A/N: I found this one-shot in my drafts and figured I'd post it-so don't kill me for not updating my other stuff!
This is set post-war, i.e. Hermione goes back to Hogwarts for her eighth year.
Leave a review if you like it, I would really appreciate it!
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Hermione Jean Granger was having an existential crisis.
She was currently in the lavatory, splashing cold water on her face and urging the most unsavory of thoughts to leave her brain. Her breathing was ragged, and her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of the sink to steady herself.
"Get it together, Hermione," she hissed out through clenched teeth, her voice barely audible to her own ears. "It's just clothing."
Yes, said a sinister voice from deep inside her gut, but haven't you seen the way it hugs the body? The way the muscles seem to be enhanced, the downright delicious way that-
Hermione groaned and slammed her head against the mirror to stop her treacherous brain from thinking such treacherous thoughts. When had all of this started, again? When had her life spiraled so out of her reach?
Hermione thought hard, narrowing her eyes when she recalled the first quidditch match of the season. She had only gone to please Ginny, who had to beg her to come in the first place. Hermione remembered how she'd snuck a book in her robes, and she remembered how she'd dropped her book when the players had flown out into the sky.
Quidditch players had always appealed to Hermione, of course, and without the impending threat of war, her thoughts moved freely within her head. There was no fear to block her girlish whims. There was no need to be serious.
Not to mention that Harry and Ron were vacant from Hogwarts, leaving Hermione with much more time to let her thoughts wander aimlessly between her ears.
It wouldn't have been that bad if she'd only found the Gryffindor team attractive, but she had realized, with horror inching down her spine, that she was ogling the Slytherins just as much as the Gryffindors. Their dark green robes and tan trousers had captivated her until her eyes had made the unfortunate mistake of coming across the pale, pointed features of Draco Malfoy, sweat glistening on his brow and sliding down the bridge of his nose, his tight quidditch pants giving Hermione quite a nice view…
Hermione had stared stubbornly at Ginny for the rest of the game, trying (quite unsuccessfully) to block out the image of Malfoy zooming across the field.
And here she was in the lavatory, desperately trying to stay away from the Quidditch match outside. Gryffindor isn't even playing, she thought harshly to herself, wouldn't it be weird if Hermione Granger, known adversary of Quidditch-or any sport, really-suddenly decided to give her rapt, undivided attention?
Hermione's subconscious didn't care. It was only concerned that the game would be over before she had the chance to drool over the competitors. With that startling realization, Hermione's feet moved without her consent, hurtling her in the direction of the quidditch pitch.
"Hello Hermione," said a mellifluous voice from around the corridor. There was an enchanted eagle on Luna Lovegood's head, cawing noisily as she scratched under his wing. "Going to the match?"
"Hasn't it already started?" Hermione asked, appalled at the desperation in her tone.
"No," said Luna, a quirk in her eyebrow. "If we hurry we won't miss a thing."
Hermione's lips thinned. She was sure that she'd spent at least half the game barricaded in the bathroom. She really was having quite the crisis.
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The next quidditch match wasn't for another two weeks, and Hermione was going through withdrawals, for Merlin's sake. She tried everything from distracting herself with schoolwork to using the Muggle tactic of snapping a rubber band on her wrist to fight the urges off, but nothing worked. She was in the library when her sanity snapped, having overheard a meaningless conversation that set her nerves on fire.
"Oi, where are you going?"
"I told you, I've got practice! Malfoy'll kill me if I'm late again!"
Hermione had dropped the book she was pulling off the shelf, and she left it lying on the floor (along with her dignity) as she attempted to sprint as nonchalantly as possible to the quidditch pitch.
Appalled at the involuntary groan that left her mouth when she caught sight of the players, Hermione only managed to regain control after harshly pinching the inside of her wrist. Still, though, she was rooted in her hiding spot, unable to pull herself away, like a deer staring down the incoming headlights of a pickup truck.
She was sure, though, that they couldn't see her-that her secret would be safe-but then her eyes connected with Malfoy's, and all of Hermione's organs seemed to shift a millimeter to the left. She thanked Merlin that she had enough sense to run away from him without too much of a hesitation, at least, though she knew it wouldn't be long before he caught up, being athletic as he was.
Malfoy slammed Hermione's back into the wall of the castle with a sneer, Hermione panting wildly, her heart thumping manically. It's just from running, she told herself, though she knew it was a lie. It's just from running.
"So you think you can sneak around, copy our plays, eh?"
Hermione blinked at him, her energy focused on keeping her blush to a minimum. He was so close that she could smell the leather on his uniform; she could smell grass and sweat and…
Malfoy kept talking, too angry to wait for a response that Hermione was currently incapable of giving. "Where's your Gryffindor chivalry, Granger? Where's your honor?"
Hermione let out a strangled noise as she watched a bead of sweat trickle down his jawline and drip off his chin. She swallowed thickly when Malfoy gave her a heated glare, saying, "Are you even listening to me?"
"No," Hermione said, shocking them both.
Malfoy narrowed his eyes and dropped his jaw in disbelief, launching into a rant about the deterioration of common courtesy. Hermione's eyes traced the outline of his lips. Her teeth sunk into the inside of her cheek when he finished his rant and darted his tongue out to wet them.
"Granger," Malfoy said, growing more frustrated when he realized she hadn't registered a word of his speech. Hermione, nearly involuntarily, mind you, rubbed her thighs together. Malfoy's eyebrows came together, not understanding Hermione's behavior, but then Hermione's blush became more apparent the second time she squirmed and-
Malfoy stared at her in shock, his brain going blank as he stared at the girl in front of him. "Hermione Granger," he said in an accusing and breathy tone, "have you harbored feelings for me, Draco Malfoy?" He leaned closer, his lips at her ear and a gloved hand hovering above her cheek, his thumb a hair away from her bottom lip. His voice was suddenly low and scratchy as he said, "How long have you been dreaming about me, waiting for the day that you could confess your undying love-"
"It's not you, you arrogant prat, it's the damn uniform!" Hermione yelled, disgusted at the notion of secretly loving such a vile-yet smartly dressed-creature.
Malfoy's smirk widened as he pulled his lips back from her ear to look her in the eye. "Is that so?" Malfoy asked softly, grinning at her darkening blush. "You've got a kink?"
Hermione tried to deny his words, saying weakly, "It's not a kink-"
"It's alright, Granger," Malfoy said with lidded eyes, and Hermione sucked in a breath at the hand he slid behind her neck. "I've got a kink, too."
Their lips were almost touching, and Hermione was appalled at how un-appalled she was. "What's that?" Hermione asked against her better judgment.
His eyes were on fire when he spoke. "Rough, animalistic sex with bushy-haired Gryffindors."
Hermione didn't know how, but somehow they'd found an abandoned classroom and cast silencing and locking charms at it in between biting kisses and bruising grips.
And after it was over, Hermione bolted out of the room (leaving a smirking Malfoy to mend parts of his uniform that Hermione had impatiently ripped off his body), fully convinced that she had, indeed, completely fucking lost it.
This notion was cemented when, three days later, Malfoy came up to her in the library and Hermione didn't immediately tell him to sod off. It was nice to have a study partner that knew how to write their own essays, Hermione eventually conceded. Nothing more to it than that (though Hermione knew this to be a lie, for whenever she looked at Malfoy's hands she remembered how they'd run up her sides, gripped at her thighs, tangled in her hair-and when she looked at his lips she swore she could feel them grazing her neck, could feel his chest on hers, his arm around her waist-).
Yes, Hermione Granger had, without a doubt, lost her mind. But she seemed somewhat content with this fact, she realized one day as she and Malfoy studied out by the lake, leaning on each other lazily and sharing a box of candied quills.
If this was madness then, well, Hermione was perfectly fine with that.
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A/N: Hope y'all liked it!
Until next time,
-GG222