Hermione Granger was ready to leave this party.
She didn't want to be there in the first place, but when you're a Guest of Honor it's rather bad form to not make an appearance. So, she had graciously sat through the dinner, and given a few words, and mingled a bit with people she knew. But by the time the after-dinner drinks appeared and all the ministry officials began openly congratulating themselves, yet again, for successfully fighting off Voldemort—as if they had each done it singlehandedly and the Order of the Phoenix had nothing to do with it—Hermione was more than ready to leave.
Unfortunately, some poor house-elf had been made to confiscate Hermione's cloak as she had entered the castle this evening, and she desperately wanted it back before stepping out into the crisp November air to Apparate back to London. So she wandered around trying to find the cloakroom, hopefully before yet another VIP stopped her for more ridiculous small talk. She tried to ask a few people, but they had no idea, so she wound up going up and down stairs, trying different doors, looking for any sort of cupboard or place that might serve to stash a few hundred cloaks.
Finally, after about twenty minutes and passing the same statue of a beefy gremlin three times, she noticed a small sign next to a door that simply said, CLOAKROOM.
"Finally." She tapped her wand against the doorknob. "Alohamora," she whispered.
The door swung open accordingly. Hermione rushed in to summon her cloak, and stopped dead in her tracks. Indeed, there were racks upon racks of cloaks stuffed in the room, but perched on a large, old trunk against the wall was a half-dressed, heavily perfumed witch Hermione didn't recognize, and standing in front of the woman was none other than Draco Malfoy, naked as the day he was born. (Or spawned, more like, as Hermione preferred to think.)
Hermione stared in shock. She opened her mouth and tried to say something, but too many thoughts were going through her head, combined with the sheer embarrassment and inappropriateness of it all, and she felt Petrified to the spot.
Malfoy, of course, took this as a compliment. At first equally shocked at the intrusion, he quickly composed himself, raised an eyebrow and turned to face her so she was now seeing him in all his glory. "See something you like?" he asked. For a split-second it seemed like he really meant it, before automatically putting on his practiced smirk.
"No! Malfoy, what—" She found herself finally able to move and she slapped her hands over her eyes and turned to face the door which she quickly slammed shut. "What are you doing?!" she cried into her hands.
"Well, gee, Granger, I'm in a hidden closet, naked, with a woman. What do you think we're doing, the Prophet crossword? I thought you were supposed to be smart," he heckled.
Hermione turned back around and peeked out through her fingers. The woman was trying to cover herself with a nearby cloak, but Malfoy was still standing there, casual as could be. "Do you mind putting some clothes on?" Hermione blustered, covering her eyes again.
Malfoy snickered. "I thought you were enjoying the view. Seemed like you couldn't take your eyes off me."
"You're quite mistaken. I was simply blinded by the glare of the light bouncing off your pasty white arse," she shot back.
"Ouch, Granger, you need to be nicer. I imagine it's been a long time since you've been in a room with a naked man. Well, a real man, that is; Weasel doesn't count."
Hermione angrily snapped her hands away from her face and pointed a finger at Malfoy. "Don't talk that way about Ron."
"Pardon," said the woman, "But are you going to be talking to her all night? Because I've got things to do at home, so if we're not going to get it on—"
"Oh, sorry, Elise—Eleanor—whatever your name is—I forgot you were here," was Malfoy's gentlemanly response.
Hermione rolled her eyes, while the strumpet sighed and began to put her clothes back on.
"Well, now that we've established what I'm doing here," said Malfoy, his attention back on Hermione, "What are you doing here?"
Hermione's eyes were on the ceiling, yet Draco sodding naked Malfoy was still in her peripheral vision. "I came to get my cloak, you imbecile. This is the cloakroom, isn't it? In fact it's strange you chose this room for your….activity…when it should be obvious someone could walk in on you at any moment. And you didn't even use a decent charm to lock the door."
Malfoy tsked. "Exactly. It's the cloakroom. No one comes down here except the house-elves, whom I easily order to not tell anyone they've seen anything."
"Well I'm sorry I put a damper on your little plan for a semi-clandestine shag by being perfectly capable of fetching my cloak myself. I don't need to inconvenience an overworked house-elf to get it for me. And honestly, can you please put some clothes on? You are the last person I ever wanted to see naked."
"Last person you wanted to see naked, or expected to see naked?" he asked, as if seeing him undressed was some kind of honor. He didn't wait for a response however, and instead turned to look at the racks of cloaks. "Which one's yours? Nothing designer, I imagine."
Hermione was a bit taken aback, but pointed out, "Erm, the light gold one. It matches my robes."
After a few seconds of searching, Malfoy lazily gave up, snatched Hermione's wand out of her hand, and shouted, "Accio Granger's cloak!" The cloak shot out of a nearby rack and landed on Malfoy, unfortunately hanging on his upright member. Hermione turned red and placed her face in her hands yet again. Malfoy looked down at himself, visibly impressed.
"EW!" A piercing shriek startled them both. The witch-whose-name-Malfoy-didn't-recall looked disgusted. "You're touching a Mudblood's clothes! That's icky! I can't believe I almost had sex with you!"
"Are you still here?" was Malfoy's drawled response. "I thought you left already." He shrugged. The unsavory witch let out a disapproving, haughty sigh and left, slamming the cloakroom door behind her.
Hermione, who really hadn't cared what the little tart had to say, raised her eyebrows. "Sorry, Malfoy, looks like you're not getting any tonight." Except she wasn't sorry at all. It was about time he didn't get everything he wanted.
Malfoy looked unaffected. "There's plenty more where she came from. Everyone wants a piece of this. Everyone," he grinned lasciviously.
Was he coming on to her? Gods, he had nerve. "Not everyone. It's going to take a lot more than you getting naked for you to get in my pants. Ever."
"No, but I can get in your cloak." He put his hands on his hips and waved it teasingly.
Hermione quickly but carefully grabbed her things from him before he got any stupid ideas. She held her cloak with two fingers; there was no way she would wear it now, knowing where it had just been. "You are a dirty, obnoxious, perverted egomaniac, and I hope you really enjoy being naked as much as you seem to," she finally spat.
"What's that supposed to mean, Granger?"
Hermione gave a very Malfoyish smirk, and pointed her wand. "Accio Malfoy's clothes!" They flew out from a corner of the room and into her arms.
"Hey wait a minute—"
"Have a pleasant evening. Stay warm!" she called out, as she opened the door and left.
A wide-eyed Draco Malfoy started to chase after her. "GIVE THOSE BACK TO ME NOW!" But as soon as he got out the door three house-elves were walking past, who looked at him in surprise and squealed.
"Here," said Hermione, giving Malfoy's clothes to the elves, "Master Malfoy wishes you to have the clothes off his back!"
"NO! THOSE ARE MINE! I HATE YOU GRANGER!"
The last thing Hermione saw over her shoulder before climbing back upstairs was Malfoy desperately trying to cover his man bits with his hands while the house-elves danced with joy around him.
On second thought, it had been the best party Hermione had attended in years.