvertent ignorance.
And Malfoy intimated that she'd not be disappointed...
She was single, he was...interested, which was somehow flattering. She suspected that had a great deal more to do with the fact that it was Malfoy, who at Hogwarts never passed up a chance to flaunt his stellar bloodline rather than the fact that he looked a great deal more attractive in dim light and without a sneer.
And really Malfoy was good for nothing but a one off.
Call it the folly of the terminally curious. It was a chance to experiment. After all, Malfoy had managed to do what he did best- talk a big game. She was also bored...
Which was why she didn't rebuff his clumsy advances nor his offer to take this somewhere 'more private'.
oOoOoOo
Ginny whistled, loudly enough to garner an irritated glance from the couple. "So you left with him?"
Hermione waited until the server finished filling their teapots with hot water before replying in a low tone, "I thought why not give it a try? He's less nasty than he used to be. And his hair was sort of nice and...shiny." It was true, Malfoy's hair was as sleek and blond as ever. It felt a bit shallow, but the truth was she still had a lingering soft spot for blonds.
"All that glitters merely has high refractive index, which isn't necessarily an indicator for the presence of valuable ductile metal," said Luna in a thoughtful tone.
"And you were curious," Ginny said. "You wanted to see whether he walk the walk after talking the talk!"
"Well basically," said Hermione, who felt a bit silly now.
"Never underestimate the value of pursuing a new point for your data sets," said Luna.
"Well, I don't think he'd fit in anyone's data set..." However, even an unsuccessful experiment could yield some interesting insights.
"Well?" prompted Ginny impatiently, breaking Hermione's reflective mood.
"Well what?" asked Hermione with a teasing smile.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Was he all mouth and no trousers?"
"Oh, he was all mouth alright..."
oOoOoOo
Not five minutes out of the bar, and he was going on and on about how they were going to walk away with experiences that they'd never forget...
Meanwhile, Hermione had never wished so badly for a roll of duct tape. Then again, from the way he was talking, it seemed to be something that he would enjoy. If only it weren't the height of bad manners to apply a Silencio to your date...
"Your place or mine," he asked huskily.
Hermione blinked at him. "Don't you live at...that is with...your parents?"
"We could use the east wing," he purred, sliding his slender hands inside her coat.
Hermione squirmed away. "Are you...you can't be serious!"
"Why not?" he asked oblivious and unfazed. "No one ever goes into the east wing."
"No," she said firmly. Hermione thought that if she never had to go to Malfoy Manor again in the next fifty years, it would be much too soon.
Malfoy looked crestfallen and then it seemed to dawn on him. "Oh," he said sheepishly, "Your place, then."
Post-war or no, it occurred to Hermione that she didn't want Draco Malfoy to know where she lived. "Why don't we get a room?" she suggested.
Excitement barely contained, glimmered in Draco's pale eyes. "At a Muggle hotel?"
"Of course," Hermione replied. It wouldn't do to be seen with him at any Wizarding establishment. After all, she had a stellar reputation to maintain...and this was supposed to be a clandestine one-night experiment...er, fling.
Malfoy watched with avid curiosity as she inserted the key card into the lock of the hotel room. He made her do it three times and then tried it once himself.
After he was done rubbing the card between his fingertips and admiring it under the light of the hallway, he held the door open for her with a flourish, "After you, Griffindor Princess..."
The smirk on his face was supposed to be seductive, as he raised one pale blond eyebrow at her. Hermione tried not to grimace.
oOoOoOo
Ginny slapped the table, guffawing in an such an unlady-like way that would have gotten her scolded at the Burrow.
By the fireplace, the lovebirds jumped, startling at her laugh and gave her a very potent glare. The lone hooded tea drinker merely sighed a long suffering sigh.
"Griffindor...Princess...!" she managed in between gasps. "Priceless! Did you call him the 'Slytherin Prince'?"
"Ugh," Hermione made a gagging noise. "Don't even joke." Things got rather worse from there. Without pause, Hermione launched into the home stretch of her tale.
oOoOoOo
Hermione knew that this wasn't going to be any normal encounter. She knew that, and yet it didn't really hit home until she watched Malfoy systematically turn on all the lights in the room.
"To set the mood," he answered matter-of-factly to her perplexed question of- 'what on earth are you doing?'
"Muggles love electricity," he had added, giving her a look that said 'you should know'. She reigned in the impulse to say that she was a Muggleborn...but decided that debating semantics wasn't really the first order of business here.
Then he started in on the appliances. She had to stop him from doing things to the bedside telephone. Nevertheless, the television was going at full blast, and the mini coffee maker was brewing away noisily on the vanity counter by the bathroom. She had barely managed to dissuade him from turning on the blow dryer.
"Are you sure?" he asked looking a bit disappointed when she told him most Muggles and Muggleborns (most sane people, really) didn't like to have the blow dryer running whilst...
She wasn't sure where he got his sources on Muggle culture but she was sure they were not creditable in any way whatsoever.
She thought he was a half-way decent kisser, if only he didn't keep trying to pinch her nipples through her clothes. She was distracted, having to redirect his grabby hands every half-minute or so.
It was pleasant enough, the way he kissed her lightly on her collar, the sensitive spot behind her ear. For all that he teased her about her frizzy hair at school, he seemed to like to carding his hands through it now. The way he shivered under her hands, looked at her with hazy eyes framed by blond lashes was very a very heady feeling.
The sexual interest that had ebbed began to return and Hermione thought things were looking up. That is until they began to shed their clothes.
Malfoy was trying for some kind of seductive strip-tease, licking his lips at her while he unbuttoned his shirt. He then had a bit of a time taking it off, since he had forgotten to remove his cufflinks. To make matters worse, the zip on his trousers got stuck and she had to help him undo it. His competency in strip-tease was subpar and the only O that he'd be earning tonight was an 'Ouch'.
Afterwards, he grabbed the biro next to the pad of paper on the bedside table, (Hermione wondered what he had been eyeing), and slowly popped the top off. Then, giving her a smoldering look from under his blond fringe, he took the tip and drew it around his chest, leaving a trail of black ink all around his nipple. Gently, she took it out of his hand before he began getting ideas (she didn't fancy having to go home and scrub her skin clean with rubbing alcohol tonight).
Hoping that he wasn't as bad in bed as he was at stripping, Hermione decided to move things along.
"If you want to do this, we're going to have to take some precautions," she said, holding up a foil package, the likes of which she was sure Malfoy had never seen. She had picked it up after a judicious stop in a convenience store right around the corner from the hotel. This was after she had cast all the necessary spells- on the both of them, seeing how he wasn't making a move for his wand.
He had looked at her warily. If he refused, Hermione decided then and there to walk out.
"What is it?" he asked, curiosity winning, as clearly it was some Muggle contraption.
Very clinically, Hermione explained the uses, and then paused and asked, "Do you want me to put it on for you?"
Apparently this had ratcheted up his desire into feverish proportions. His normally pale face was suffused with pink, and of course there were other hard indications as well...
"Please..." he said, voice barely a hoarse whisper.
It was gratifying to hear him say 'please' and so Hermione obliged...
While she was trying to put the latex prophylactic on him, he came with a shudder all over her hand. It would appear that the 'Muggle-ness' of the thing was what undid him.
"Care for a second round?" he purred in her ear.
As Hermione Scourgified her hand, she bit her inside cheek to refrain from saying, 'I haven't even had a first round!"
She decided to let that slide, and anyway, maybe he was getting one'out of the way'.
After putting on a brand new prophylactic, Malfoy wasted no time in getting down to business. Unfortunately, he nearly ended up in the wrong place. She couldn't fathom HOW, since all the lights were on...
Speaking of which, that was very distracting, as was the smell of coffee, and the noise of the television going at full blast.
Though none of that was quite as awful as Malfoy feeling around between her legs like a blind man looking for the switch plate, and missing it completely.
He managed to outlast a commercial, but just barely.
oOoOoOo
By this time, Ginny was laughing so hard Hermione thought she was in danger of either falling out the booth or suffocating from lack of air. The lovebirds had long since left, leaving just them and the one other patron. "My god, of all people, I never would have imagined that Malfoy would have a Muggle fetish!"
"It's quite common among purebloods...a result of years of repression, I think, socially and otherwise," Luna said.
Hermione thought that Luna hit the nail on the head. "Afterwards, he said that it was a memorable experience, and wondered whether we could meet again..."
"Sampling the data twice is usually recommended, though in your case, I believe you have sufficient information to reach a reliable conclusion," said Luna pensively.
"Will you?" asked Ginny, sobering a little. "I didn't take you for a masochist..."
"Absolutely not!" Hermione had politely declined Malfoy's offer. "It was the worst sex I've ever had." In retrospect, Hermione thought that Malfoy wasn't truly interested in her so much as the idea of being with her and what she represented in this post-war world.
Ginny chortled, putting a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Well, I'm genuinely sorry for your pain, but this is the best story I've heard all week. Maybe all month." Considering the stories she had heard from Ginny over the years (who could write a book on the outrageous escapades of pro-Quidditch players), that was indeed high praise. Hermione preened a bit.
"Still," she said, "I wish I had known what I was getting into."
There was a sharp clap of a book being shut as the other remaining patron rose from their booth. The hood fell, revealing Pansy Parkinson.
She tucked her book under her arm and sauntered over to their table.
"Parkinson," Ginny said nodding cooly.
Hermione's face was beet red.
"Granger," she said, "you needn't have wasted your time. If you had only asked me, I would have told you all about Draco's bedroom skills. Or lack thereof."
And with a wicked smile and a toss of her glossy dark hair, she left, letting them mull over her parting shot.
Hermione, Ginny, and Luna all looked at each other, and then broke out into gales of laughter.
This time, Ginny did fall out of the booth.
A/N: The original prompt from Vera Rozalsky, included:
-No Ron-bashing. Ron and Hermione don't work as a couple, but they do work as friends.
-Hermione tells the story to Ginny and Luna.
-Pureblood Jungle Fever - POV the racialized exotic Other.
-Muggle technology as object of fetish: "Muggleborn sex always includes electricity."
-MUST INCLUDE both the race angle and the lure of the forbidden.
-Lots of inappropriate (including racist) comments from Draco.
-"The bigger the talk, the bigger the fail."
-Bad sex. Bonus points for "extra awkward."
-Pansy has the last word.
This crackfic is my fandom rebuttal against the boringly common 'sex god' Draco Malfoy characterization. Special thanks to RZZMG's cheesy line from their fic Breathe:
"Bottles filled with multi-hued liquid magic shook as I pressed her harder into the shelf behind her, letting my thigh press into the vee between hers and rub against her core with blatant, lusty intent."
It had me loling on the floor and provided much inspiration.