The Magic of Exams
Author's Note: Adult situations ahead. If you are easily offended, or an itty bitty kiddy, do not proceed :-)
Summary: Exams do something to people, Muggles and Wizards alike. It seems students at each school have a unique way of reacting to the stress. Some form study groups and work like rabbits. Others procrastinate and go to the movies. Heck, some even decide it's time to go see the Screaming Banshees in concert. Here's what they do to the people at Hogwarts.
Burning Up the Broom Cupboard
Exams, at Hogwarts, were a fairly imminent part of every student's schedule, especially Hermione Granger's. Usually, these exams would be held near the end of the year; just at that time where everything seemed to get smoldering hot and sweaty. The grounds would be brimming with lush green grass and dotted with the odd budding daisy; the Forbidden Forest would be a cluster of closely packed leaves, lacing themselves together in various shades of green. And yet, despite this seemingly attractive exterior, the moment you stepped out of the blissfully cool castle, sweat would dot your upper lip and begin to trickle disconcertingly down your back, a feeling that irritated even the likes of Hermione Granger! Girls who had worked tediously to make their hair perfect, would squeel in horror as the moisture caused a frizzy, fried-out look, not too much unlike Hermione Granger's. The boys would groan and moan about their school shirts sticking to their backs, and loosen their ties. Nevertheless, many students (especially those who ignored the studying rituals people like Hermione Granger had set), found themselves sitting dangerously close to the lake, aching for the sprinkles of water the squid unleashed every time he surfaced. Some would even dangle barefeet in the shallow, as though daring the merpeople to come up and pull their swirling toes.
And Hermione Granger was all Ginny Weasley could think, her cheeks red (with heat or anger, no one could tell), and steam just about coming out of her also plum ears. No one could deny the youngest Weasley looked a lot like her infamous family when angry; reddened to just about the shade of her russety locks, ears very prominent on her upright head. Her nose had a distinctly feminine look to it, as did her large, almond-shaped eyes, and even her delicate little mouth--perhaps her extensive smattering of freckles was what linked her to them most noticeably.
Yet Hermione Granger sailed idly through her head, like a little, dreamy sailboat, coming unobtrusively back again and again to bang against the shores of her mind. It was annoying. Perhaps that would explain why this said girl found herself quite evidently enclosed in a broom closet? She herself was not sure; all she was aware of, was that Hermione Granger had driven the last nail into the board. In the Common Room, mere minutes before, Ginny had just about exploded in frustration, bottled up from days of harboring it. Despite her fairly mild temperament, she did not do much better than Ron at hiding her explosive red-head temper.
She had just needed to escape really; escape from the shocked glares of her fellow housemates, and Hermione's pronounced look of offense. Well, well, maybe the girl deserved it! Maybe that explosion had been too long in coming for the scratchy know-it-all, but even as Ginny had the thought, she knew in her mind it was not true. Hermione had really, only, being trying to help, despite Ginny's profound refusal of her aide. Perhaps she had been too quick to anger--perhaps she should apologize. But--but then what? Let the trio go back to treating her like a little child? Like someone who needed to be fawned over and monitored constantly? Really, it was not in the least Hermione Granger's business to go telling Ron that she had been snogging Dean Thomas in an empty Charms classroom! Ginny huffed with indignation--really! She was sixteen years old, not six! Ginny was pretty sure she could make the right decisions on who to snog, and who not to!
Anyway, maybe she'd apologize to Hermione when Ron apologized for breaking Dean's nose. Yes, that sounded fair.
Ginny idly ran a hand along the coarse wooden wall of her little enclosed space. It was splintery and none to smooth, but she still let her fingers trace over the little cracks. It was exam week, and Ginny had never felt more out of orbit. Not only did her snog-buddy get punched in the face by her angry brother, but it didn't seem like she could do anything right since getting caught by Hermione that day. She felt jumpy, as though she was being watched, and perhaps more than a bit snappish.
She sighed, bringing her knee up to rest against the wall of the cupboard. It was a very small space, and not the most comforting one to be if you were even a little claustrophobic. Ginny fit with enough space to maybe hold two other people, if they were packed together very tightly, but in all honesty, she didn't really mind. It was a nice closet, just a floor above the Dungeons and located in a relatively isolated corridor. That meant, if she was really, really crabbed, she could get in here and scream as loud as she pleased. Not to mention that the small space muffled the echoes accordingly, not letting it get into corridors that were more densely populated.
Anyhow--Ginny was stressed. She itched all over and had a constant throbbing in her head. Her first exam was tomorrow--Charms. It consisted mainly of a written part (that Flitwick assured was 'short'), and then the technical. Ginny wasn't really worried, but still she found herself running the charms over in her head, and then reciting important dates beneath her breath. So she hardly realized it when some large, heavy thing barrelled into the door of her hiding place. If she had been listening, then maybe she would have heard the previously chanted curses, and the incessant tapping of a wand against the door of her little spot. But of course, she hadn't, so when the second thud came, she jumped so high she almost met the ceiling.
As a precaution of not wanting to be caught, Ginny frequently charmed the lock closed. She had never considered what she would do if another person tried to get in--had hardly even realized anyone but her would want to get themselves into this boringly cluttered space. She cleared her throat a little--then; 'What if it's Filch?' That thought scared her lips sealed.
She hardly made a move, hardly took a breath, too afraid of being caught, until she finally heard the revealing characteristic. She hadn't even been listening that hard, so she assumed the person on the other end of the door had likely raised his voice. It was an all too familiar baritone, deep and gravelly and all too obnoxious. She felt her temper flare up, disbelief clouding her mind. Now was not the time for snivelly little Malfoy to be banging like a maniac upon the door of her little salvation. Definitely not. But the pressing question was, what in Merlin's name was he doing here?
But she was already seeing red. If she had to remain in here all night and day, she definitely would His voice had lowered now, to an almost desperate tone, and his banging became more quiet. Eventually, it ceased altogether. Curious to see if he had left or not, Ginny muttered the reverse charm and the door fell inwards--with it crashing a startled young Malfoy. To her horror, he quickly gathered himself, pushing the door closed again and murmuring a locking spell on it. "What-?"
Her words were muffled as he pressed his palm frantically against her mouth, undoubtedly shushing her. "Quiet," he whispered harshly, his eyes still on the door. She wondered idly if he realized who he was sharing a broom closet with, whose mouth is palm was currently pressed against. His hands were rough with calluses, from his broom, she was sure, and he was clad in his school robes. He looked pointedly disheveled, one sleeve half way up his forearm (where he had undoubtedly pushed it), the other hanging around his fingers. It was slightly off his shoulder and Ginny could see a dangerous much of his chest from where his shirt was unbuttoned. It was untucked and hung around his heaving form with, Ginny noticed, an envious amount of grace. Even his notoriously slicked back hair was out of place, his usually pale cheeks showing a small, barely noticeable amount of color.
He looked devilishly handsome, and Ginny could not help but shudder when she realized how close he was pressed. They were locked in a very, very small broom closet. His shoulders were painfully, attractively broad and his head grazed the ceiling, hair catching in the splinters. Ginny's head reached maybe his chin, and her hand felt comfortingly warm where it held his forearm, trying, now absently, to push it away from her mouth.
Then she heard the searching footsteps, clattering purposefully down the hall. She was sure the person was wearing heels--ridiculously pointy heels, she discerned. Ginny took a deep breath, wondering who Malfoy had been running from, and incidently breathing in his male scent. It was a husky, spicey sort of smell, almost welcoming. She did a double-take, perturbed eyes looking up to the side of his neck, as his head was turned towards the door. She had never figured he would smell anything other than cold.
Finally, the sound of those heels vanished down the corridor, and he breathed an evident sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging and his hand leaving her lips. For the first time since he entered, he looked at her--and promptly tumbled against the door. "Weasley?" he swore, none too friendly. She noted he made no move to unlock the door, and sighed. She hadn't overheard what spell he used--freeing herself from this...trying predicament could take some time. Time she didn't know if he'd allow her.
"Malfoy," she said tiredly, brushing her hair back from her forehead. She prayed he wouldn't play with her temper today. She didn't now if she could handle it. And anyway, it was getting awfully hot in here.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, scornfully. Ginny wondered if it should be legal for anyone to look that handsome when they were trying to be nasty. When she didn't answer, he continued, "Feigning some semblance of a love-life? What, since Potty can't push you into broom closets, you coming alone?" He seemed to find that last comment pleasing, and smirked contentedly. "Pathetic."
Through his words Ginny cheeks had grown continuously more scarlet, her already loose temper again waiting to blow. On his last word she just about flew at him, pressing him wildly to the door and beating fists everywhere she could reach. He obviously recoiled from her punches--she imagined they weren't too easy to endure, as years as a Chaser had toned her nicely. Eventually, he regained his composure enough to push her gruffly off of him, one hand reaching to his bleeding lip as her back hit the opposite wall. Exhausted, she slid down to the ground, the tips of her toes touching his even though she had her knees bent. Still, she glared up at him menacingly.
"Fuck, Weasley," he said, his eyes wide with distaste, "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Piss off," she muttered, loud enough for him to hear, "And get out." She pointed meaningfully to the door behind him, her bruising fists promising more if he did not leave.
But he did not take the hint. Ginny wondered if the snobbish bastard had ever had to take a hint in his life. Idiot Malfoy thought he owned the whole world. Instead, he leaned, relaxed against the door, arms crossed over his chest and one knee bent. That said knee just about got Ginny in the face. "Well, no," he said, arrogantly, "I have to ask you Weasley, is this what your house is like? Must feel a lot like home to--"
He didn't get a chance to finish, because Ginny had already pounced to her feet and landed him a hard one in the stomach. He choked, before recovering and driving her to the opposite wall again, this time coming with her. To her horror, her wrists were trapped in his hands and his knee wedged between her legs, preventing her from escape. "Fuck, Weasley," he said again, "You're all fire, aren't you?" He chuckled to himself, as though he found something amusing about this situation.
"You're in a good mood, aren't you, prick?" Ginny spat bitterly.
He faked shock at her words, before answering, "Why, I suppose you could say so. I just avoided both Parkinson and Filch, in one go. I imagine I have something to be proud of."
Ginny rolled her eyes, her body bristling beneath his. She was just about sweating now, he extensive body heat not helping a bit. Not to mention his smoldering eyes, like melted mercury as they bore shamelessly into hers. They were filled with a dark murk and perhaps too much arrogance. "Get off me," she commanded--or perhaps it was more of a challenge, "I'm not in the mood for this."
"In the mood for what?" he smirked innocently, "This?" To her mortification, she found his lips on hers, the "o" of her mouth allowing his tongue a free entrance. She pushed wildly against him, trying to disengage herself, but when his tongue brushed hers, she was goner. He rubbed surreptitiously against her body, and she was startled to feel the poke of his arousal on her abdomen. However, as much as she tried, she could neither pry his lips away from hers to get a word in, nor could she resist his expert mouth on hers. His lips felt heavenly, and despite herself the very idea of his arousal (and possibly the tempting circles his knee was making between her legs) caused a wet pool of heat to drip from her stomach southwards.
"What the fuck?" she panted when he let his mouth drop down to her jaw, nibbling on her neck, "What are you doing?"
"None of your business," he muttered against her skin, sucking and licking with focussed passion. Ginny rolled her eyes, an almost smile forming at his childish answer. He felt like fire all over her skin, sweat dripping down her forehead, only to be licked away as he rose to look into her eyes.
It wasn't one of those devoted, lover's glances he gave her when indeed those mercury orbs returned to her honey-glazed ones. It was a mischevious, boisterous sort of look, accompanied by a matching grin, that made her breath hitch in her throat, her hands needily shoving his robes off, fingers fumbling with his shirt.
When finally she made contact with the sweaty skin, she released a loud moan of approval, the sculpted muscles of his chest roiling beneath her exploring hands. She didn't even realize her shirt had been discarded until he pushed her back to the cool surface of the wall, shocking her heated skin even as his fingers found the lace of her bra and played her nipples through it. Each time his fingers brushed one, white hot fire erupted in her loins and she bit passionately onto his neck, eventually creating a rhythm of sucking. And when his hot mouth closed over her peaking nipple through her bra, she could only arch, a deep sigh emanating from her mouth.
Her hands, tired of scratching along his bare shoulders, drifted downwards to his bum, squeezing lightly before coming around to his erection. It was hard and straining against the fabric of his trousers, and the thrill of what was happening leaked excitedly down her spine. She had been taking Witch's Brew for a long time now--for those times when she and Dean decided they needed something more than snogging. But this, this felt like so much more. This was Draco Malfoy, all fire and flesh before her, groaning in pleasure as she touched him through his pants.
This was more.
When his questing fingers finally found themselves beneath her damp knickers, Ginny just about shattered in his arms. She hadn't even realized how much she had needed this, how aroused she had been. Riding out her finale, she collapsed, spasming pleasantly in his welcoming arms. To her surprise, he kissed her almost tenderly on her sweat matted forehead (for by now, the broom cupboard was reminiscent of a sauna), and gently lowered them to the ground. Her knickers were discarded, and she found her trembling hands undoing his pants. When he sprung forward, throbbing and long and ready, she swore she could have came again.
He entered her, slowly, almost with a lover's affection, slipping into her fiery body with a satisfied groan. Her back was propped against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist as he knelt on the ground before her, sliding with slick heat in and out. She could hardly believe it, could hardly believed how she cooed and encouraged, running shaking fingers through his sweaty hair. He was intense--this was not the giggling, awkward love she had made with Dean. This was serious, concentrated; far from his boisterous grin previously, he was now the picture of attention. His eyes were closed, brows creased, as he held her hips to angle himself. Ginny found herself in a much different situation, however, marvelling at the size of him, hot and thick within her--she found herself arching in pleasure and teetering on that pleasant edge in what seemed like mere minutes.
She seemed as though to slide into that blissful state--it was not the earth-shattering experience she had had by his fingers. This was expected and she felt it build, and when finally it overcame her body, it seemed to last for minutes. By the time she had finished, he had as well, shuddering the remnants of his release against her chest.
They lay there for a while, her hand absently stroking his hair away from his forehead as he lay limply against her. Then, recovered, he extricated himself from her, taking his head from its perch on her shoulder to look at her satisfactorily. "You really are all fire," he joked, grinning almost pleasantly. She rolled her eyes. He sat up, fixing his trousers, before again placing his back against the door. "I'd suggest you fix your clothes Weasley. Your brothers wouldn't like to know you were whoring yourself." She blinked at his sudden change in demeanor, found her body too drained to say a word.
She yawned instead, and he seemed shocked by her reaction. "I think I needed that," she said, getting to her feet and righting her clothes shamelessly before him, "Definitely put my temper back in check."
He growled from where he was, but got to his feet as well. He found his shirt and robe, and got to putting them back on. He was still buttoning up his shirt when he opened the broom cupboard door, letting in a blast of cool, fresh air. "I have a Transfiguration exam tomorrow," he said, absently as she stepped out before him.
"Charms," she replied idly, adjusting her skirt. He got out as well, pulling the door in behind him.
"Well, Weasley, definitely not a bad shag," he said arrogantly, the chill of the corridor bringing them back to earth, "I've definitely had better." Ginny noticed with satisfaction the large hickey on his neck.
"I'm sure," she replied, not bothering to say anything more as he turned to walk away. She rolled her eyes, grinning. She felt sticky between her legs, utterly messy, and yet as though she had been knocked abruptly back into orbit. Some asteroid, probably one named Draco Malfoy, had done that eerily well for her. She could still see him as he walked down the hall, and she called, "Hey Malfoy!" He turned, looking at her with a smirk, "I'm out of a snog-buddy. Care to be my replacement?"
He seemed a bit taken aback, but recovered his Malfoy composure very quickly. He strolled abruptly towards her again, grinning in an almost goofy way. It was distinctly unlike him. "Of course, Weasley," he replied, his voice low near her ear, "But I warn you, we'll be doing much more than snogging."
She figured that since she had to live with a combination of exams and Hermione Granger, anyway, she could live with that.
Author's Note: fyaaaaaaa. Yes. Smut. YEY! Needed to do that. Well, it's exam week and I started this blissfull little idea yesterday when I should have been studying for my science exam (which was today). Anyhow, once I finished the exam, myself and the boy who has replaced by ex-boyfriend (yes, the one who made me ridiculously happy last summer) got together for something not far from this. Let me tell ya, this one's a keeper.
Anyhow, I'm toying with the idea of writing Hermione's POV, with some Ronnikins/Hermione-poo smut to finish off these little exam-week obsessions. Bit hard since I've never exactly written them before, and I feel like I'm on a penchant for OoC. Take Draco just now--uhm, just a little out of it. If you guys have any other savory pairings (no HPGW or DMHG, please) do give. I'll build something up around them and write more smut. Since, you know. Smut is the cheese. Try to make it something that will go with this plot. Anyway, review and give me your opinion!