Beta'd by WeasleyWench

The Prefects'Bathroom : Draco's POV

"It's like this," Parkinson vehemently whispers, "you teach the filthy little hog that she just can't go claiming rights to things like the Prefects's bathroom, and I promise to do that thing you are always begging me to do."

"Do it twice," I bargain with her, "and then maybe I'll consider it."

Pansy stamps her foot and glowers at me, but to be honest I'm not all that interested in doing her any favors - even if the beaver's humiliation is on the table.

"Once, and I'll let you take pictures." Pansy counters.

She attempts to raise her eyebrow coyly at me, but it looks rather malicious. Demure and charming don't fit on Pansy, much in the way smart and refined cannot stick to the likes of Crabbe and Goyle.

"Twice, and let me have pictures of both occasions. And then, and only then, will I do it." I offer up. I'm sure she won't agree to any of it.

As Pansy stands there looking malevolent, I cannot help but wonder as to what the she-beaver has done to work my vengeful little friend into such a state that Parkinson is seriously considering sucking me off, twice, and with pictures no less.

I know with a certainty that stems from my own personal ire that this is Pansy's least favorite thing. The witch rarely consents to do it. However, it's really the only thing I like from Parkinson as it stands. It tends to shut her up quite well.

And as loose as Pansy's reputation maybe, I know for a fact the girl is virgin. She would not risk her father's wrath should the standard Pureblood marriage contract be void upon the discovery that the "flower" has been prematurely picked.

I go back to thinking about what offense might have taken place between these two when Pansy suddenly starts to grin wolfishly. Her large dark eyes begin to flash something ferocious as she casually brushes a stray lock of raven hair from her face. She's not gorgeous, but when she is up to terrorizing the countryside she could be fairly described as electric.

"Fine." She hums breezily as if the terms will ultimately work in her favor, although I can hear a stipulation coming on as her voice turns into a low hiss, "I'll do it, but only on the condition that you make the mud bitch wish she was never born!"

I sigh petulantly; apparently Pansy is just that pissed off.

"Yeah," I drone, "I suppose I could manage that."

"You'll do more than manage Draco Malfoy!" Pansy growls in frustration with me. Her wet eyes snap to mine, and I see her inhale deeply. I'm about to receive a shit storm of angry.

"I want her to cry every time she thinks about whatever it is that will be done to her. I want her to turn red and run from the room completely mortified every time she thinks of that humiliation! And when people notice, notice that she is utterly reduced to tears just by the sight of you, and by extension the reminder of her shame, so that..." Pansy breaks off, before inhaling deeply. Parkinson shakes her dark head, jet-black hair swaying free, as she clears her thoughts.

Her eyes narrow at me as she grits, "So that when the speculation comes, I want the worst of it to be spread like cursed fire! "

A livid blush rises in her cheeks, and she trembles in anger slightly. I've always thought she was a little over dramatic at times.

"Again Pansy, that's great and all, but for merely kicking you out of the Prefects' bathroom, I'm going to need something a little more to go on here."

Pansy is practically panting in the heat of revenge. I am already bored with our conversation; Pansy wanting revenge is old hat. The girl has a revolving death wish for a new person almost every week. And really, anything that puts me in a position to interact with molar girl, such as attending the same classes, currently stretches the limits of my thin patience.

Honestly, I don't need an excuse to humiliate Pansy's new target of the week. I already loathe Granger. She is insufferable, arrogant, and above all, a boring little show off with no real life but that of the ones she reads about in books. All our seven years has shown this girl to be a little wound up prude. When she was being tortured by Aunt Bella, running around with St. Potter, I just know that "good and light shall always prevail, just try harder Potter" attitude was heavily in the mix. Nothing phases that bitch, she may tremble, cry out in pain, fight, cry out in fear, but she also plans, and has always been talented enough to get by, it would seem she is as resilient at that fucking savior of hers.

I have no doubt that little muddy-Mudblood probably has wet dreams over things like liberating all the house elves, or helping Potter, or Weasely to not fail almost every one of their exams. Add in the annoying little fact that she aids Potter in his little half cracked adventures, and I stop to consider that loathing may have been too light a word.

That he's saved my life means little else other than, despite all appearances, I do not desire him dead. And for that reason alone, I find it enough to hate him still, as well as all those within his little world, especially his little mud bitch.

"What if I were to tell you that beaver face secretly…" Pansy says to me, breaking into my thoughts before she halts. I blink at her curiously as I note that her face hardens as she casts a look around to make sure our conversation is not being overheard.

Deciding there are too many people in the hall, the Parkinson grabs my shoulder to better whisper into my ear. I feel Pansy's sticky hot breath on the shell of my ear as she tells me all the sordid things she suspects Granger of, things that just do not sound remotely true. Letting me go I can feel Pansy smirking at my dumbfounded reaction. I really don't know what to say.

Parkinson folds her arms pompously over her chest. She is watching me consider the information she has just presented.

"Well Pansy that was informative" I hear myself murmur.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

"I'll get back with you on what I'm planning when I find the right trick," I mumble.

"I want her crying in shame Draco." Pansy growls. Her eyes are as dark as coal.

"In good time witch, I've got some jinxing and hexing research to do; now if you don't mind-" I sneer.

I whip away from her not even bothering to say good-bye. I hear her winding up to yell at me, but as I walk away I stick my hand up and wave her off. Our conversation is done. I've got a lot of work to do, and I doubt Pansy even considers that I have every intention of verifying her claims.

It is later that I find myself in the Prefects' bathroom. Unfortunately I had to get the password from the other Slytherin prefect, who then has to be Obliviated, seeing as Pansy's privileges to that room have been permanently revoked. The only thought I have is that it is troublesome to go through the extra effort; it makes me wonder what Pansy has done to get banned. Undoubtedly that slight, in and of itself, is enough to fuel her rage. Honestly it doesn't take much to get her going. This leads me back to the current situation of: me hiding out in the Prefects' bathroom, waiting for an opportunity to present itself.

It doesn't take very long; apparently Granger's internal timetable is as rigid as a clock. Noting that her timing is exact, based on Pansy's accounts, I can't help but wonder if Pansy was right about the other things. It doesn't seem plausible, but I guess I am about to find out.

Know thy enemy

I still myself as I hear Granger lock and ward the door. A part of me can't believe I'm really here. I know I've disillusioned myself well, but I can't help feeling a tinge of fear that I'm really going to go through with this "research".

Merlin only knows how badly my corneas will be singed by the raw sight of Mudblood. Suddenly Pansy's barter seems hardly worth it. I am sure another girl out there will be willing to do the things that Pansy has done, if not even more, and who cares if the next girl is as reliable. That matters little when I consider that I'll still have my vision. I can take comfort in knowing that the unnamed girl will also never ask such ridiculousness from me as Pansy has.

Granger takes no notice of me as she sets her things down. I look down at the floor. Why can't I have just hexed her in the hall instead of doing this? I really don't want to watch, but I realize there's no way for me to leave now. I know she can't hear or see me, but that the door should open and close on its own is a dead give away. And while I cannot stand the bitch, I know Granger can be quite wicked when she wants to be. This reminder grants some comfort when I think back to the events of third year. Yes, I think I do want to make Granger pay after all.

In the end I know it is best to just sit here. I need to force myself to go through with this plan. If I can get through this, I'll know if Pansy is right, and more importantly I'll know how to go about making Granger's life a living nightmare. If any of it is true, Granger has got one hell of a year coming her way.

The water starts to run and I look up. My breath catches at the sight in front of me; Granger is standing there with her shirt open, and to my amazement she's not covered in boils or scales, nor is she sporting the excess flaps of skin and hair, defects I've always suspected lay hidden beneath her robes. My world is slightly off kilter at this discovery.

She slides the fabric off, carelessly tossing it over into the pile with her robe and tie. My gaze briefly narrows on her discarded shirt, and I wonder why she isn't folding everything up like the little fastidious bitch I know her to be.

I hear her sigh as she moves to unzip her skirt. As the tab is pulled the rhythmic grind of the zip on tiny teeth lulls me into a hypnotic trance. I watch as her skirt sways free of her hips, and tumbles down her legs. Stepping out of the puddle of cloth, Granger gives it a little kick in the general direction of the growing pile.

It is then she hooks a finger into her knee-highs, and goes about the business of peeling off her socks one at a time. My eyes skim over her form; I can't help but to admire how soft her skin looks. I don't know if I always expected a scaly, hairy, boil-marked creature to live under her robes, but right now, that I'm not repulsed at the sight before me, actually scares me a little.

I feel as though the temperature in the room has risen. I loosen my tie to breath easier, as I run trembling fingers through my hair, still failing in an attempt to calm myself. What wrong have I done to Pansy? She must have known I'd come to check out her story, have I been duped into...no, she's Slytherin, through-and-through. She wouldn't wish this on me. Unless, she means to use my own humiliation to fuel my desire to get back at Granger?

Granger is supposed to be mud, vile, and filthy - nothing any normal bloke would want to look twice at. But as she works the clasp of her bra, I can't even tear my eyes away to have the chance to look twice. I marvel at the size and shape of her breasts, having only seen Pansy's chest, I realize that there is no comparison of equals to be had.

Granger's are pert, ever so smooth looking, and on the cusp of completely filling out. I watch entranced as they move lower, I almost miss the reason as to why Granger's wild curls are suddenly spilling over and blocking my view. And it is then, with a horror and fascination I never believed possible, I catch the motion of the Head Girl leaning over to slip out of her knickers. My trance is broken.

I turn my eyes away, my heart palpates, and I feel slightly dizzy. It's almost too much, I'm extremely mortified by the way my pulse has quickened, and even more so than that, I feel my face heat up as I realize I am excited, and that it all comes from wanting to look at that part of that thing that is supposed to be a woman before me.

I try to tell myself it's probably disgusting, as bushy as her hair in fourth year, all tangles and knots. I would not be surprised to look up and see twigs and bits of leaf there either. Granger's hair is wild and unkempt, so therefore, it all must be in a similar state.

But my body doesn't seem to want to agree with this assumption, and I fight myself to keep from looking back at her. I wipe my hands on my slacks trying to calm down. This is all so wrong, I'm supposed to be finding ways I can disgrace this smooth, and all too alluring...Mudblood! She's a beastly animal that only pretends to be a real witch.

"It's only a Mudblood."I tell myself reassuringly, "A disgusting little freak, she has no personality, she is the little book worm, the brains, a mutation! She kisses St. Potter's ass, she coddles the Weasel, she's disgusting, and not quite really a hairy freak of nature. And she is pathologically noble, stubbornly authoritative, somewhat sexy and..."

And then I panic, what if what Pansy said is true, what if Granger really does the things Parkinson accuses her of?

I desperately want to leave; I can't bear to watch anymore. It's not that I can't watch, it's that I find myself completely willing to watch, that it arouses me. I want to recoil in the revelation, but something keeps me pinned to my station.

What started out as mission to find a way to disgrace the she-beaver has back fired spectacularly. I feel a tingle working its way down my spine, I want to look again, oh Merlin how I want to look, but I'm too embarrassed and proud. I will not succumb to wanking off to the images of Hermione-fucking-Granger taking a bath. I will not! That the Wizarding War is over means nothing. It changes nothing!

"She's not even that hot," I lie to myself. I try to think of disgusting things to calm myself, like Snape's greasy hair, Sprout's dirty mud-caked knickers, Flitwick's crusty nose hairs, and McGonagall's wrinkled liver spots.

My pulse slows at these thoughts, and I hear Granger slide into the bath. Presumably she will sink out of view. The accompanying splash is my signal to look up again. When I do, I see she is looking in my direction, and I almost groan in frustration as my heart once again begins to pound quickly. My skin buzzes with heat.

I know she can't see me, but the sight of her facing my direction as she stands there waist deep in the bath is all too erotic. NO! How many times will I need to repeat this, not erotic, sickening, just sickening!

I come to this erroneous conclusion, that she should seem even the slightest bit appealing sexually, because she has decided to pin up her hair. Granger's breasts move gently as she finishes tucking up the mess of curls into a loose bun. I am mesmerized by the sight.

I see her coming towards me, and I clutch my wand, just in case I'm not as invisible, or as soundless as I think, though I'm quite sure my skills in charms are far above average.

She grabs her wand from the floor next to the bath. I am about to preemptively hex her when she then turns to face the faucets. My fear downshifts as my curiosity returns. I wonder if this is the thing Pansy hinted at. The steam of the bath is making me sweat, so I loosen a few buttons at the top of my shirt, and I try to relax. I tell myself that Granger's only adjusting the taps to make the bath more comfortable - that and I should not be excited at all.

But I can't help it, and I have to adjust myself because when I saw her that second time, a part of me became a little too excited, and now that part is pressing painfully against my slacks. How did this go so wrong, so fast?

I narrow my gaze on her and try to imagine she's a blast ended skrewt, or some other horrible slimy creature, and that the steam rising off the water only distorts her figure because underneath it all she's a disgusting mess.

I fail miserably when I see what it is she is doing. I groan, not caring, as I know I can't be heard. Pansy is right; for once every bit of her story checks out, the Prefects' bathroom does have a special secret. Sometime during my failed attempts at imagining Granger a disfigured beast, the witch had tapped her wand in whatever fashion to the pipes and stone. Whatever she did, in its place there is a stone recliner and a shower nozzle. I watch on with interest as Granger gracefully hops up onto the stone and reaches for the nozzle. Placing her wand in her hair, she turns on the water and lets the steamy shower run over her body.

I bite my lip in frustration as I try to think sarcastic thoughts, like "Who lays down to shower, honestly?" But it is no use, what Pansy had whispered to me only a few hours earlier begins to flood into my thoughts as I watch Granger adjust the setting of the water, instead of a gentle cascade, now a streaming jet of water splashes upon her.

I watch as she rubs herself lazily with one hand as the other directs the spray of water above her, I can see that the pressure is enough to make her skin blanch and blush as the jet stream pushes against her wet skin.

There is no helping it, I am going to see the Head Girl getting herself off, and there is nothing, nothing, I can do to stop myself from becoming aroused by it. I hate to admit it, but Granger looks so delectable laying there, smiling as the steamy waters wash away whatever worries she might have had.

I briefly consider joining her, but nix the idea quickly. My humiliation of this witch will have to wait until I have the advantage, the things I could do to her, the evidence I could have against her, but I know for the moment she has a wand within easy reach, and all I can really focus on is the pulsing one throbbing against my slacks. I promise myself that the next time I am in this position I will be ready.

As I watch Granger's slippery form writhe, I can see the tension slip away from her, and I begin to trust in the idea that this is a habit she often indulges in. There is a methodical way about Granger as her hand caresses her breasts, every so often, only pausing to roll nipple, or to squeeze her breasts gently.

The way she moves the nozzle over her soft belly to her thighs and up again, and it is then that I see what Pansy had meant earlier. The very thing that had me confused about the term "watery pleasures" is now suddenly brought into focus. Granger moves the steam of water between her thighs as her fingers move to spread apart her lower lips, revealing that color of pink that every lad fifth year and up brag to have seen at one point or another.

Her hips buck upwards at the contact, and I can hear her breath becoming ragged as she pants. It happens so quickly that I only see Granger's back arch intensely as the first wave of her orgasm hits her, causing her to let out a long throaty moan.

I hiss under my breath, it is becoming difficult sit here and just not wank right along with her. At some point I've abandoned my attempts to find her unappealing. Really the only thing holding me back is my uncertainty, how can I be sure the physical evidence of my release will remain concealed. I've never disillusioned myself to wank before. It is then I realize that I can just catch it my robe and Scourgify it away later, after Granger has left. Besides the chit would need to have eagle's eyes to see a bit of spunk randomly lying about.

Giving in, I free myself, and begin to stroke up and down my length. Softly at first, and then firmly as I imagined what Granger would look like below me as I pound into her mercilessly; it isn't much of a stretch in imagination seeing as she is right in front of me climaxing for what seems like her second time.

I am amazed at the sight before me; I didn't know she had it in her. Her brows are furrowed as if in an intense pleasured pain, and her breasts are moving in time with her shallow breaths. I hear the hitch in her breath before each little whine of pleasure, and each wild gasp as she sails almost effortlessly into that next peak. And whatever it is that is special about that second peak, it is nothing compared to the string of smaller orgasms that follow. She practically bellows in ecstasy.

Granger's eyes shut even tighter as she fights for breath, and every muscle tenses as she reaches for an even superior climax yet. I am almost there with her. A part of me can't even comprehend how she's doing it; I've never known such things before. Watching her lose control is exhilarating in and of itself. She moans and thrashes, persistent in her pursuit of that next peak, and in this moment she is the most erotic thing I've ever seen-or that I could have ever hope to see.

I am now breathing my own ragged breaths when I see her dark eyes suddenly open lustfully, and unseeingly in my direction, that look is the final push I need as I come crashing down.

Releasing forcefully into my robe I continue to watch her. I can tell this is it for Granger, she looks ready to pass out as she nearly screams herself breathless.

As she lays there panting heavily and completely awash in satisfaction, I see her grip loosen until the nozzle falls away from her, splashing into the basin of the tub. The witch's eyes are half-lidded with a certain look of spent rapture.

I come to my senses much more rapidly. It all comes crashing down when I remember...PANSY! Something to do with this bathroom, and its secret is mostly like the cause of why she's been banned - I know it.

Slowly she sits up as if coming out of a daze, wearing a silly smile, as if she's incredibly pleased with herself. And really who wouldn't be, to orgasm so many times would be any warm-blooded wizard's fondest wish.

It is then I looked away again. I wonder a bit as to what I have done. I've crossed a line, although unknown to anyone save myself, I have done the unthinkable. It is one thing to plot humiliation and shame, it is another to put oneself through it and come out the other side with a twisted idea of what to do next. For what I have in store, no doubt is twisted and probably not what Pansy has in mind. But I really don't care what Pansy thinks or wants, she wouldn't have to know anyways, it's not as if I told her what I am doing tonight anyhow.

In fact, the thought of Pansy coming to the Prefects' bathroom to do exactly what Granger has been doing is very off putting, and very obviously has done nothing for Parkinson's mood as it apparently did for Granger's. Even before her Prefects' bathroom privileges were revoked, Pansy's demeanor still left something to be desired, well if one desired anything about Parkinson at all.

Come to think of it, I have noticed Granger acting a bit more calm and collected lately. I can't hold back a smirk; if I succeed in my plans I can have her frazzled and acting edgy again. As for Pansy, I plan to lie to her, I'll tell her I need more time as I mess with Granger's head awhile longer. Maybe that part isn't so much a stretch in the truth.

I hear the basin draining as I come out of my thoughts. I search the room with my eyes, and my nose catches a light scent of lavender and vanilla on a draft. The Head Girl is walking out of the Prefects' bathroom.

I catch a glimpse of her before she disappears and I see that she is fully composed, and has an air of relaxed confidence about her. I quickly Scourgify my robes and begin to right myself before I slip out of the Prefects' bathroom unseen.

I follow Granger surreptitiously and see that she is heading to the library to study. I can't stop myself from rolling my eyes at the sight of her back in tedious prude mode. It is at this moment I think that putting my plan into action right then isn't a half bad idea, if only to throw her off her game and stir things up a bit. I've got a lot of experience with stirring things up.

I quickly hurry to an empty hallway to reverse my charms before giving myself a once over to make sure everything looks normal about me. My fly is done up, my tie on right, buttons closed and robe clean, it all checks out.

Smirking I make my way to the library and from there I seek out my quarry. She has no clue, no clue at all. I feel my smirk become a slight grin as the skin feels parched and stretch, I can't help but to lick my lips.

I make a note to find an inconspicuous way to let Pansy know she can hold off a while on her end of the bargain. Surely Pansy can't object to a vague explanation that suggests a game of cat and mouse. Parkinson wants Granger to suffer, and to an extent so do I. I want her to suffer me.