Exceedingly long chapter today, chaps. Do enjoy it. Right-o.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is for lovers, much like Virginia or Ohio. But just because it's for lovers doesn't mean that lovers can have it...):
Draco's inner turmoil filled him with remorse and dread and he sat on the edge of the bed with his head resting in his hands, peeking over his shoulder at Hermione. She was leaned over on one side, clutching the warm, empty bubble of body heat that he had left just moments before. She breathed noiselessly, her chest rising and falling like the angel that she was. The beautiful, perfect little angel. The sweet, innocent, beautiful, and perfect little angel. That he was corrupting. She sighed quietly, obviously dreaming, and he noted sardonically that her subconscious was probably entertaining her with thoughts of princesses kissing frogs in pleasant little meadows. He was probably the frog. God knows he deserved it. Merlin, it had been right here. Hermione was literally lying in his infidelity. He looked back at her beautifully content, smiling face and could have thrown up at the thought that her place had been taken the night before by that--that monster of a girl. He exhaled in panic and regret and lowered his head back into his hands, pulling and twisting in shame. His hands entangled themselves in his soft, luxurious blonde hair.
"At least I still have you," he told his hair bitterly. He peeked back at Hermione once more. "But you're still not as angelic as she is," he whispered. "Look at me!" he laughed suddenly. "I'm actually going insane. I'm talking to my own hair. I belong on the streets somewhere. Or in a skeevy pub. Or on the covered stoop of a well-known local bistro. Not here." He glanced back again. "Not with her." Presently there was a knock on the door, and Draco's eyes darted from it to Hermione and back again. The knocker was persistent, however, and the knocking insistent, and he scrambled to the door to relieve the noise. He thought better of it and muttered a quick spell, causing bolts to shoot out from the tip of his wand and attach themselves to the door frame. He eased it open, allowing the bolt to catch it, and was greeted by the beautiful green eyes of that monstrous Amber girl. She threw her shoulder into the wood angrily.
"Open the door, Draco!" she screamed. He panicked as Hermione stirred slightly on the bed, and his whole being filled with fear and dread at the prospect of her suddenly awakening. He scratched at the floor for his wand and found it as she was turning over, whispering "Muffliato!" at exactly the right moment. He scurried over and closed the curtains around her, inwardly thanking Merlin that Snape had taught him that spell the previous year.
"Draaaakkkkiiiieeee!" He froze where he stood. There was no mistaking it, that was definitely Pansy's voice.
"What?" he hissed. Then, realizing that Hermione had just been charmed, he repeated himself more loudly. "What?!"
"Open this door right now, Malfoy, you have got some fucking explaining to do!" Amber screeched, banging on the door with her fists. Draco pressed his forehead to the cold stone walls and laughed to himself. He walked carefully to the door and opened one more bolt, allowing the hinges another inch of leeway so that he could see both girls at the same time. Amber was stark naked. She stood with a pillow under one arm and a blanket under the other, glaring fiercely at him with those emerald eyes and that too-big nose. Pansy, on the other hand, was dressed in a surprisingly flattering red corset and garter belts.
"Who the fuck is this?!" Amber barked.
"Drakie, what is the meaning of this?" Pansy demanded, stomping her foot in protest.
"Pansy. Meet Amber. Amber. Pansy," Draco responded tonelessly. Both girls looked at each other simultaneously and then back at him, Amber furious, Pansy on the verge of tears. "Now, both of you: Go away. I'm busy." He attempted to close the door but Amber stopped it with her bare foot, which he figured must have hurt and he winced in sympathy.
"No, you are going to let us in. I'm fucking naked, Draco."
"I noticed, Amber," he answered.
"We're going to be married," Pansy cut in, placing her hands on her hips and staring fiercely into Amber's eyes.
"No one in their right mind would ever marry you," Amber retorted, waving her hand as if waving off a child.
"Drakie is going to!"
"Are you, 'Drakie?'" Amber asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I most certainly am not," he answered expressionlessly.
"Are too! Your daddy told me so!"
"My daddy also told me he loved me. Do you believe that, too?" Draco answered, equally as expressionlessly. Pansy pursed her lips and crossed her arms, displaying ample and rather delicious cleavage that almost made Draco kind of attracted to her. Or, her boobs, that is.
"Let us in, Draco," Amber commanded, pointing her finger at her foot for emphasis.
"I'll slice your foot off in the door, Amber, get the fuck out," he continued in a monotone fashion.
"No, Drakie! Let me in! We haven't copulated in a month!"
"A month?!" Amber cried. "Hah! We 'copulated' last night!"
Pansy gasped, hand on her enormous breasts, and pushed Amber lightly. "You take that back! You did not!"
"We most certainly did! Tell her, Draco!" Amber implored, pushing Pansy in return.
"I really don't like you, missy!" Pansy squawked, pushing again. Amber fell back slightly and Draco took this opportunity to slide the bolt in the door closed a little more, sticking the tip of his wand between the door and the frame. He whispered up a fluffy goose pillow and it fell onto Pansy's head. She seized it and smacked Amber in the face with it, and she retaliated by hitting Pansy about the chest and neck. Draco watched as one sexy naked redhead pummeled a voluptuous lingerie-clad brunette with a pillow, snickering to himself in mild amusement.
"Hey, girl fight!" he screamed, sticking his head out the door. Immediately, every door in the corridor opened up and boys of all shapes and sizes poked their heads into the hallway, watching the spectacle with wide and amazed eyes. Loud chattering soon accompanied Pansy and Amber's high-pitched screams, and the more daring boys stood in their doorways in pajamas or boxers, placing bets and cheering for their favorites. Draco smirked as he closed the door, muttering another spell to lock out the noise from the hallway. Hermione lay on her opposite side, still breathing deeply, her eyes fluttering as he opened the curtains and moved her bushy brown hair to one side.
He really had to change his sheets.
"Draco!" He was startled awake by hands on his bare chest, and the first thing he realized was that he hadn't remembered removing his shirt. She rubbed her baby-smooth hands over his chest, down his stomach, and attached them to his hips, pulling his pants down over his legs and tossing them onto the floor.
"Whoa, Hermione," he yawned sleepily, grinning to himself. "Good morning to you, too. Eager to see me?"
"Draco, it's seven-thirty!" she answered hopelessly.
"What?!" he yelped, sitting straight up in his bed. He was wearing loose green boxers with a little embroidered silver serpent on the side. Nice. "Oh, hey, these are my favorites. Do you like them?" he asked, flexing his muscles like a bodybuilder. She blushed, covering her eyes with one hand.
"Draco, we are going to be so late it's not even funny!"
"No, we're not!" he answered, shaking his head furiously. "It's going to be fine! This is easy. We have to be down at the Great Hall at eight, so we each get a ten-minute shower and then ten minutes to get ready!"
"I'm showering here?" Hermione squeaked, blushing again. She was so red that her face somewhat resembled a stop sign, minus the sharp corners and the giant white "STOP."
"Well, it'll take hours for you to leave and shower in your dormitory!" He threw open his drawers and extracted a uniform.
"I don't have any clean clothes!" she observed, grabbing a fluffy green towel out of his armoire.
"You can wear some of mine!" he answered, holding up a white shirt. "Of course, not the tie. That would be strange. But of course, I'll let you wear the tie some other time," he winked, "just for me, you know." She smacked his arm and threw her towel into the bathroom, picking up her yellow pumps and replacing them on his dresser. He smirked at the sight of them.
"Is it alright if I go first?" she asked.
"We can always just go together. It'll save time," he answered. She rolled her eyes and slammed the door in his face. He frowned. "I suppose that means no?"
Draco had just finished gathering all his showering things when the water went off and Hermione's wet head poked out from around the door.
"Draco, I need help," she said, a sweet little tinge of pink edging its way into her features.
"Help with what?"
"...I haven't got any underpants," she answered in a whisper. He felt his own face coloring as well, and he stammered for a moment before running over to his dresser and opening the bottommost drawer, extracting all kinds of different designer underwear. His face went hot as he muddled through, trying to find a suitable pair of boxers for a girl to wear. He was suddenly embarrassed by the fact that he didn't own any tighty-whiteys. He finally picked one: black silk boxers, a little tight (which is how some girls liked it on him), with lime green detailing on the band.
"Will these be alright?" he asked, holding them out to her. "They're--they're clean, at least," he explained bashfully.
"Yes, that's fine, thank you," she coughed, snatching them up and then closing the door again. He sighed in relief, then tensed up again as he realized that Hermione was about to put on his boxers.
When she came out a minute later, she had the fluffy green towel wrapped around her shoulders. Draco tossed a crisp white school shirt at her and she slipped it on over her head, careful not to let him see any of her body as she did so, which was moderately disappointing. When she let the towel drop she looked like a Playboy model: wet, dripping onto his carpet, face fresh and clean, wearing a too-large men's shirt and tight silk boxers that reached only a couple inches past her round little ass and exposed the two shapely and lightly tanned expanses of skin that he was so obsessed with. She bent down and slipped her yellow shoes on and he almost lost control of himself. "The bathroom's clear," she said with a little smile. "You can have your turn now." It took him a moment to understand what she was saying and she stood blinking at him, combing her hair with her fingers. "Draco, it's already seven-forty," she announced. He nodded and hopped into the bathroom, grateful that he had wrapped his towel around his waist.
Just as he turned the water off, Hermione knocked on the bathroom door. Steam spilled out as he opened it, and she blinked to get the heat out of her face. She flushed when she saw him, in silver underpants and nothing else, hair a wet and tousled mess and towel draped over his shoulders. He smirked. "What?"
"What? Oh!" she stuttered, hand touching the back of her ear delicately in embarrassment. "I--Do you have any grey socks?" she asked.
"None that'll fit you," he answered, laughing lightly. "Why don't you wear the ones from yesterday?" She winced, scrunching up her face. "Ah, right. I forgot you're Hermione and probably obsessed with cleanliness."
"Just a bit," she answered, tilting her head to one side with a matching little smirk.
"Alright, yeah," he said, opening his bottom drawer again. "Don't be peeking at my undies," he scolded, looking over his shoulder and catching her staring into the drawer. She blushed again. "Here, wear these," he said, tossing her a pair of Slytherin argyle socks.
"Draco!" she whined.
"It's these or those dirty ones!"
She put them on with no further protest. Being men's socks, they were only supposed to go up to mid-calf, but she managed to make them stretch just beyond her knees. She then tapped them with the tip of her wand and turned them mahogany instead of green.
"Well that's no fun," he pouted. "Now it's like they're not even my socks." She looked up at him and touched her ankle with the wand, producing a tiny embroidered green and silver serpent. He smiled. "That's much better," he said giddily.
"How do I look?" she asked. She twirled around in front of him. Truth be told, her socks were a little loose, her shirt was way too big, and her hair was a mess. Her skirt was a bit shorter than usual, considering the fact that it was all rumpled up from sleeping in it, but her cloak was still immaculate.
"Honestly? Like you've just had sex," Draco responded, amused. She frowned.
"I wish I knew spells to shrink clothes and things, or to iron them up," she sighed.
"There's not spells for everything, you know, Hermione," Draco answered, running his hands through his hair and using his mirror to judge his overall appearance.
"Speculus," Hermione said firmly, then she whimpered at the sight of her drying hair. It was bigger than it normally was, but curlier and bouncier, too. "I do hate my hair," she lamented as she tapped her face with her wand, makeup sparking out of it and attaching itself to her.
"I love it like this! Do you do things to it?" he asked her.
"I try and straighten it. It never works. So it just hangs there like a floppy mess," she answered angrily.
"Well, you should leave it all curly like that. It's beautiful, really," he affirmed, nodding to illustrate his point.
"Thanks," she answered with a little smile. "Are you finished yet?"
"For the most part, yeah," Draco answered, still fiddling with his hair in the mirror. He buttoned his shirt and slipped his pants on over them, sliding his snakeskin belt through the loops and buckling it.
"Well, you look considerably more put together than I do," Hermione huffed bitterly.
"Well you still look like you've just had sex, and that's pretty fucking hot," Draco answered. Her sock slipped down to her ankle and she bent to pick it back up. He saw his boxers underneath her little school skirt and growled again.
"What now?" she asked, twisting the sock to keep it in place.
"I can't believe you're wearing my underwear," he answered simply. She smiled, her cheeks going red.
"Neither can I."
The two walked into the Great Hall seperately, a minute and a half apart, so as to deflect any attention from themselves. No one noticed either of them coming in, however, and there were still flocks of first and second years running madly through the doors towards their tables. Hermione sighed as she sat down and Draco watched as her friends began immediately interrogating her, probably as to her whereabouts the previous evening. He snickered to himself. The two of them caught the very end of breakfast, however, and students began packing their books up at the tables and exiting in groups. Pansy attacked him from the right.
"Drakie! Why didn't you let me in last night?" she whined.
"You know what you remind me of, Pansy?" he asked. She blinked her eyes at him. "A legless, stupid, pug. I mean, your face is pretty squashed and you're kind of fat, and you've got the brown hair and everything, and you keep following me around everywhere." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "In the best way, I mean."
"Do you still love me, Drakie pie? You don't love her more than me, right?" she asked.
"Pansy, I love you about as much as I'd love to have my arms and legs chewed off by a hundred salamanders. And I love Amber about as much as I'd love to be paralyzed from the eyes down and forced to watch infomercials for the rest of my life as midgets jumped on my stomach. So, no, in a way I suppose you could say I don't love her more than you."
"You love me most?" she asked brightly.
"I don't love either of you, Pansy," he sighed, rubbing his temples.
"You love me most!" she giggled, clapping her hands together in triumph. "Oh, I knew it!" she pressed her heavily-glossed lips to his cheek and he recoiled in disgust, using the expensive Slytherin place napkin to remove the offending stain from his pale face.
"Go away," he pleaded. "Forever." She sat up brightly and kissed the tip of his nose, causing him to automatically swat her away. "Don't kiss me there!" he said.
"Alright, love," she obliged, patting her skirt down.
"And don't call me that!"
"Okay, Draco--"
"Or that!"
"Malf--"
"Or that either!"
"...Drakie-poo!"
He sighed angrily, defeated.