A/N: So begins the songfic-esque stuff. It only goes downhill from here, trust me. I expect to see some drop off after this as far as readers because it just gets worse...I mean, you think I'm joking, but really, only worse. For future reference, the chapters where there will be full/partial songs referenced, I will list them in an opening A/N so, if you're so inclined, you can queue up a little playlist for those parts. I like to play them via YouTube in the background...

Aca-Playlist: S&M by Rihanna as performed by Overboard.

Aca-demic Arrangements

Chapter 10

Hermione had never been much of a "girl."

Of course she had breasts, a vagina, and all the genetic coding to deem her a female of the species, but she'd never considered herself a "girl's girl."

She didn't often wear makeup or fuss with her hair.

She rarely dressed up unless it was for a very special occasion, though if pressed, she would admit to feeling quite snazzy in a fancy dress or a suit and tie.

Hermione, even before she was homeless and in her strangest of strange situations, just didn't DO girl things.

It was a combination of these things, perhaps, that had not prepared her for how utterly exhausting shopping could be.

The last time she had disposable income to spend on frivolous things like mall pretzels and squishy little plush things with fluff and beady eyes had been well over a year ago and even then, she'd been so invested in future career plans that she hadn't bothered.

Before their shopping trip, Hermione had been cycling between two pairs of work slacks, an embarrassing pair of non-skid plain black sneakers and mixed terrain hiking boots, and a handful of mostly darkly colored shirts that showed very little in the way of coffee and flavored syrup stains. It was best to not think about the seven pairs of knickers and sports bras to her name. When the truth about just how little in the way of functional clothing she had remaining came out, Abraxas nearly lost his head.

At the blond man's insistence and after a lot of fighting on the subject, Hermione allowed him to purchase a few things for her on the request that he would shut up about it all. He seemed satisfied with it, though he had then commented on her choosing sensible support for her lovelies versus some pleasant satiny brassiere and nearly ran into an accidental castration.

That had settled it neatly enough.

Now, after the longest Sunday she'd had in a while, Hermione laid sprawled on her stomach on her thin fleecy blanket with some sort of memory foam pillow that Marcus insisted was his old one and not at all the one that he bought while they were out – he even went into his room, rustled around, and generally made a big production of changing pillowcases. The boys had convinced her to at least drag out her bedding into the center of the bedroom instead of sleeping in the closet again. Abraxas had mysteriously mentioned she should get used to it and part of her suspected there would be a surprise mattress delivery in a few days whether she liked it or not.

Sleeping in the large open space, however, just might have been why she was still awake and having to stubbornly trying to will herself into unconsciousness after four hours of settling down for sleep. Her face was smooshed into her pillow, Crookshanks under one arm and the tiny plush otter the boys had gotten her under the other – he was holding a seashell and had scraggly little whiskers sticking up every which way from his fuzzy otter cheeks. Hermione had named him Mister Snuffles.

She blearily fumbled with the alarm clock Marcus had brought in for her and glared at the bright red LED display.

1:50…ugh…

Hermione shut her eyes, buried her face into the pillow again, and tried so very hard to get to sleep. Images of fuzzy otters, frolicking along a river bank and then eventually nodding off, floating on their backs in the water and holding hands as they slept so they didn't drift away put a sleepy smile on her face and she felt the edges of that blissful rest creeping in.

So nice…

So relaxing…

So…

. ~ .

Na na na Come on

' ~ '

The thudding, thumping sound of what sounded like a synthesizer rattled the floor beneath her and Hermione's eyes shot back open.

. ~ .

Na na na Come on

' ~ '

Having been pulled back from that brink, she was quite possibly more disoriented than if she'd been woken from a dead sleep.

. ~ .

Na na na na na Come on

Na na na Come on

Come on Come on

' ~ '

The steady pounding beat only seemed to get louder, more insistent as percussion was added into the mix and the unmistakable lyrics of a song sounded out from somewhere below her.

. ~ .

Na na na na Come on

Na na na Come on

' ~ '

When it became clear that the music was not going to stop, Hermione snarled and struggled to push herself to her feet. She stumbled around her room, shuffling over to the closet to pick up one of the shirts she'd discarded in a pile and tugged it over her head following that by snatching up a pair of panties to put on so she could go bust some heads in somewhat acceptable attire.

"What-the-fucking-HELL," she snarled.

. ~ .

Na na na na na Come on

Na na na Come on

Come on Come on

Na na na na

' ~ '

Hermione opened the door and squinted against the light in the hallway that had yet to be turned off. She was scrubbing at her eyes from the sudden shock of brightness as she felt along the wall and tripped over her own feet towards the stairwell. That insistent throb of sound with all their suggestive and sexy lyrics wafted through the house from a corner of the bottom level.

. ~ .
Feels so good being bad

There's no way I'm turning back

Now the pain is my pleasure

Cause nothing could measure

' ~ '

After nearly tumbling ass over head at least twice on the short trek downstairs, Hermione glared in the direction of the noise. It was coming from one of the rooms that Tom had refused to show her, one that had a suspicious custom made plaque hanging on the wall next to it that simply read 'The Chamber.' She'd asked him only half-jokingly if it was a sex dungeon, to which he replied 'no' but didn't elaborate on what it was, only that she wasn't allowed in there – ESPECIALLY when the red light on the wall was lit up.

"Not a sex dungeon," Hermione growled in confirmation to herself, "but about to be a tomb…"

. ~ .

Love is great, love is fine

Out the box, out of line

The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more

' ~ '

Hermione arrived in the hall leading to The Chamber, glaring so hard she was sure she'd soon set it aflame with her stare. She saw the light by the doorframe all lit up but also a bright light flooding into the hall from where the door appeared to be ajar. Her eyes narrowed to slits and her hands clenched at her sides.

Hermione was not a woman known for her patience.

Hermione was also not known as a woman who was particularly kind in the morning, especially when she was bordering on seeing 'morning' from the wrong side of the day.

. ~ .

Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it

Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it

Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me.

' ~ '

Her seething, fuming, disoriented brain was driving her feet forward with no regard to the light or what she was or wasn't supposed to do with this stupid room.

Her hand clamped over the knob of the partially opened door and thrust it open the rest of the way, mouth open and ready to rail into whoever it was that was making all the ruckus at ungodly hours of the day.

The sight that greeted her stilled her angry words in her throat.

Five men, four were definitely her roommates, one of them she wasn't sure about, though he had longish, wavy black hair and appeared to be…beatboxing into a microphone?

They hadn't noticed her yet, so it gave her another moment to try and fit the pictures together in her sleep deprived head.

The unknown man continued doing funny things with his mouth, the sounds coming out as a rhythmic vibration of noise that reminded her for certain of some sort of instrument…cymbals? Maybe a hi-hat, more specifically? Blaise also was apparently cupping a mic and took up a similar task, thumping out a bassline...with his mouth. Abraxas and Marcus were poised near a mic stand and clapping to the sultry beat. And that only left…

Tom had his eyes shut and was the only one of them really facing the doorway, his microphone several inches from his mouth as those smooth, mellow words poured from his throat.

"Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it…"

Hermione's eyes caught on the sensual line that his hand traced down his bared chest and stomach.

"Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it!"

His lip curled a little in a grin with the deviant lyrics rolling off his tongue and she got a glimpse of those perfectly straight teeth of his he'd only flashed at her in sneers before.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me!"

Hermione watched the path his fingers took as they trailed over the sculpted muscles of his body, playing at the edge of the waistband before running just this side of lewdly over the bit of bulge at his crotch.

. ~ .

Na na na na Come on Come on Come on

I like it Like it Come on Come on Come on

I like it Like it Come on Come on Come on

I like it Like it Come on Come on Come on

I like it Like it

' ~ '

The sound of the vocal percussion picked back up and the harmonious voices of Abraxas and Marcus – the latter had a much higher singing voice than she would've pegged the large man for if asked, by the by – took up rather lovely background notes.

Their sound was so shockingly good that a part of her could do nothing but stand there, propped heavily against the doorjamb with her mouth hanging open.

As a result, her mouth dried as she watched them, all in their own little world...

Singing...

Dancing...

Causing her skin to prickle and break out into chill bumps from the sexy serenade that she never would have imagined could come from this lot.

Marcus' sweet voice picked up their next solo with a sexy smoothness that sent a shiver through her at the sound of it. "Love is great, love is fine, out the box, out of line…"

Was it necessary for half of them to be shirtless and dancing about in a rec room? She was very nearly waiting for a bucket of oil to fall from the heavens above and douse them all so they had to roll around and wrassle about in stunned confusion.

"The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more!"

Hermione was having herself an inspection of her least favorite vocalist, her eyes locked onto the pelvic dimples she could see so clearly just above his dangerously low sitting pyjama bottoms.

"Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it!" Tom had taken the solo once more.

Well…he may have been a prat, but he did have a very, very nice...voice.

It was quite melodic... when he wasn't using it to snark at her, anyway.

"Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it!"

Her eyes finally released their focus on his pelvis and the way it was rolling sinuously with the notes of the song. Hermione's exploratory gaze started on its own path back up, noting that where his arms and back were full of ink and interesting images, his front was quite barren of these things. She got sidetracked on the very sparse, barely there trail of hair that made a neat line from his waistband to his naval and tilted her head at an angle then continued the inspection, tracking them up through the impressive valley of his abdominal muscles.

They looked very soft, those little hairs. They were such a contrast to the rigid personality he seemed to have – especially with being a philosophy major of all things.

Was it necessary to for him to have that many segments of muscles, though?

Like really, was it? There were, what? Eight?

It was excessive.

Those and all those little hills of finer muscles that accentuated the slight bulk around his ribs...

Hermione took to counting them, gaze continuing upwards on its happy jaunt towards his face – making a pit stop to appreciate the bare expanse of chest and how solid each pectoral muscle looked from that distance. Both were topped with a dusky nipple and she-

Her head tilted the other way.

-appreciated the symmetry.

Tom Riddle was very symmetrical.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me—"

Extremely symmetrical.

All the way up to the eyes—

-that were open.

And staring.

At her.

Standing in the doorway.

Staring at him.

Hermione felt her face heat up as the accompanying vocals and funky lip percussion thing the one bloke was doing petered out and sputtered off awkwardly. She resisted shrinking under the hard stare of Tom Riddle, having been oh-so-blatantly caught in the act of giving him a good once over.

It was difficult, but she managed to stand her ground.

There was a stretch of strained silence as Hermione stood there, half propped against the doorframe in her recently fuzzy headed, disoriented state clad only in a threadbare t-shirt and some knickers. She was about to speak in order to…to apologize or something…for she was quite sure she wasn't really supposed to have seen all of this, but he had to open his own asshole mouth before she got the chance. Perhaps it was for the best.

"Which part about not coming in here ever but ESPECIALLY when the light was on, was not clear?"

She blinked and, at the sound of that lovely voice of his all hard and superior once again, she remembered her earlier mission. In an instant, her eyes narrowed to slits.

Hermione ignored his inflammatory question and instead grit out, "It is…two…a…m."

For some reason, that was the last thing he expected to come out of Hermione's mouth and so the reflexive "what?" was baffled and came out before he could process that that particular response was probably not his best course of action.

She latched onto her rage at being jostled from her near sleep, successfully shoving her moment of embarrassment far, FAR back into the recesses of her mind. "TWO, Tom. It is TWO in the bloody morning and while I've gathered the lot of you, and probably this tosser—" She waved a hand at the unnamed man.

He waved. "Regulus."

Oh, he sounded as if he might be English as well. That was nice. She waved back and gave him a tight, cordial smile. "Hermione."

"Pleasure."

"Likewise." And then she continued, voice coarse and angry with a foul look to accompany it once more, "-have made a career of being college students, I have work in THREE HOURS!"

Regulus seemed almost amusingly unfazed by her sudden and bossy appearance. The group, however, exchanged startled and confused looks between each other though it was Tom that asked, "You're…not going to ask why we're down here singing?"

Hermione made a strangled noise through her teeth and her hair practically frizzed with irritation. "Oh honestly, I've been homeless for a damned year, slept under my share of bridges all along the California coast, and currently work in a bleedin' coffee shop for the most unpleasantly timed shifts possible. I have seen much stranger things than this, Tom Riddle. Perhaps, if anything, I should ask why five men are down here in a room labeled 'The Chamber,' singing about S&M instead of participating in it!"

"I'd be game!" Blaise chirped happily.

Offended out of principle due to his perkiness at that hour, Hermione turned a stern, waggling finger onto the dark skinned man. "You know what, Blaise? It is FAR too late-early in the day for you!"

Blaise scoffed and retorted snottily, "Sorry Hermione, I can't hear you over the sound of those headlights you're flashing at us." He punctuated his comment by poking out each of his index fingers over his chest.

Hermione looked down to see her nipples perked and all too noticeable through her tattered and worn shirt; she didn't bother covering up and set a heated glare back his way.

"You don't hear light, you snarky twat, but allow me to turn myself up for you anyway!" She growled and flicked up two pairs of fingers in a most heinous gesture. "Oh wait, sorry, I've got something more your speed right here—" Hermione switched them out for two middle fingers and made a bit of a rocket launching noise as she brought them up to eye level. When she spoke again, she raised her voice mockingly, "There! Can you hear me now?"

Blaise gaped while Regulus outright guffawed, snickers from the others, minus Tom who was still trying to wrap his head around this so very strange girl he'd inherited, floated around amongst them.

"Do me a favour, gents," Hermione said only slightly more calm now, "call it a night?" She swiped both of her hands over her face and then ran them back over her hair, the motion lifting her shirt enough to show off a stripy pair of panties with two of the tiniest buttons in existence sewn to the front for no apparent reason other than to be adorable.

Abraxas clapped his hands together excitedly. "Oh, they fit! Those look great on you, Hermione! I told you they would!"

She managed a wan smile for the blond. "Thanks, love. Now can it, will you?" And with that, she turned on her heel – giving them all a perfect view of her stripy posterior as well – and tromped upstairs with a huff.

Blaise was still blinking at the space that Hermione had been occupying and not a one of them really seemed to know what to do. The silence was thick in the air again until at last he laughed, loud and boisterous, and the tension seemed to dissolve. "I think I like her after all."

His laughs faded into amused chuckles and they murmured amongst themselves about their practice having run much longer than they'd anticipated or realized. Not a one of them really spoke much beyond that as they worked to pack up their gear.

All except Tom had began bustling around and he'd been making sure he had it very clearly understood in his head before he finally turned to Abraxas and smacked him upside the head.

"OW! What?!"

Tom hissed, "You bought our new roommate knickers?"

"And an otter! Mister Snuffles! They're completely innocent—OW!"