Draco stormed down the hall, stomach roiling, and his palms and forehead covered in cold sweat. No, it hadn't happened! It couldn't have! But it had. He shuddered and turned quickly against a wall as he retched, his eyes tearing. That helped his stomach settle a little, but now he had a foul taste in his mouth. That is to say, he had an even more foul taste in his mouth, and his tongue felt like parchment.
He sniffed, cautiously looking both ways to check if anybody had seen him. Of course they hadn't. Nobody else was out at this hour. Wearily, he waved his wand, getting rid of the evidence of his weakness. "Scourgify!"Well, the evidence that could be gotten rid of, anyway. He doubted it would be as easy to get rid of the guilt, the shame, the disgust, and the deliciously sated feeling in his lower belly.
He was doomed if anyone around here found out. They would never let him live it down after all the things he'd said and done over the years. It would be even worse if his father found out, Lucius Malfoy wasn't known for his love of Muggles or anyone connected with them. Heck, he wished that, somehow, he could have kept himself from finding out, because right now he was poised to giving himself a bloody hard time.
Taking up with the Mudblood, Hermione Granger, of Potter's inner circle was not acceptable. In fact, if they found out, it would make them question his loyalty and his dedication, something he couldn't afford with his father already being in disgrace. He wiped his brow.
He hadn't meant for it to happen, he really hadn't. He had meant to scare the damn goose, maybe even make her cry if he was lucky. He had meant to mock her, taunt her, punish her for the part she and her friends had played in putting his father in Azkaban. It wasn't too much to ask, really. Just a little revenge until they all got their just servings.
But, of course, it had backfired.
He hadn't counted on her feeling so soft and inviting beneath him, her curves stretched against the fabric of her robe. He hadn't counted on her fighting so hard after he'd threatened her, and he certainly hadn't counted on becoming turned on from her movements. He'd rather envisioned her pleading with him not to hurt her and that would be the end of it. Silly little Mudblood fool, actually thinking he'd have gone through with it. He wouldn't have done anything to risk being thrown out of Hogwarts. He never had. He just wanted to see the little bitch taken down a notch or two, to show her that he was superior.
His father was right, though; he showed an embarrassing amount of weakness when it mattered.
His mouth set in a grim line as he walked on again. He'd become aroused fast when she squirmed beneath him, and, at first, he hadn't let go of her because he didn't want those arms and legs of hers to connect with him in what would unquestionably have been a very painful way. He was nothing if not good at protecting his own hide. Then he hadn't wanted to let her go, so he hadn't. He wasn't used to doing anything he didn't want to, and he hadn't fully comprehended the reasons to make this a first at the time.
And then… and then he had made the most stupid, irreversible mistake in his life. He'd actually slept with the Mudblood. And it had been her first time, just as he knew it would be. Who else would have touched her? He'd bet that Potter was too self-righteous to take what was right under his nose, and Granger did have more brains than to go for a dimwitted twat like the Weasel. She really should, though. Weasel would be dumb enough to have her, and maybe her great-grandchildren would be considered pure-blood, then. Of course, Weasley in himself would dumb the genes down considerably, but that was a sacrifice she should be willing to make for the greater good. Merlin knew that the Weasleys could use some brains injected into their line, no matter what the source.
He was digressing. He closed his eyes as another shudder of self-loathing, mingled with remembered lust, went through him.
The thing that bothered him the most was that he had forgotten who and what she was. He had been as gentle with her as he had with Pansy back when he had slept with her the first time. Hell, even more so, since this time he knew more about how to go about it. He had even tried to distract her from the pain. He groaned loudly as he realized that he'd probably left a mark; it hadn't been a gentle bite he had administered. Not that she had seemed to appreciate his efforts. He eventually decided that it didn't matter much, though the thought of leaving his mark on that particular girl seemed wrong. Worse than wrong; sick.
Anyway, if he had to go sleep with Granger, why couldn't he just have… taken her, instead of… of catering to her needs like some fool who actually cared?
He knew the answer to that one.
She had seduced him, coming on to him like some little slut, in spite of him making it very clear that he wanted her to go away. She had clouded his mind with lust, leaving him at the mercy of his hormones. He may be popular in his own house, but it still wasn't every day that the girls took off their clothes for him, inviting him to do as he pleased and answering his advances with such abandon. Pansy seemed to like him well enough, and they had done it a few times, but it seemed more like she did it because he wanted to than because she wanted to. She just wanted to be his girlfriend.
The Granger girl, on the other hand, didn't want anything from him. Yet she hadn't bothered to hide her need. She had reacted with such lack of restraint that he'd just had to see how far he could go, touching her, watching her thrash about, begging him to take her…. Soon, it had been too late to turn back. He'd certainly not had the willpower and, oddly, it had seemed that neither had she. He'd thought girls were supposed to be the sensible ones, the ones that said no and such.
She had even clawed at him, leaving rather deep marks on his back which were still stinging painfully, a couple of them sticking to his clothes. He doubted that she had even realized she was doing it, and he had a strong feeling that he shouldn't let Pansy see the marks under any circumstances. He hadn't minded at the time, though, not at all. He had found that there was pleasure in pain, and he had reveled in the sensation.
He felt himself becoming faintly aroused again, and blushed slightly, shooting a look around. He was still alone.
When he had come, it had been one of the most intense experiences in his life. It had drained him and left him almost awestruck. That was, until he realized what he had done and with whom. That realization, however, had taken much longer than it should have.
Bile rose in his throat again and he choked it down. The difference must really only be in the blood, because up until then she had felt just like any witch would feel. She looked the part, too, your everyday witch. She wasn't exceptionally pretty, nor was she ugly. If she had been a pureblood or even a halfblood, and definitely not any friend of Potter's, he wouldn't really have minded so much. If she had been pureblood, he might even have asked her to go out with him afterwards. Ok, no might about it, he wouldn't have passed up the chance for a repeat performance. He even felt a pang of regret, as it was, that it wouldn't happen again – a pang he quickly tamped down.
What he didn't understand was her reaction. Sure, she didn't like him much. She professed she hated him, and maybe she did, although, evidently, not as much as he hated her. She must like something about him to throw herself at him like that. Girls didn't just sleep with someone unless they wanted something or had feelings. Merlin, he hoped she didn't! Yet, where did she come off, looking at him as though he had just sprouted two extra heads and was about to take the proverbial bite out of her? He was the one who had stepped beneath himself, not her. He was a Malfoy. He came from one of the oldest, purest, most well-respected and powerful families known to the wizarding world. From his point of view, she should be quite honored that he had paid her any attention. Even if the attention had been unplanned and, to a large degree, unwilling.
Reaching the Slytherin common room, he was slightly more composed. There was nothing he could do about it; he just had to forget it ever happened. He hoped that she was keeping quiet about it, or he would definitely make her regret it.
The next day he found himself rapidly becoming annoyed. Just where did Granger get off? He had been observing her for most of the day to see if she told anyone, and he'd been trying to catch her eye once or twice to remind her what would happen if she slipped, but the little bitch wouldn't even look at him. She carried on with her goody-goody little friends as if he didn't exist, as if she hadn't been wild for him mere hours before. That this was exactly what he had wanted, he chose to ignore. His ego was bruised and he had to take it out on someone. Sneering at Goyle just wasn't satisfactory.
Between classes, he spotted the trio in the hallway and decided that it was time to have a little fun. With his two trusted, or rather too-dumb-to-be-true-yet-very-useful-at-t imes, bodyguards trailing after him, he strode up to Potter & Co.
"Hello there, Potter, Weasel… Granger," he said almost jovially, noticing with a flash of irritation that she still wouldn't look at him. "Good show in there, Weasel. It's good to know you carry on your proud family tradition of incessant inanity, ultimately resulting in your perpetual lack of pecuniary means. It can't always be easy living up to the Weasley name." He paused expectantly, mock-waiting for a reaction, but when Weasley just looked at him quizzically, as he'd known he would, he condescended to enlighten him. "I said you were a buffoon in class as well as in life. Really, Weasley, it takes talent to be as talentless as you."
He smirked and stood back as the Weasley boy predictably flew at him, only becoming a little disappointed that Granger seemed to be able to restrain him, before Crabbe and Goyle could have a go at it. He narrowed his eyes as he saw her pressing her body fully against Weasley's, whispering furiously in his ear. Potter was also trying to calm Weasley down, but he settled for a hand on his shoulder and shooting daggers at Draco with his eyes.
"All right there, Granger?" Draco sneered. "He man enough for you, or could you use a little… extracurricular gratification?" He let his eyes roam her body indolently, even though he couldn't see a thing through her loose robes. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered, having actually managed to follow his meaning.
Hermione blushed, her eyes darkening with anger, and finally she looked at him. "Let me know if you find a man who might qualify," she said with a scowl. He was impressed. His goons were jeering. She then proceeded to with great difficulty drag both her friends away from him, as they were both incensed at the jab he had taken at their dear un-virginal friend. If only they knew… He wished he could use it to taunt them, but that was, unfortunately, out of the question.
As she threw her frizzy hair back, he noticed a very prominent mark on her neck. He smirked. Crabbe took this as a cue to laugh boisterously, Goyle following suit. Granger turned her head briefly to throw him a contemptuous look.
Life and classes went on as usual, every day more or less the same as they had been before. Draco was bored, really bored. Pansy was still worshipping him, and he let her. After all, who wouldn't like that? Yet, some days she got on his nerves with her gushing over him, and he avoided her – just a little. If he had wanted someone smothering him every step of the way, he'd have brought his mother to live with him.
He didn't sleep with Pansy over the next few days because the scratches on his back hadn't completely faded yet. At least, that was what he tried to tell himself. What came closer to the truth was that he felt dirty and no amount of showering seemed to be able to remove the awareness of whom, or rather what, he had been with and how much he'd enjoyed it at the time. Closer to the truth, yes, but not quite hitting the mark. The thing he hated to admit to himself was that when he closed his eyes he fantasized about what had happened. When Pansy approached him, offering him every liberty he wanted, he couldn't help but notice the difference between her 'giving it up' and Granger's demanding to get it. The thought would immediately arouse him every time it occurred to him, which was more often than he'd like, and he was left with an erection combined with a bad taste in his mouth.
It even seemed to destroy his desire to push people around most days. Very disruptive to his way of life. He couldn't wait until the scratches disappeared entirely and he really could start pretending none of it ever happened. Without the physical evidence, he was sure it would all fade. He'd be able to be with Pansy and he'd find out that the Granger girl really wasn't all that.
He was walking down a hallway on his way to the library one day after school, deep in his own thoughts, minding his own business, and bumping into a third year, because she just happened to be in the way of the path he'd chosen, when someone yelled, "Hey! Malfoy!"
Draco stopped in his tracks upon seeing who had addressed him and placed a smirk on his face. "Hello, Potter. Lonely without your little friends, are you? Did they finally get sick of that fat scarred head of yours and ditch you?"
"I was just thinking," said Potter, coming towards him, "about what Voldemort has had your Mummy do lately."
Draco winced at the name and smiled insincerely. "Sounds to me like you're suggesting Mother is under the Imperius curse. I can promise you, she is not."
Potter shook his head. "No, she isn't. She chooses to be Voldemort's tool, doesn't she? Doing his dirty work, cleaning up after your father, offering him her only son. Tell me, Malfoy…" He walked even closer. "How does it feel to know that your mother loves her own hide more than you?"
"You know nothing about what you speak of!" Draco snarled. "At least Mother cared enough to stay alive instead of fighting a losing battle. Tell me, Potter, how does it feel to know that your Mummy would rather die than look at your ugly little face one more time?"
The look on Potter's face was priceless.
Draco pressed on. "Not that she would have lived long, anyway, a filthy thing like her. I suppose that's why you like to surround yourself with Mudbloods and blood traitors, to remind you of Mummy and Daddy. Does it work? Are they dirty enough for you?"
"Let's have it out, Malfoy," Potter bit out. "Right here, right now!" He pulled out his wand.
Draco jumped back, quickly drawing his own wand. "I hope I get to watch when he kills the lot of you!" he announced.
"Is that so?" came a soft voice from behind him to the left. Draco jerked to see Granger standing there, cold eyes and wand pointed at him, just as Potter yelled "Expelliarmus!" disarming him. Crap. He decided to brazen it out for once. Granger had seen enough weakness from him to last a lifetime.
"Hiding behind the Muggle now, are we?" he asked Potter. "You always did seem the type to hide behind others, waiting for a chance to act the hero. And good choice! The world won't be missing her, when somebody finally manages to off her." He ignored the furious look on Potter's face and looked at the bruise on Granger's neck, fading, but still visible. "What's this, then?" he asked, taking a step closer to her as if to examine the mark, causing her to raise her wand and her chin at him. "Did someone already try? I'd applaud him, but seeing as he failed, it's hardly worth the effort, is it?"
Draco ignored whatever Potter was angrily spewing behind him, focusing on Granger. She was about to make a comeback, her eyes narrowed angrily, when an unmistakable cold voice from behind Draco and Potter said, "What is going on here?"
Draco couldn't help but let his smirk widen and turned to see Professor Snape looking at Potter as disapproving as ever. Behind him, he more felt than saw Granger hurriedly hiding her wand. "He attacked me, sir," he said in his best offended voice. "I was merely minding my own business and then he attacked me with his wand."
The Professor narrowed his eyes on Potter. "20 points from Gryffindor and a week's detention, starting now." When Potter looked as if he might object, Snape merely raised an eyebrow and he fell silent. Draco was downright grinning now.
"And Miss Granger?" the Professor asked, referring to Granger, who seemed to be trying to hide behind Draco. "Did she in any way aid Mr. Potter?"
Draco considered that for a second, and then shrugged. "No, professor. Well, unless yelling at him to stop getting in trouble is considered aiding?" He was well aware of the surprised look on Potter's face and he simply leered back.
Snape nodded, accepting this. "Move it along, Potter," he said, pushing him ahead of him. On his way past Draco, Potter shot him a very dirty look but proceeded to walk obediently.
"Now, 'atta boy," Draco mumbled just loudly enough for Potter to hear. He ignored him, as did Professor Snape, but Draco didn't miss the slight stiffening of the other boy's back, proving that he'd heard it.
Draco hadn't felt that good in days. He reveled in the feeling for a few seconds and then sighed and turned to the matter at hand. Granger. "I believe the words you are looking for are 'thank you'," he provided helpfully when she was just staring at him darkly.
That seemed to snap her out of it. She gave a disgusted grunt and then turned on her heel to go, his arm shooting out to stop her.
"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded. "This wasn't a free pass."
She gave him her best exasperated look. "So what, pray tell, am I supposed to do to deserve this honor?"
"Saying 'thank you' would be nice for a start."
"No." Her face was stony and determined.
"No?" he asked, not really that surprised.
"No. I'd rather be in detention every day for the rest of the semester than say 'thank you' to you once!"
"Ouch," he said casually. "Be careful, Granger, you might hurt my feelings."
She snorted at that.
"You know," he continued just as casually, "those vulgar sounds you keep making really do nothing to make you more agreeable."
"What is it you really want?" she finally exploded to his immense satisfaction.
"Well, first of all, I don't want to have this discussion in the hallway," he said, looking around him. "There must be some place more private."
She suddenly looked at him with great apprehension, slowly trying to move away from him.
"Oh, come off it, Granger," he said irritably. "I don't need you for that." He ignored the fact that his own pulse had picked up at the hint and all too familiar images flashed through his head.
"Then what?" she shot back, slightly blushing.
"In here," he said, dragging her into the nearest room, letting her go, as she yanked her arm away from him. It was another schoolroom. Funny how the place was filled with them. He briefly considered locking the door, but decided against it, as anyone who would try to open it would undoubtedly think they were doing something they shouldn't. Which they weren't. "Now," he said. "Why did you do it?"
She looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Do what?"
"Why did you throw your virginal Mudblood self at me?" he asked patiently, not really realizing until now how much that question had bothered him.
"Oh. That." She looked everywhere but him. "I don't know."
Aha! She acknowledged that it was her fault. "Was it because you have a crush on me? Believe me, I'd understand," he sarcastically said.
That got her attention back onto him. "No," she clearly stated. "If that was the case I should have killed myself rather than…" She looked away again, turning pink.
"Well, I think it's safe to say that we're all sorry that that isn't the case, then," he coldly replied.
Again, he'd managed to rile her enough to make her look at him. "How about you?" she smugly asked.
"Me?" He frowned, not getting her point.
"Yes, you were there too, as far as I remember."
Now there was a thought, erasing memories. He'd have to look into that. "I can't be expected to answer for what I do when a girl strips down in front of me!"
"Oh, so you can't be held accountable, but I can?"
Relieved that she'd finally gotten the point, he said, "Exactly!"
"You're such a spoiled prat," she angrily shot back at him. "You are just as responsible for what happened as I am!"
"Me?" he said a little too loudly. "What did I do?"
"For one thing, you pulled me into a dark, secluded room—"
"That doesn't necessarily lead to—"
"And then," she cut across, "you proceeded to lie down on top of me!"
He had done that. He blushed. But she was getting it all wrong, damn it, it hadn't been like that! "I was just trying to give you a bloody scare; you should have just pushed me away."
"I. TRIED." She was practically livid now. "I even asked you to let me go, remember?"
Unfortunately, he did. "Fine," he impatiently said. "I did that. But then I got off you, and I told you to leave, how do you explain that?" He knew he had her now.
"Why didn't you leave?" her voice was deceptively calm.
He even had an answer for that. "I was in no condition to. Somebody might see me."
She made another disgusted noise. "Please, your robes were easily fixed."
Draco leaned closer and in a theatrical whisper said, "It wasn't my robes I didn't want them to see."
"Then wh—" Realization dawned on her face and her mouth set in a silent 'O'. Then she shook her head. "Nobody would have seen you, anyway," she scoffed. "It was way too late for that, and you know it!"
"Do you really think I would risk anyone knowing that a Muggle girl had done that to me, no matter how slim the possibility?"
Granger gaped. "You are just unbelievable!"
"Well, believe it!" he said.
"So you think that just because you had an erection," she said, Draco wincing at the graphical reminder of his state, "that exonerates you of all guilt?"
"Pretty much," he confirmed.
"Well," she said through clenched teeth. "It doesn't. There were numerous other ways you could have handled the situation, you could have—"
"Wanked in front of you?" he suggested. "Yes, I've always imagined my dignity dying a slow and painful death like that."
"Waited it out," she said as if he hadn't made his crude interruption.
"Here's the thing, Granger," he said in his most patient voice. "When a girl is naked in front of you, touching you… waiting it out isn't really an option anymore."
The blush crawling up her cheeks told him that she now, finally, got his point. "Still…" she weakly said.
"Whatever, Granger. You didn't answer my question. Why did you do it? You obviously hadn't an erection, and your robes were whole." She winched at the repeated reminder that she had ripped his clothes apart, while he had done no such thing. Good. Trying to put it on him, indeed.
"I honestly don't know," she bit out. "I was so angry and then…" She shook her head. "I guess it were hormones making us forget just what," she said the last word with a world of scorn and loathing, "we were doing."
Hormones. Yes. Why not? It was the best explanation so far, although it wasn't entirely satisfactory. But why did she have to sound so loath about it all? "Don't try that one on me," he warned. "I know you enjoyed yourself plenty."
With a new blush on her face, she raised her chin, looking defiantly at him. "So did you."
"I'm a bloke."
"So?"
"Blokes will have sex with anything and still enjoy it. Even, occasionally, Mudbloods." He hadn't actually thought of that before. Good argument. Kudos to her for making him think of it.
Granger rolled her eyes. "Oh, that is such piffle! Who says a girl can't enjoy herself just as much with whoever she wants?" And on an afterthought, "Or doesn't want?"
"They can," he conceded. "If they're sluts. Are you a slut, Granger?" he asked in a deceptively gentle voice.
"Apparently no more than any man," she snapped. "Are we done here? I have more important things to do, like watching Crookshanks chase his own shadow."
"That would be the most important thing you had to do, wouldn't it?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "I daresay you should thank me for helping you get rid of your virginity. It wasn't bound to happen this decade or the next, was it?" He watched as that one hit home, her eyes becoming suspiciously shiny.
"You aren't going to start blubbering now, are you?" he asked disgustedly. "I'm really not in the mood for all the–" He was interrupted at her launching at him
"You idiot!" she shrieked, her fists hammering at his chest and stomach and anywhere she could reach. "You flaming moron! Filthy pig! Bastard!"
Despite of her fists actually hurting him, Draco couldn't help but laugh, warding off the worst of her blows. He did so quite merrily until she took a shot at his groin, which sobered him instantly. "There now," he said, catching a hold of her flailing arms. "No dirty tricks."
"Why not?" she contemptuously asked, her eyes still shiny, but her emotions better in check now. "It seems to be what you excel at." Her face was flushed in a way that uncomfortably reminded him of when she had been beneath him.
"Well, yes," he conceded. "But you're supposed to fight for the power of 'good' and… Muggles and… Hufflepuff." He wrinkled his nose in distaste.
"Making sure that you are never able to procreate would be for the greater good!" she matter-of-factly stated.
He stood stock-still for a moment and then roared, "CRAP!"
Granger winced. "That remark couldn't have come as that much of a surprise for you," she mumbled sarcastically, trying to get free as his hands were now clenching her upper arms painfully.
"Granger," he said, uncomfortably intense. "Did you use a protection spell?"
"When?" she said, trying to wrench free, but being largely ignored.
"When do you think?" he yelled, shaking her a little. "Did you use a protection spell?"
Puzzled, she scowled at him for handling her like a ragdoll and yelling at her to boot. "No, of course not. You didn't give me a chance. Besides, if I had, don't you think that, oh, I don't know, it would have worked, maybe?"
"What?" he shook his head, uncomprehending. "I mean a protection spell."
Slowly, it dawned on her. "Oh. You mean like a contraceptive? No. Could you perhaps let go of me now?"
He let go as if burned. "What do you mean 'no'? Everyone knows that's the girl's responsibility!"
Hermione flushed from anger. "You really have to let go of some of your stereotypes soon," she said, her voice barely civil. "There are several reasons I couldn't, apart from the very obvious fact that you had me silenced. Number one; I don't know it."
"What do you mean you don't know it?" he asked, conveniently ignoring the part about him silencing her.
"They don't teach it until you're 17."
"I know that. But that didn't stop Pansy—" he faltered a little from the menacing glint in her eyes, but then gleefully resumed. "It hasn't stopped Pansy Parkinson from knowing it. She's performed it every time I've slept with her." It was, of course, completely uncalled for to stress that last bit, but he felt it added a nice touch.
"Do NOT compare me to that Slytherin whore!" she very uncharacteristically hissed.
"Tut-tut, such language," he said. "But I will, you see, because she's my Slytherin whore, you're my Gryffindor whore, and all I have left is to find a Ravenclaw whore. There can be no mention of Hufflepuff, of course." He noticed with satisfaction that she was almost shaking with anger. So, she really didn't like Pansy. Good to know! "So, explain to me again why you didn't know it."
"I did not need to know it."
"Well, obviously you did."
"Why didn't you do it?"
"I don't know it."
"You just said Pansy has been performing it when sleeping with you!"
"Do you honestly believe my mind is on the spell then? Perhaps that's why they trust the girls to do it."
"Big fat oaf," she said. "But it doesn't matter. We didn't need it."
Relief didn't begin to describe what he was feeling. "Oh, good! So you're using some…" He did a vague wave of his hand. "Muggle-thing?"
"No."
"NO? You'd better have some really good explanation as to why you didn't feel it was needed, because I personally won't welcome the bastard by-product of some mad encounter I had with some Mudblood!" he growled furiously.
Not to mention that he was likely to get quite literally and irrevocably killed if it happened. The thought hit him like a rock, and he felt the sickening sensations of horror and panic spreading from his stomach.
"If you would just shut up, I could tell you!" she harshly said. "According to Teen Trials and Tribulations at Hogwarts—"
"What?"
"Shut up! – there were some problems with… that aspect some years ago. A few students and even one teacher had to leave quite suddenly. So, in the end, they decided to cast a spell on the school, preventing anything from being conceived."
That was her big reason not to worry? He was dead. Groaning, he leaned against the wall. "Granger, did it ever occur to you that if it was true somebody would know?"
She frowned at that. "Somebody does know. I bet Dumbledore does." At his pointed look, she rolled her eyes. "So, you're saying that because Pansy doesn't know, it's not true? In that case, the world isn't round and books aren't for reading."
"Don't you think somebody would know?" he asked more heatedly, ignoring her jab at Pansy, which was quite frankly very accurate. "That there'd be a rumor? Whispering in the corners?"
"No," she calmly said. "It's a secret. Or it was, until I found that book. When Madam Pince saw me with it, she confiscated it, and I haven't been able to find it since. They don't want us to know, it's a morality issue."
"Well, we'll know, won't we," he groaned miserably, closing his eyes to block her out, and leaning his head on the wall. He was shaking. He felt the by now all too familiar bile rise in his throat once again, and he had to swallow hard, repeatedly. He wondered how many pieces they'd find him in if his fears came true. He supposed that depended on who got to him first; them or his father… but then, after some thought, he concluded that it would be pretty much the same either way.
"I wouldn't worry about it," she airily said. "There's always options."
"Like what," he said with his eyes still closed.
"We don't need to discuss that, because even if there wasn't a charm – which there is – and there was a risk – which there wasn't – then the risk would be exceedingly small from just once and in that particular part of my cycle!"
Her words calmed him a little. He didn't know what she was talking about with the 'cycle', but she was right. No reason to fret. Yet. And if he was unlucky… well, he could always hope she fell down some stairs. Perhaps even help her to it. That thought cheered him immensely.
Without warning, the door opened to let in a small gaggle of Ravenclaw girls. He smirked, thinking about what he'd just been saying earlier about getting himself one. These seemed a little young, though.
"Oh, sorry," one of them said, blushing. "We thought it'd be empty."
"It is," Granger assured them as she went around and out the door.
Wait. What? Since when did she get to decide when he would be done talking to her? He followed her out. "I wasn't done," he informed her as he caught up with her.
"Oh, what could you possibly still have to say?"
"Don't tell anyone."
She rolled her eyes at him.
"I mean it," he said, grabbing her arm. "Don't you go get all confessional neither with your friends now nor with some bloke who's the next to take a poke at you and discovers that the cherry is popped." He watched her for another satisfying reaction at the mention of her lost innocence, but she disappointed him by merely looking resigned.
"Oh, what is it to you?" she said, exasperated. "I mean, telling Harry would—" She stopped up, eyes wide, clasping her mouth.
"Did you really think I don't know I could use this?" he asked, a little amused.
"Then why don't you?" she asked, looking a little frightened that he just might.
"I would love to, I would really love to. To see his face when he heard I'd shagged his littl— Ow!" She had punched him quite forcefully on the exact same spot she had pummeled him earlier. "Watch it!"
"Don't use that word," she said, ice dripping from her voice. "And answer the question!"
"What? Shag? Ow!" She had punched him again. He seriously considered restraining her again. "Stop that already!" he bellowed, frowning and rubbing his chest.
"Answer!" she demanded.
He considered. Fine, it wasn't an unreasonable request. "I have a lot more to lose than to gain." That was the simple version.
"What?" she asked. "Pansy Parkinson's affections?"
He grinned, delighted that the thought of Pansy annoyed her. "Among other things…"
"Ah, don't worry," she said. "You are one thing I definitely wish upon her!"
He raised an eyebrow. "You wish the best shag you've ever had upon her?"
She lashed out at him again, but this time he was prepared and caught her, using her own momentum to get her against the wall. He was prepared to tell her just what he thought of violent Mudblood girls, when suddenly he noticed the feel of her subtle curves pressing against him. His pulse speeding up, he looked at her soft, inviting lips and was leaning in to claim them, when she whispered something inaudible. "What?" he croaked, not quite willing to be distracted.
"I said," she said more clearly, "do you really want to be kissing a Mudblood right here in the middle of the hallway?"
Reality dawning on him, he jumped back, once again filled with self-loathing and thoroughly disgusted that it took so little for him to get sidetracked. Without a word, he turned and stormed back to his common room as if chased by the Dark Lord himself.