The Slug Club
Author's Note: Accepting a challenge given to me by Byakugan789. They requested a story where Draco accompanies Hermione to Slughorn's Christmas party instead of Cormac McLaggen, they agree to go together as a cover for something else, and it turns into something more. Let's see where this goes!
Rating: MA, cause I don't know anything but that! Lol
o-o-o-o
"No."
Draco Malfoy felt as though he'd just been delivered a swift kick to the shins. Or bollocks. She had no idea, no idea, the amount of pride he'd had to swallow to even ask her to take him to Professor Slughorn's Christmas Party. Hell, he didn't even really want to attend, but it was highly suggested that he find himself an invite, lest he be even further demoted among His ranks. You know. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. 'World's Worst Roommate', as Draco had taken to calling him in a pretty pathetic attempt to find humor in the whole situation.
Truth be told, there was nothing funny about it. Draco was fairly certain he, or his parents, would be killed at any moment by the Dark Lord. Dread had settled in his bones like cold does, and Draco felt numb more than anything. He was more than likely going to fail in his orders (let's face it, he failed at everything he attempted) and the Dark Lord had already given him fair warning of the consequences. Maybe that was why he'd taken a deep breath, humbled (humiliated?) himself and asked Hermione Granger if she would take him as her date to Slughorn's Christmas Party. Nothing left to lose, really.
"… it's laughable really, I almost want to be impressed by you, Malfoy, that you even had the audacity –"
Her rambling cut through his train of thought.
"Look," he cut her off, "I don't particularly want to go with you, either, Granger. And trust me, I know I am the absolute last person you want on your arm. However, a little birdie told me that Weasley's made a complete arse of himself, telling you to take McLaggen rather than him."
Her amber eyes flickered dangerously and Draco gulped.
"Granger, we both know McLaggen would attempt to have his hands in your knickers within the first fifteen minutes, and I can say definitively I know that you don't want that." He was taking a chance here - maybe she did in fact want a little up-the-skirt action - but it was Granger after all, so he sincerely doubted it. Hermione let out a bark of laughter here, and Draco almost jumped.
"Hermione," wow, he was really pulling out the stops here, "Do me this little favor and I guarantee Weasley will be substantially shamed and that your date will definitely not make any untoward advances." Draco was quiet, studying her face. Classes would be letting out shortly, and the hallway would fill with nosy students and gossip mongers. She broke, and he could've grinned at his success.
"Fine, Malfoy," she clipped, her accent almost as posh as his – what exactly did her parents do, again? – "I'll take you. But so help me, should I so much as hear a whisper of a rumor afterwards that this was an actual date, I will personally castrate you. Wearing gloves. Because the thought of our skin touching makes me actually retch."
He did grin now, and he could've imagined the flash of appreciation he saw in her eyes, minute as it was. "Loud and clear, Granger, loud and clear."
o-o-o-o
Draco met her between the third and fourth staircase up Gryffindor Tower, and he immediately wish he'd worn a nicer shirt. She looked absolutely breathtaking – really, someone please stop him breathing, put him out of his misery for even thinking the Mudbl –
Hermione cleared her throat and he offered his jacketed arm.
"Don't worry, it's not my actual skin," he offered, thinking of her earlier words. Her lips curved into the faintest smile and she looped her hand around his forearm. She was wearing a black velvet mini dress, sleeves to her wrists with a bateau neckline that accentuated the sharpness of her collarbones. Draco thought she looked lovely.
"Shall we then, Ferret?"
o-o-o-o
The party was rather, well, lame. Draco supposed the best part was the look on everyone's faces when they entered, arm in arm. Potter looked absolutely fit to burst, but a glare from Hermione kept him from even opening his mouth.
Slughorn mostly flitted amongst the attendees, bragging about some famous connection or other. The attendees mostly sipped Elf-made wine and made small talk amongst themselves, about a third of which consisted of whispered speculation on why exactly Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had shown up together.
"Well, this is rather lame," Hermione said conspiratorially to Draco, voicing his thoughts.
"Exactly my thinking, Granger. I rather wish now I hadn't begged an invite off you, although you do make rather… alluring company." They both blushed.
"Malfoy," Hermione sighed out, tiredly looking around the party, "What say you we get out of here." She grabbed a bottle of wine in each hand and raised a single brow in his direction.
Just what exactly – "Sure, why not?"
o-o-o-o
"And she calls him Won-Won, I'm not joking, Malfoy, I can't even make that up," Hermione said, a peal of laughter escaping from her as she fell back against the pile of cushions they'd collected in the middle of Professor Trelawney's classroom. He sat opposite of her, nearly at the bottom of his personal bottle. He took another swig straight from the bottle, smiling.
"Granger, Voldemort's going to kill me and my parents."
Hermione sat straight up, suddenly sobered. Well, kind of, as she clapped a hand to her mouth to cover a hiccup.
"Malfoy – what?," she asked, and the look in her eyes was too much, and the pain in his chest grew in tandem with the tightness in his groin. He'd figure out what that meant later.
"Forget I said anything, Granger, truly, forget it. I just wanted to say it aloud once," he paused, taking a shaky breath, "just to get it out there, you know? Just to actually hear it." Hermione was silent.
"Why did you –" "Why did we – " The both stopped. "No, go on," in tandem.
Hermione sighed. "Look, Malfoy, I accepted your proposition because, to be quite honest, I'm losing it." A dark chuckle, and she took another gulp of wine. "Every day, I feel like I have less and less control of what's going on. Around me, and in my head. I guess… I guess I thought.. no, you know what? I don't know what the fuck I was thinking."
He smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Granger, I shouldn't have asked. Fuck, we hate each other, what are we even - mmph!"
Her lips sealed over his in a decidedly ungraceful kiss that shut him up entirely. When she pulled away, he opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.
"Look Malfoy," Hermione drawled in a way that put his own signature snark, to shame, "I think we both stopped hating each other sometime around 7:03pm when we saw each other in the stairway."
He glanced from her eyes, to her lips, to her eyes again.
"Now, I don't like you. I don't think I'll ever like you, not after everything you've said or done to me and my friends in the past six years," Hermione explained. "But hate seems especially strong. I certainly don't hate the way you look – and I think at least half the girls in school would agree with me – and I certainly didn't hate the suggestion we make Ron jealous. Which, thus far, you've done a piss poor job of, as we were probably only at the party for a total of twenty minutes."
What exactly was she playing it?
"So, it seems we have two options here," she held up her fingers in a peace sign, "One, you shag me within an inch of my life in the middle of Trelawney's classroom – crazy old bat – or two, we drink up and descend this tower and never, ever speak of this evening again." Draco felt himself gawping.
"Hermione," he started, unsure, "I hardly see how you got to those two conclusions, and I think maybe you've had too much wine, I'm not sure…"
Draco trailed off at the heavy roll of her eyes.
"Malfoy, look at me and tell me you don't feel absolutely numb." He said nothing.
"Exactly. If there's some sort of moral compass directing you here – which I honestly find laughable, the idea of you having morals – then by all means, we go our separate ways, and quickly. But if you've had as much wine as I've had" she reached out, taking the bottle from his grasp and shaking it, "and you have, then you do your damndest to make us both feel something."
He was on her quicker than she expected, knocking her back against the cushions, teeth clacking together as their lips collided harshly. He supposed he should've felt disgusted, but then she snaked a hand between them and grabbed him through his pants and there were no thoughts.
"Christ, Malfoy, what a pureblooded waste," Hermione breathed, gripping him firmly. "To think, this has been in your pants this whole time and you've spent it being such a spectacular git…"
He thrust against her palm, kissing her roughly again in an attempt to shut her up more than anything. His hands found the hem of her dress and shoved it up her thighs, revealing simple black cotton underwear that made him groan.
"Just wait until you're stretched around me, you filthy girl, and then tell me what a waste I am." Hermione moaned, angling herself under him so she could rock against his trapped cock.
"Oh shut up, you prat, and take your pants off." He wasted no time, and Hermione merely shoved her knickers to the side.
"You don't want to…," Draco trailed off, motioning to the scrap of black cotton, and she rolled her eyes again.
"No, Malfoy, I don't. Now if you're done chatting, get over here and fuck me." And so he did. And immediately he almost lost himself. She was hot, and slick, and everything his father had said she definitely would not be. Good, yes, thinking of his father in this moment guaranteed him at least another five minutes before losing it.
"Damn it, you're massive," Hermione breathed and he clamped his eyes shut and counted to twenty. She squirmed under him and he thrust shallowly. She moaned. "I love your stupid fucking pureblood cock, you're not a waste… not a waste…"
She was reverent in her whispers and Draco pressed on like he was going to battle, thrusting into her roughly and quickly, pretending like he knew what he was doing more than he actually did. He supposed it must've been alright for her, as the slickness increased impossibly and her eyes darted every which way behind closed lids. Gods, he was close, and if his counting was accurate it'd only been about three and a half minutes.
All of a sudden she tightened around him and Draco's breath caught and – was this it, was this what it felt like – Hermione orgasmed. And so did he.
Their breathing gradually began to slow and he pulled out of her with an audible squelch. She smoothed her dress over thighs and stood with the grace of a baby deer.
"Well, Malfoy," she breathed in a voice reminiscent of the one he knew, the know-it-all, swotty one. "Now, time to enact part two of this plan."
"What's that?," he asked stupidly, cock softening against his thigh.
"We leave, and never, ever speak of this night again."