A/N: Just one little forewaring - this story IS a smutty short story. There will be smut in every chapter from chapters 3-12, but it is plot-driven and unskippable if you care about emotional development.

X

Chapter Two

Can You Just Shut Up - Audrey Mika

Transformer - Donna Missal (DADA classroom scene)

It started in Charms.

Flitwick was adamant that everyone learn how to conjure up a piece of fruit by the end of the period, so he partnered everyone up at the tables. He was still just as odd as ever, even after the war. It was difficult for Draco to reconcile this stout, eccentric little wizard with the one he'd seen eviscerating the bowels of four werewolves at the Battle of Hogwarts. As the wizard began wandering about, assigning students to one another, the fates must have been watching closely, because Draco was partnered with Granger.

He felt terrible for simply watching her eat the food when it might have been essentially poisoned, so he was amenable to this partnership if only for the opportunity to do something to help if it went sideways. He knew it was strange that he cared so much when he'd spent so many years being a royal arsehole, but his experiences during the war destroyed him and left him a shattered mess on the ground.

When he returned to Hogwarts for his Eighth Year, it was not as a powerful dragon with flames in his maw and razor-sharp teeth; it was as a chastised dog with his tail between his legs. He was a Slytherin, not a monster. He could want to help Granger without having an ulterior motive, couldn't he?

Draco set aside his anxieties and put on his smirk, trying to bury all of his focus into figuring out whether or not the boys had slipped her the Cupere.

"Granger," he drawled as he dropped his satchel on the floor beside the seat. He dragged the chair out and sat down in it, resting one elbow on the table. He propped his chin in his hand and made a show of dragging his eyes down the length of her body. "Nice dress."

She glared at him. "I've learned your compliments usually come with the back of your hand, Malfoy."

"And I don't even charge for it," he said. "Isn't that generous of me? That's more than I can say for my father."

"Your mother is rather generous, so perhaps you got your philanthropic ways from her." Granger pursed her lips, like she was trying to hide a smile, which he'd never seen her do in his presence. "Thank you for the generosity of your back-handed compliment, Malfoy. What do you hate about my dress? The fact that it's Muggle, or the fact that I bought it at a thrift store?"

"A what?" Draco combed his hair back. He had no idea what a thrift store was, and he didn't care that it was inexpensive; he thought the dress was fantastic. But he wasn't about to say that out loud.

"It's a . . ." She sighed and looked directly at him. His heart squeezed and he averted his eyes. "A store where people drop their used clothing off and then other people can come and buy those items for lower prices."

Draco nodded, willing himself not to blush at the feeling of her gaze falling upon him so heavily. His compliment, contrary to her belief, was not meant to be double-sided. He truly felt it was a nice dress. "It was more about the fact that it's a nice dress, but now I find myself caught off-guard by your incessant need to showcase your swotty ways at all times. Tell me, were you waiting to tell me about some useless Muggle thing? Or were you just waiting to have an excuse to talk to me?"

She rolled her eyes, her curled eyelashes seeming extra dark today as she immediately started practicing the spell. Draco watched her perform the incantation three times, failing each attempt. He arched one eyebrow, chin still on his palm.

"Having trouble?"

"Shut up," she snapped, and then she patted the side of her hair as though it were frizzing. "I'm doing everything correctly. I must not be pronouncing it right."

Granger tried the incantation again, her voice faltering. She stopped for a moment, a confused expression crossing her face. She patted her hair again, this time on the back and other side as well, and he saw her tongue dart out to wet her lips. Draco's body reacted on instinct, his stomach flipping over itself. Trying his best to ignore it, he just watched her. Around them, their classmates were trying and succeeding at conjuring various types of fruit. But Hermione Granger was, surprisingly, behind.

"I'm not sure what I'm . . . What I'm doing wrong." Her voice sounded breathless, like she was dashing across the room while trying to talk. "Perhaps it's the way I'm f-flicking my wand . . . ?"

Draco said nothing, his eyes glued to her as her hand came up to touch her hair again. Her fingers slid down the length of one long curl, twirling it slowly around her finger again and again. She opened her mouth to speak, but only made an incredulous laughing sound, and then began to draw the end of the curl along the dip of her collarbones. Guilt swallowed Draco whole as her chest began to heave and his eyes zeroed in on her neckline.

His free hand, which was resting on his thigh, tingled with the desire to reach out and take the curl out of her hand. He wanted to see how soft her hair really was.

But at the same time, he hated himself even more for it. If she was being affected by the Cupere right now, he needed to figure out how to turn off his attraction to her.

He just didn't know how.

"Not the swot you pretend to be, are you?"

She shot him a scathing look and then her hand shot up into the air. Flitwick bustled over with a smile and a spring to his step.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor, I was . . ." She trailed off, her brows twitching together as she let go of the curl. "I wanted . . . Well, you see, I seem to have lost my - my train of thought, I . . ."

She squirmed in her seat a bit - just the tiniest amount - and she frowned at the air in front of her. Flitwick looked just as confused, and Draco tried not to grimace. Granger wasn't usually this inarticulate.

Flitwick eyed her. "That's quite all right. Perhaps think on it for a moment, and then call me back over?"

She gave him a faint smile and a weak nod, and then he toddled off to help Neville Longbottom and his unfortunate Seventh Year partner. Somehow, Longbottom had managed to conjure up an entire cat, and the cat was currently trying to claw his eyes out.

Draco sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched Granger try the spell again.

"This is so frustrating," she said underneath her breath.

"Have you tried not pretending you're already good at it?" Draco picked a piece of lint off of the breast pocket of his vest.

Granger tossed her curls over her shoulder and glowered at him. "Hm. I suppose I'm not surprised."

"Swots rarely feel fleeting emotions such as surprise, Granger. Though I'm certain you already knew that."

Granger gripped her wand tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Her deep-set eyes blazed at him from under straight, dark brows. "I'm only thinking it pertinent to mention that it's not surprising to see that even on Valentine's, you're still a prat."

"Just as your swot balks for nothing, my prat bows to no man."

She scowled, sounding exasperated. "Not a romantic wizard? Also unsurprising."

"Don't make assumptions," Draco said, staring at the cat that had been tearing at Neville's throat now sitting calmly on the table in front of his partner. "Romance is for a different sort of wizard."

She made another attempt at the spell and, to Draco's surprise, an apple core appeared in midair. It hovered for a moment while she held her wand to it, a gasp of excitement leaving her lips. Then, it vanished and her facial expression fell.

"Well," she huffed, shifting in her seat again. "For once, you, Malfoy, are right about something. Romance is for a different sort of wizard. And you just don't seem like the sort."

"I'm not," He felt his hackles rising. He knew they had a past and that he deserved what she was saying, but he was and always had been sensitive.

"I know." She twirled her wand and performed the charm again. This time, she couldn't even get the core to materialize. "Bollocks."

Draco gritted his teeth, his pride still wounded, and he unfolded his arms from his chest. He turned in his seat, placing one arm on the table. "I'm not a romantic wizard because romance is slow and sweet, and I'm neither slow nor sweet, Granger."

She stared at him, looking prim. "Oh, I'm aware. You've always made it painfully clear how arrogant and selfish you are. I can't see you bringing a witch flowers and taking her to dinner."

Draco vibrated with ire. "Why not?"

"What?" She laughed, sounding incredulous.

"Why not?" He clenched his fist on the table and waved his other hand. "Since you know so much about me, I'd like to hear your theories about why I'm not romantic."

She stared at him, scrutiny coloring her eyes darker, and Draco knew he was being too forward. But the juxtaposition between hating himself and wanting to be a normal person for once was exhausting him. He was barely handling being thought of as an ex-Death Eater who deserved to rot underneath six feet of dirt, knowing that the only reason why he hadn't killed or hurt anyone during the final battle was because he was a bloody coward. He didn't like hearing the amount of disdain in her voice for him when he struggled daily with thinking he wasn't good enough for breathing air, let alone breathing the same air as her.

When she spoke, he felt her words cutting him like knives.

"I think you're unromantic because romance is external. It doesn't serve you, it serves the other person, and you're not the type of wizard who likes to serve. You seem like the type of wizard who likes your witch to serve you." Granger gave him a once-over. "And you've always been quite vocal about how much Pureblood traditions matter to you. I'm guessing you prefer your wife to sit and look pretty, and then lie down on her back at night? You hate Valentine's Day because you can't stand the thought of even one day being dedicated to anyone that isn't you. No doubt something else you learned from your father."

Wrong. She's so fucking wrong. She doesn't even know me. She doesn't know . . . His thoughts trailed off, because her opinion of him was based upon who he presented himself to be. She didn't know who he really was - no one did - because he'd done such a great job at wearing a fool's disguise for so long. As for her opinion on his father, no one knew who his father really was.

But she didn't seem to care about who the Malfoy men might really be. She'd spoken for Draco at his trial, but that didn't mean she thought he was a good person.

And he wasn't a good person. He was rubbish. But he still had a heart.

An arrow of rage speared through him and he twisted to face her. The suddenness of his movement caused her to jolt and her eyes to snap up to his. He grabbed the back of her chair, yanking it closer an inch. It didn't scrape as loudly as he'd feared it would, and he was grateful for that.

"The reason why I hate Valentine's Day is because it provides an excuse for shitty wizards to make up for 364 days' worth of dropping the Snitch where their witch is concerned," Draco hissed, his hand tightening around the back of her chair. He felt the heat of her back against the knuckle of his thumb, his thumbnail pushing through her thick curls. He barely registered the fact that the dress had a low back and her skin was millimeters away from his finger. All he would need to do was lift his thumb, tilt his hand towards her back, and he'd brush against her bare skin.

"M-Malfoy," she breathed, her eyes searching his with mingling alarm and confusion.

"My father taught me that a wizard - a man should spend every day he's alive worshipping every inch of his witch. A man's witch gets flowers whenever she wants. She gets chocolates whenever she wants. She gets fucked whenever and wherever she wants. She doesn't have to wait for an arbitrary day in the middle of February to feel like she matters. Even from prison, my father arranges for flowers and gifts to arrive periodically throughout the week. He sends my mother love letters every other day. I got many things from Lucius Malfoy, but disrespect was not one of them. Fuck Valentine's Day, and fuck romance."

He leaned closer, baring his teeth in a slight snarl. "If you think Valentine's Day is special, it's because your wizard is a boy and not a man. If you were my witch, you'd have flowers for waking up and breathing. You'd have chocolate because you deserve it. And I'd worship your body, Granger. So no, I'm not bloody romantic."

Her jaw dropped. She was, it would seem, speechless. He knew he should have leaned back, moved away before any other students noticed their close proximity, but he found that he couldn't tear his eyes away from hers. He couldn't fathom it. His hand shifted, his thumb pushing deeper into her curls, and the pad of it brushed the tiniest bit of her skin above the backline of the dress.

And then, where Draco had fully prepared himself for a retort that signified yet another bickering spat between them, she disappointed. Instead, she did something completely different. Something that made his stomach toss and turn and his blood boil. Something that proved that he was a git for watching her eat her breakfast just because she was pretty.

She whimpered.

Richter and Poe had followed through with their dastardly plan, and the potion was kicking in.

Draco jerked himself backward, pulling his hand away from the chair. He pushed his hair back to hide the trembling in his fingers and he sat up straighter.

"So stop making assumptions," he muttered and then he pulled his wand out of the inside of his vest. Without much effort, he performed the incantation.

A ripe, nearly-perfect apple appeared on the table.

They spent the rest of the class period in silence. She continued to fail at the charm, but she kept her frustrations to herself. Draco sat with his hands and forearms on the table, his eyes staring at himself fidgeting with the apple he'd conjured.

Draco was mortified at his outburst, as it felt more like the "old" Draco. For all his efforts at not being who he used to be, it was difficult when he got around Granger. She liked to poke and prod at him, as though she enjoyed bickering with him. And he always rose to the occasion.

For all of Lucius's shortcomings as a father, he was not a bad husband. Draco wished more people knew that about him.

xxx

Second period Defense Against the Dark Arts class went as uneventfully as it usually did. Bill Weasley was the professor, which was odd for Draco. It was strange to be taught by his older brother and see the same bright red hair and freckles that he'd grown accustomed to over the years, but with none of the vehemence shining within them. With the Weaselbee gallivanting all over the country as an Auror, however, it wasn't awful being around the one Weasley who seemed to "get" Draco. Like McGonagall, Professor Weasley saw Draco as a human being. They also had something in common.

Professor Weasley and Draco had both had the displeasure of meeting Fenrir Greyback.

"The importance of the Reservoir spell is to enable yourself to always have an extra reserve of magic on hand should you run into a sticky situation involving dark magic, or other unsavory things," Professor Weasley said as he paced down the aisle between the classroom's tables. His shoulder-length crimson hair was pulled back at the base of his head, and there was a bit of a smirk playing about his lips that always seemed to appear whenever he was teaching a spell he particularly fancied. The man was unashamed of the scar that marred the skin above and below his eye. Draco wished he could be that confident about his own scar.

"The correct pronunciation of the incantation is alveus," the professor said, and then he lifted his wand and twirled it. "The motion is in the hand, not the wrist. Light, circular movement. Say it back to me. Alveus."

"Alveus," the class chanted back at the teacher, save for Draco, who never spoke aloud in class if he could help it.

Professor Weasley then proceeded to call individual volunteers up to demonstrate the pronunciation of the spell as well as the wand motions. Draco found himself gazing out the window at the distant Quidditch pitch, the tops of the hoops and stands dusted lightly with snow. He liked Professor Weasley, but he did not find himself fond of DADA.

After growing up with a family lineage chock full of dark wizards, a library stuffed to the brim with dark texts of varying levels of evil, and experiencing the horror of living with the Dark Lord, this class was difficult for him. Professor Weasley also understood this, and largely left him to daydream and zone out, offering him plenty of leniency when it came to assignments.

Before the war, Draco might have despised him for his charity. But now, Draco just wanted to go to classes, pass his N.E.W.T.s, and go home.

Theo took several tries to demonstrate his performance of the Reservoir spell, drawing Draco's attention to his nervous laughter at the front of the room. He smiled to himself at his friend's antics, and then his eyes slid to the table directly across the aisle and one up from his. Richter and Poe had this class with him, and they were actively participating along with the class. It bothered Draco because two wizards who looked so normal were in fact wicked.

Draco was having a difficult time with the knowledge that Granger was off in class somewhere, dosed with a lust potion from Ancient Rome, and the culprits were just sitting here in DADA, innocently laughing along with everyone else. On the one hand, being who he was, he understood that they had acted out of vengeance for her giving them detention and being an otherwise insufferable know-it-all. However on the other hand, he would never understand why there would ever be a reason or an excuse to drug a witch in the hopes of forcing her to sleep with you. It made him want to be sick.

This was somewhat his fault, when he really stopped to think about it. He stared down at the table until it blurred, forlorn and full of remorse. He should never have allowed himself to get distracted. He should have set aside his fear, strolled up to her table, and done something - anything - to keep her from eating the drugged food.

He sat forward in his seat, leaning on the table with folded arms and glaring at the side of Richter's still-laughing head. He was repulsive. The thought of him having his way with Granger, of trapping her and hurting her. Of Poe being involved, the two of them . . . He clenched his teeth as anger started to roil within him again and he closed his eyes for a moment.

Draco wondered about the properties of the Cupere potion. Did it cause deliriousness and a loss of faculties, like Amortentia did? Would she stumble around drunkenly and be placed in the Infirmary anyway? Would she be seeking male contact, or was it just a heightened awareness of the men around her? In their Charms class, she'd seemed confused at the onset of the potion's effects, but when they left the room, he saw her walking normally and conversing with Longbottom while she held his new cat.

Perhaps he didn't have to go to McGonagall just yet? What if . . . What if the reason why she'd seemed fine in the corridor was because she wasn't poisoned? What if Richter and Poe had merely been talking out of their arses? After the war, wizards were a lot less likely to act out in illegal ways. But then if that were true, if she wasn't drugged, then . . . Why did she whimper at his words?

Was it because . . . He turned her on?

He felt heat rushing up to his cheeks and he turned his face to look down at the table. His hair fell forward, shielding his eyes. There was no way. He'd been angry, and just speaking his mind. For her to be turned on by something he said, was absurd. It was . . . He knew how to turn witches on, and it usually didn't involve . . . Well, Granger. And talking to her. Growling at her, really.

Yet, if it wasn't that, and she was drugged, then she didn't have much time before she would need to be taken to the Infirmary. Amortentia was fast-acting, and Draco had no clue what the incubation period for Cupere was.

Draco realized then, that he had a chance to make the right decision. Right here. Right now. He'd spent a lot of time making the wrong ones and he wanted his life to be different. There was no reason for him to violate his parole and go to Azkaban for picking a fight with the two if it wasn't necessary.

Whether Granger was drugged or not, he was going to McGonagall after class and telling her that Richter was in possession of a potent lust potion, and that he and Poe had openly discussed using it on Granger. Then, he would go back to pining after her from afar, but without having to worry for her safety.

Towards the end of class, Professor Weasley clapped his hands for everyone's attention.

"Soon, Headmistress McGonagall will be coming in to make a small announcement before lunch, so I'd like everyone to sit tight for a moment before they start packing up. As for homework, I have none for you this weekend. I just want you to have a wonderful Valentine's Day."

Draco felt his nerves rattling. While he trusted McGonagall, he was still anxious. What if she didn't believe him? What if she thought he was lying or pulling a stunt? Worse, what if she got the horrid idea that it was Draco's potion, and he was trying to cover his tracks by placing the blame elsewhere?

He struggled for breath for a moment and second-guessed himself. He supposed he could go to Professor Weasley. Granger had gone with - or might still be going with - the Weaselbee. Weasley might believe him without much need for convincing. Though Draco had never really spoken to Weasley privately before. It might be too nerve wracking, too anxiety-inducing.

No, his best option was McGonagall. She would know what to do.

Before he could think on it further, the door opened and a pair of heels click-clacked their way into the room.

"Hello, everyone!" came a melodic, yet matter-of-fact tone. "Good afternoon, Bi - Professor Weasley!'

Granger.

She walked down the center aisle of the room, her hips swaying and curls bouncing. She strolled to the front of the room with a purpose and turned on her heel to face everyone. She grinned up at Weasley and greeted him as though she were a professor, too

Draco sunk down in his seat as her eyes swept the room, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. He felt like if she looked into his eyes, she would know what he'd been thinking about, and what he knew about the Cupere. Looking across the room at her, she didn't look any different than normal. Amortentia typically turned the victim's eyes a different color, but her eyes were still honey-brown.

"Not that I'm disappointed to see you, Hermione," Weasley said, putting his hands behind his back, "but I thought Headmistress McGonagall was to be addressing the class?"

"Miner - Headmistress McGonagall had a family emergency, I'm afraid," Granger said, the corners of her lips turning down for a moment. "She had to Floo out for the rest of the day, and won't be returning until the morning. She has left Professor Sprout in charge of the school, but she asked me to go to all the classes this period in her place."

Weasley nodded and then waved his hand for her to take the floor.

"Right," she said with a nod, tucking her long hair behind her ears. As Gryffindor as ever, she smiled out at the class with no fear in her eyes. She always had excelled at everything in school, even speaking in front of classes. "So, first of all, happy Valentine's Day! I just wanted to come and make an announcement about the Valentine's Day party. For the Seventh and Eighth Year students, it will be combined and held in the Room of Requirement this year. It's tonight after Astronomy finishes up, since I know a lot of us have that class, we figured it was better to hold it then. There will be lots of food, dancing, and games, and of course, candy. So please do come!"

Well, shite, Draco thought. There goes my plan to go to McGonagall. Now what?

While Granger had been speaking, Draco watched as Richter and Poe both leaned in to hold a whispered conversation. Poe smirked and nudged Richter; Richter chuckled and said something else to him. The professor was asking Granger how to locate the room - which was also known as the Come and Go Room, so he didn't catch their whispering, and Draco worried.

Had they put the Cupere into her food after all?

When all was said and done, everyone started gathering their things up to go. Granger said her goodbyes to Professor Weasley, wished him a good lunch, and then headed back down the aisle. With the faint smile on her face, she looked completely normal. Draco bit his lower lip as he stood up, slinging the satchel over his shoulder. Perhaps he could walk with her, and try and see if -

"Hey, Granger."

Draco heard the mischievous note in Richter's tone, and he knew. He just knew.

Icy-cold horror gripped him and held his feet to the floor as he watched it happen almost in slow motion.

Granger stopped beside Richter's seat, her hands loose at her sides as she regarded him warily. She nodded to him, waiting to see what he had to say, and then he rose to his feet. He wasn't as tall as Draco was, but he still towered over the petite witch even in her heeled shoes. Her head tilted back to accommodate the change in height.

"You have hair in your face," Richter said, and his smirk was demonic.

He reached up. Granger's brows knitted together. Draco side-stepped his chair and started around the table. He pushed an anxious hand through his messy blonde locks. He wanted to smack Richter's hand away from her. His heart leapt.

Granger's eyes followed the movement of Richter's fingers.

The class started to file out towards the door, several people backing up behind her.

She was going to be mortified.

Draco was three steps away when Richter's fingers brushed her cheekbone to brush aside hair that was never there in the first place.

Fuck.

Granger's eyelids fluttered and she let out a small cry. She pitched forward, falling into Richter's gleeful, waiting arms, her hands gripping his biceps so tightly that Draco could see them shaking. Students were looking at her with concern. She had her face partially buried in Richter's blazer, and the side of her face that Draco could see was bright red. Her gaze met Draco's, and he felt like he couldn't breathe. His mind ripped itself apart with memories.

"Please! I didn't t-take it, we d-didn't, we -"

Screaming. Horrible screaming. Screaming while her back arched and her head scraped the Drawing Room floor. While her eyes pleaded silently with him to do something. While he just stood there. While he just stood there and did nothing.

And she was looking at him right now the same exact way.

A cold feeling settled over Draco, like adrenaline being kicked into overdrive, or like he was donning his Death Eater robes once again. Suddenly, he wasn't anxious anymore. He wasn't worried about the consequences. He didn't care that everyone was watching. He just moved.

He stopped doing nothing.

Draco was at Granger's side in an instant, carefully taking her by the elbow and yanking her away from Richter. The two boys looked at one another, Richter looking surprised as Draco pushed his face close to his.

Picking a fight had just become necessary.

"If you touch her again, I'll go right the fuck back to Azkaban," Draco snarled, his silver eyes smoldering with repressed rage. "I don't give a fuck."

Several audible gasps rose up. Professor Weasley asked what was going on. Granger said nothing, her face bright red and eyes cast downward as Draco dragged her in front of him and placed a hand on her lower back. His threatening glare never left Richter's face until he moved forward and walked her out of the room. Professor Weasley called after them, but Draco didn't bother to turn around. She didn't need to be forced to stand there in her mortification, too.

Draco didn't stop their brisk pace as they moved down the crowded corridor, his anger helping him to ignore the shocked stares the two of them were getting. Granger's footsteps were stumbling and slow. If it weren't for his hands on her back and elbow, ushering her along, he feared she might have collapsed.

"Something is wrong with me," she said in a quiet voice. Her face appeared ashen.

He fought the urge to say he knew, because he didn't want to look more suspicious than he already did. If he said dodgy things, people - Granger - might think it was Draco who slipped her the Cupere.

His sanity was barely holding on. An orgasm. Hermione had just had an orgasm in front of a classroom full of people. He'd imagined what her facial expression might look like when she came thousands of times, but the fact that the only real image he'd have of it was now stained by the look of terror in her eyes. It was forced, therefore it was a violation.

The image didn't belong to him.