Originally Written for Malfoy Manor's One Shot Weekend Prompt: The wind revealed more than her inability to wear sexy knickers.
Red.
Like a bull drawn to the color, Draco's nostrils flare as he turns on his heel to train his intense gaze on her backside. Impatiently he waits for the flash of scarlet lace again. Her practical stride carries her forward, farther away from him. To his great annoyance, her short skirt bobs up and down against her pert bum, teasing his senses as it kicks up only slightly with each of her footfalls. He groans in frustration. Without the earlier whip of wind, her brisk, tidy movement is not enough to provide him another glimpse of the provocative silky material beneath.
Wind.
That's what he needed to get that stubborn skirt floating upwards once more. Wasn't there some sort of charm to get this sometimes helpful element to obey? Already late for Potions, but willing to risk the wrath of the new professor for this golden opportunity, Draco trails after the studious witch several yards ahead of him. He is titillated by the idea that the bookworm extraordinaire might be wearing some very sexy knickers under her school-sanctioned skirt. With the stealth of a spy, he follows her, hiding behind a gaggle of First Years when she turns to survey the crowd behind her. It is likely her sixth sense, a tingling at the back of the neck, that signals she is being followed. It has her stopping in her tracks. This is something Draco understands. He'd developed this peculiar sense, too, having been on the front lines of some of the most treacherous battles last year. It was a newly honed power that their fellow classmates, dubbed 8th Years, carried along with their book bags back to the rebuilt Hogwarts.
Blow!
He thinks the word, instead of using a spell he knows is too powerful for what he wants to happen. All he desires is a smart little breeze to help his just recently discovered voyeuristic tendencies. Was this too much for a young wizard to ask? Blow! The word becomes a silent mantra as he appreciates the rhythmic sway of her hips while she makes her way across the courtyard. To his annoyance, a chilling wind does whip up, but it originates behind him and he has to fight to keep his papers clutched in his hand. His usually well-groomed hair is mussed by the biting breeze. When the swirling air does at last decide to blow her way, he is preoccupied with the struggle to keep his things within his grasp and receives an unsatisfactory, and far too brief, glimpse of red lace swathed across a nicely rounded bottom. His heart races as he mentally tells his long legs to slow their stalking stride, lest she discover him prowling after her.
Up!
That was the unfortunate direction her Potions essay was flying. Mesmerized, he watches it float on an invisible cushion of air, high above her head. She hadn't noticed it taking flight from her book bag. Of course, he had witnessed its escape because his eyes had been latched onto her backside ever since she'd left the inside of the castle and the wind had picked up her skirt to reveal that intriguing scrap of red. "Accio, Granger's essay," he commands with a flick of his wand. In retrospect, Draco realizes he should have been a bit more specific because no less than ten sheaths of rolled parchment come shooting at him. He fears he's failing at his bumbling attempt to rescue the lot of them.
Skirt.
That's all he sees when she whips around and the grey circle of wool twirls, having been caught by the wind. His mouth dries as he catches full sight of her frilly scarlet knickers. The blasted skirt falls too swiftly, wrapping around her trim thighs. He consoles his initial annoyance with her skirt by reminding himself that he did indeed catch an eyeful of the lacy red excuse of an undergarment. He groans at the unfairness of it all, then realizes she has spied him. He braves shifting his gaze to her face, just in time to witnesses the unfortunate moment she becomes aware that he's captured all of her schoolwork in his misfired Accio spell. She's rushing toward him, now. His heart skips a beat as his gaze falls to the soft grey wool material flapping up and down against the pumping of her thighs. She's broken into an all out run and her face is contorted with rage... at him. He can barely conjure a reasonable excuse as to why he is holding all of her papers in his arms. All he is rewarded with for the trouble of catching her classwork is the periodic, tantalizing glimpse of red beneath that blasted boring skirt.
"Draco!"
She was shouting and staring down at him. He'd fallen into a crouch, you see. Unrepentant, he stubbornly believes she should be offering him her thanks instead of her scathing reprimands. He had, after all, just sacrificed a bit of his starched reputation in a gallant effort to save each and every one of her rolled parchments. At the second sounding of his name, Draco's head whips up and he finds himself presented with the hem of her skirt at his nose. The smell of her is intoxicating. His mouth waters and then he belatedly remembers where he is and who is admonishing him. His gaze flicks farther up. She is frowning at him, arms akimbo, her legs in wide stance. He shakes his head slightly, not liking that view at all. So, he lowers his gaze to her woolen skirt once more. As she continues to lambaste him, his thoughts turn toward the wicked. He finds himself musing about how easy it would be to let go of just one parchment roll in order to run his needy palm against the softness of her inner thigh. He'd travel farther north, of course, up and under that forbidding wool to caress that tempting wisp of red nothingness.
"What?"
She snaps, her voice drawn low. Her brows knit together when she notices how his smile stretches. He shouldn't be smiling. She shakes her head at him. As always, in these recent months, Hermione startles at the sight of his straight white teeth beneath a genuine grin, one that is focused on her. The wind whips up around them and today, she offers him a secret smile of her own, enjoying the sight of the short halo of blond whipping about the sharp outline of his face. "What in Merlin's name are you thinking about, Malfoy?" she hisses, tossing her head this way and that, making sure they are surrounded by unfamiliar faces. Her cheeks are flushed from her jog, her eyes are glowing with a mysterious feminine knowing, along with some amusement at the strange sight of Malfoy kneeling before her. With upturned face, Draco, cannot seem to pull his eyes away from her curiously heated gaze.
Pretty.
That's what he thinks she is. It's a startling thought, but not as startling as the question that tumbles out of his mouth. "What are you wearing?" his inquiring whisper is caught by the wind and carried up to her ears.
"My uniform," she answers swiftly, not liking this game. "Are you nutters? Give me my parchments before you lose your grip on them!" He twists away from her reaching hands which threaten to pluck away his now handy hostages.
"That's not what I meant, Granger," he pouts, shoving an escaping roll deeper into his awkward embrace. "What are you wearing under your uniform?"
"Malfoy, this is so incredibly inappropriate! Give me my essays at once!"
"Not until my curiosity is settled, witch," he retorts smugly, tightening his grip on her rustling essays. Blasted wind! "So, what have you got on under there, Granger? Tell me, and I'll return ... hmmm, let's see... one essay."
On a huff she answers. "A gift from my boyfriend, you wretch. Now give me my homework before we're both late for class!
"Too late," he replies, with a lascivious smile. "You might as well skive... with me... because I want to see what your boyfriend's gift looks like when it's used properly." She has trouble hiding a self-satisfied smirk at his unexpected interest in something that had been a private luxury just this morning.
"How dare you make such a lecherous demand out here in public, you spoiled prat," she replies, feigning outrage. She swats his shoulder for emphasis, then makes another ineffective grab for her things.
"That wasn't the song you were singing this morning, love," he says more seductively, holding the parchments further away from her seeking grasp. "And since I am the aforementioned boyfriend, I daresay, I have every right to make such requests wherever and whenever I like."
"You never play fair, Malfoy," she grumbles, reaching a hand out to him, unable to stop herself from sliding her attention to his playful gaze.
Knowing he'd won, he magically returns her homework to her bookbag. For added security, he adds a sticking charm to her bag's fluttering flap. With that simple task complete, Draco Malfoy, wearing a far too smug smirk on his far too handsome face, takes his girlfriend's offered hand.
And so it happened, on the first day of Fall, in her 8th year at Hogwarts, Miss Hermione Granger decided to skive school for no greater reason than to be with her incorrigible new boyfriend. But even though she missed all of her classes on that, the most blustery day of the year, she did come away with a few lessons learned from Mother Nature. Take for example, her new knowledge gained from one of the four magical elements:
Wind.
It had revealed more than her inability to wear sexy knickers around school— that is, if she wanted to receive a proper education. It also revealed Draco's secret obsession for the color red, and his inability to keep his eyes off her, the sexy witch who wore the color so well.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the silly plot. J.K. Rowling owns everything... *so unfair*