Author's Note: Hello, lovely readers, and welcome to 240 Hours - an eventual Dramione romance-erotica (and my first written story). Be mindful of the slowburn tag - this starts off sweet and crescendos into heart-pumping filth ;). And yes, there's a plot! This is a story about first experiences, transformation, love, and friendship - the growing pains of teendom without the influence of Voldemort and war. Check the tags for kinks that I'm exploring (or don't, If you like surprises). My plan is for this to be a full-length novel, well over 100k words at completion. I don't have an update schedule planned at this time, but I'll inform you if that changes.
Couple of things to know: I've altered a few character's ages. Viktor is 23 and Draco is 18. I wanted to write sex scenes with legal adults, so there you have it.
Thank you to my betas: Intricate_Iris and Rhiannonally!
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Tags: slow burn, explicit sexual content, erotica, mildly dubious consent, romance, happily ever after, enemies to lovers, drama, humor, angst, alternate universe - no Voldemort, tags may change, praise kink, class differences, pureblood culture, forced marriage, risky sex, possible pregnancy, alternate universe - canon divergence, Draco Malfoy redemption, Hermione Granger-centric, head girl Hermione Granger, virgin Hermione Granger, virgin Draco Malfoy, dirty talk, Hogwarts era, loss of virginity, Hogwarts seventh year, pining Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger is a good friend, smart Hermione Granger, no Ron Weasley bashing, orgasm delay/denial, Hermione Granger is a tease, plotted slice of life
12/21/2021 section updates
Hermione Granger's erotic daydream danced behind her eyelids, fracturing her concentration as her jaw dropped with a thready expulsion of air. Vivid, teasing scenes with Viktor Krum, her long-distance crush, lured her away from her early morning Potions lecture.
"Hermy-own," Dream Viktor groaned as he wrapped her body in his embrace, curving his practiced hands around her arse in a firm grip. "Be mine," he whispered as he rubbed his stubbled jaw against her chin, covering her lips in a rough, searing kiss.
A thrumming pulse of heat bloomed low in her abdomen at the fantasy, and she opened her eyes with a pursed expression as she found it profoundly difficult to hold any semblance of focus on the present. Potions was her least favorite class due to Professor Slughorn's penchant for obnoxious theatrics and driveling speech, and Hermione was reluctant to admit that she'd allowed her mind to gallivant away to pleasanter thoughts more than once while he'd monologued. She bounced one restless leg under the table as her concentration slipped, diverting her attention to the three short weeks that she'd spent with Viktor as summer camp counsellors in Ireland, tutoring young witches and wizards in her favorite subject: arithmancy.
It was a small, horrifically under-funded wizarding day camp in the bay town of Kenmare, and the Daily Prophet advertisement that promised an exciting special guest had done little to draw experienced volunteers or eager young attendees to its doors. After Hermione introduced herself to the older volunteers in the dim counsellors' quarters (a grey-haired, wrinkled English wizard with wild eyes; and two kind Chinese nationals, a couple, who nodded with polite formalities but were otherwise disinterested in small talk), she turned and saw the vaguely familiar-looking, handsome stranger at the exact moment that he saw her. She hadn't recognized his name when he introduced himself, which appeared to surprise him. She also hadn't realized when he clarified in his thick Bulgarian accent that he was a quidditch player, that he meant that he played in the professional league; as every wizard dabbled in the game from the moment they were old enough to balance on a broom, and Hermione wasn't impressed.
"My friends, Ronald and Harry, also play quidditch. They're rather good at the sport," She remarked as a dingy chandelier light flickered above their heads, changing the conversation to an area that she felt comfortable navigating: school. "Are you a student, as well?" She didn't think that he was, as he looked several years older – more roguish and thickly built than the wizards of her acquaintance at Hogwarts.
"I attended Durmstrang," he answered as his shoulders shook with stifled laughter, black eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement, "You do not know who I am?" She quirked her brow in response to his odd question, lips curling in a genuine, albeit confused smile. "Am I supposed to?" She replied, feeling her cheeks flame with color as his rich chuckle boomed through the tiny room.
Hermione hadn't realized that he was the special guest until moments later when they were ushered into the small auditorium. The excited squeals from the gathered young attendees shouting his name and the flashing lights of the Prophet photographers shocked her overloaded senses as she observed the chaotic spectacle from the front row, eyes riveted to the stage where Viktor stood with a humble hand raised. Her frazzled brain misfired several times before her synapses grasped their connections, and her stunned expression was forever memorialized in a moving photo on the cover page of that evening's paper.
"VIKTOR KRUM, quidditch extraordinaire and apparent arithmetician, dazzles a dozen bright minds at the O'Sullivan Arithmancy Academy in Kenmare, Ireland," read the caption.
Hermione exhaled with a dreamy sigh as she thought of the handsome Bulgarian and of his healthy, sturdy figure. Viktor was a bold cut of a man, five years her senior, with thick black hair shorn neatly to his scalp and a wide-bridged aquiline nose that had been broken and reset several times. Although it had been over two months since they'd last spoken, memories of his husky voice made her knees tremble under the table. Her other leg joined the first in restless bouncing as her rickety wooden chair drummed in an erratic pattern on the stone tile.
She reasoned that it was impossible to prevent romantic feelings from forming towards Viktor during their time at camp. Any witch with eyes and a brain would have been charmed by his dashing looks, quick wit, and gentle nature with children. Oh, and he was wonderful with children, Hermione smiled with a blush as she bit her lip, recalling another memory.
She watched Viktor like a voyeur from across the camp classroom, hot eyes glued to the outline of muscle under his form-fitted t-shirt. His broad shoulders shook with laughter as he high-fived a young witch who had finally solved a particularly complex problem, and Hermione's cheeks flamed as his bright eyes snapped to hers. His gaze sharpened under the weight of her intense expression, and she thrilled with the knowledge that he'd caught her ogling.
Hermione's fascination for the older wizard extended well beyond his sharp mind and aptitude for arithmancy. He was the first man in years to inspire such sordid, distracting feelings to the extent that Hermione couldn't help but indulge, seeking out his company like a drug and preening with pleasure at his attention and compliments. To her absolute excitement, Viktor craved her companionship with an equal amount of zeal. They spent nearly every meal together in the cramped, makeshift refectory, laughing over anecdotes as they attempted to eat the horrible grub, blissful in their own little world. As night descended, they conversed over every topic imaginable while they sat, unsupervised, in the counsellors' quarters. Like her, Viktor was an only child. And his parents were healers while hers were healers of teeth, she explained to his amusement one evening over a game of Exploding Snaps.
Hermione expected Viktor to be arrogant based on his level of celebrity and wealth, or maybe even snobbish based on his pureblood status and conservative upbringing, as the Slytherin boys were at school. But, it was clear after the first day of camp that Viktor was a gentleman, conforming to no one's expectations save his own, and Hermione was drawn to his confidence like a moth to a flame.
On the second day of camp, Hermione watched with comical horror as Viktor tripped out of the building on the uneven cobblestone stairs, faceplanting into the sun-cracked soil below with a grunt. She jumped to her feet, prepared to assist (how, she wasn't sure, as she wasn't a healer) - but Viktor was already in motion, dusting the dirt from his trousers as he rolled to sit, chin tucked to his chest as he pinched the bridge of his nose to halt the flow of blood.
"I vill donate enuff gallyons to fix thiss camp," he announced through a pained smile, unable to tamper his accent. "So that no child's nose vill ever be conquered by the stairs and look as 'orrible as mine," he laughed, winking at Hermione as the fretting program director transfigured twigs into tissues.
She smiled into her hand as she recalled another memory with Viktor:
"So a little bird shared an interesting observation today," she remarked one evening over a questionable selection of dinner, stabbing her fork into an unidentified lump of what she presumed was an over-cooked casserole.
"By 'little bird', do you mean Gerald?" Viktor asked as he lifted his fork to his lips, unbothered by the near inedible grub. He shot a pointed look at the wrinkled English wizard over Hermione's shoulder, the arithmancer-turned-volunteer-chef, who was scowling at a table across the room.
"Indeed," she grinned as Viktor struggled to suppress his chuckle. "He said that I spend too much time with the best seeker in the world and that my brain is at risk of being confuddled by a bludger," she laughed into her hand, trying in vain to muffle her voice.
"That was surprisingly coherent, for Gerald," Viktor mused, pointing his fork at the older arithmancer who was known to pontificate roaring theories on numerology to the birds in the sky. Viktor remembered his manners a moment later and lowered his utensil with a chagrined smile.
"I thought as much," Hermione agreed, "So is it true then, Viktor?" She asked with fake, girlish sincerity, amping up her charm as she flirted with abandon, sliding her hand across the table, "Am I at risk of being bludgeoned?"
Viktor snorted with laughter, covering his lips with his napkin as he tried to keep his food in his mouth. "Hermy-own," he mispronounced as he swallowed, stressing his vowels with his husky accent while he teased, "You are at as much risk of attack by a bludger, as I am at risk of attack by your hair."
Viktor composed himself into the picture of a perfect gentleman who hadn't just spit food into his napkin while Hermione erupted into giggles, pleased that he'd returned her brashness with his own.
"Is the other part true, then?" She asked, girlish facade abandoned as she probed, "Are you actually the best seeker in the world?" It was shameful to admit, but for as many hours as Hermione had spent listening to Ron and Harry babble on about their favorite sport, enthusing over players and techniques, she was clueless to the rankings at the international level.
Viktor shrugged a casual shoulder as if the answer mattered little. "For now, yes, I am the best," He replied without arrogance, spirit humbled by years of brutal beatings on the pitch. "But there will be others. Maybe your Ron, or your Harry, someday will best me," He responded with feigned nonchalance as his eyes narrowed, tethered to Hermione's expression while he sipped from his water glass.
"They're not 'mine'," she huffed with a blush, correcting his obvious meaning, "We're just friends."
She thought that her response pleased him, although he said no more on the subject.
Since their departure from camp, they'd exchanged letters seven times by owl, which was no easy feat considering Viktor's hectic training and match schedule. Not to mention the countless charitable events that he frequented and sponsored, or the requirement of his time for interviews for newspaper publications worldwide. Hermione tried to remain patient as the weeks between his letters lengthened, trusting her instinct on the matter of his feelings even if he hadn't declared any romantic proclamations outright.
He's getting to know you, she reasoned as she tapped her black feather quill against her chin, Building a friendship first, that's how romantic relationships start.
Countless muggle movies and novels supported her reasoning, although wizarding romances scoffed at the idea of slow-blooming relationships and lauded fast-burning, albeit tasteful connections. Magical tropes featured fated couples brought together by extraordinary circumstances – love potions, magical objects, or spells – where the feelings were instant, and the description of the characters' physical contact was minimal, a consequence of conservative culture that dominated the wizarding world. Hermione hadn't disclosed her fascination with romantic literature to anyone except her best friend, Ginny Weasley, and her mother - the latter of whom was shamelessly responsible for stocking the bookshelves at home with filthy bodice rippers.
"Don't tell your father," Her mother warned with stifled laughter one warm summer evening, waving a novel with a shirtless Scot on the cover in Hermione's direction, "But these are really for me."
Hermione's most recent exchange of letters with Viktor had been the most promising yet, as he'd attached a charmed bag that included several gifts: a feminine, bulky knit sweater in Bulgaria's team colors, which Hermione wore under her robe today in the chilly castle, and two signed copies of Quidditch Through the Ages for Harry and Ron.
"Gods, Hermione. The entire team has signed these!" Harry exclaimed with unfettered excitement as he brushed his thumb over the autographed cover. Ron's eyes blew wide with giddiness before he caught himself and schooled his face into a surly look, muttering a disinterested, "Tell the chap thanks," at Hermione's boots.
She fiddled with her quill, fraying the feathers as she squirmed in her chair, recalling last night's uncomfortable conversation with Harry and Ron in the Gryffindor common room:
"I can't believe that you're exchanging letters about maths with Viktor Krum," Ron grumbled, frowning at the checkered board of his Wizarding Chess match against Harry. Ron was a brilliant strategist and seasoned player, but the litter of smashed black ceramic pieces piled high on his side of the table painted a different picture.
"Yes, well," Hermione huffed with exasperation at his whining, "He and I share a common interest that many find dull. You could have met him, too, had you chosen to spend your summer helping children rather than helping yourself to handfuls of Lavender Brown," she clipped as she shared an amused glance with Harry over her newspaper. Harry was also growing tired of Ron's comments about Viktor, and struggled to hide his smile as Ron's face burned with embarrassment.
"You didn't tell us that he would be there, or we would have come," Ron mumbled in reply, pushing a rook forward with a distracted finger, eyebrows furrowing as Harry's answering knight smashed it off the board.
"The advertisement in The Prophet said 'Special Guest in attendance', it didn't say who," Hermione repeated for what felt like the one-hundredth time as she finished the last line of her magizoology crossword in the Puzzles section. "Viktor requested anonymity to keep the fanatics at bay," she clipped, choosing to pretend that Ron's fandom for quidditch was the only reason that he was cross.
Hermione suspected with some level of confidence that the youngest Weasley brother carried a soft torch for her, as she'd noticed his longing glances and blushing cheeks at being caught more than once. Still, in their seven years of friendship, he'd never made his feelings clear or pushed for more. She thought Ron may have mustered up the courage to ask her to the Yule Ball during fourth-year had the opportunity arisen, but a wave of Mumblemumps struck the student body a month before the dance, squandering any notions of budding romances born under twinkling lights and orchestrated music. Headmaster Dumbledore was compelled by the matron, Madame Pomfrey, to cancel all festivities to contain the annoying infectious disease, to the disgruntlement of the student body and Tri-Wizard Tournament champions.
Hermione acknowledged that Ron was attractive in an unconventional manner. Maybe his physical beauty didn't strike her across the room, but his laugh was warm and handsome, and they'd spent so many years embarking on shared adventures through the castle, sneaking through corridors at night with Harry and practicing spells on each other with hilarious results, that he occupied a special place in her heart. She'd spent several tender years, between the ages of eleven through thirteen, imagining herself as his future wife; but, those fantasies were squashed into the dirt as puberty hit and as they began to squabble. Ron was quick to anger while Hermione was fast to hold a grudge, and Harry found himself caught in the middle of their feuds, mediating between the two as they argued over frivolous matters, unable to reach a resolution through their collective stubbornness. When Hermione and Ron were unfortunate enough to contract Mumblemumps at the same time, she'd spent enough time convalescing in his exclusive company to never wish for it again, although his longing glances and fierce blushes persisted.
Hermione was relieved in sixth-year when Ron turned his sights to Lavender. The gossiping Gryffindor, renowned for her ability to spread questionable news faster than Rita Skeeter, declared to every person, portrait, and ghost that Ron was not only the best keeper on the quidditch pitch, but also the most handsome player in the league. It was typical to see Lavender and Ron wrapped in tangled, affectionate embraces in public. Hermione thought their snogging sessions in the common room were growing out of hand as of late, and she shuddered as intrusive images of Lavender grinding in Ron's lap popped into her mind.
I wasn't jealous, Hermione mused as she drummed her fingers on the table, though she suspected that Ron was disgruntled by the emergence of the Bulgarian seeker in their lives. Whether it was because Viktor possessed a career of prestige that Ron coveted or because Viktor owned the interest of his brainy best friend in a way that Ron never had, Hermione wasn't sure.
Ron's loud scoff reverberated at the table at the sight of Viktor's great grey owl, Dulovo, entering the Great Hall with the morning rush. Harry groaned with agitation as he squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing at his forehead with stiff fingers as he muttered under his breath, "Please don't start today," in no one's general direction.
He was ignored.
"So, how's your new buddy Krum doing all the way over in Bulgaria?" Ron started with false cheeriness, freckled cheek twitching as Hermione bristled with exasperation, "Is the bloke being useful and sending us tickets to his matches, or is he waxing poetic about imaginary numbers?" Ron snarked as he aggressively buttered his toast.
"He knows that I can scarcely find the time for extracurriculars," Hermione replied after she took a cooling breath. She schooled her features into a look of casual indifference as she glued her eyes to the parchment, refusing to rise to Ron's bait. It was true that she was busy; as Head Girl, she felt the pressure of her duties as her schedule was crunched with patrols and helping younger students navigate the maze of hallways between classes. She nibbled at her spinach and cheese souffle as she read over Viktor's letter. "He's well, by the way. He's traveling and training between matches and doesn't have much time to write. He said that he'll send tickets to his match against the Chudley Cannons over winter holiday," she finished, earning an excited, "Brilliant!" from Harry and a reluctant huff of acknowledgement from Ron.
Another time, Ron said:
"He sounds like a real bore, Hermione. Arithmancy? I don't get it. Maybe it helps him be a better seeker, somehow." He looked to Harry for confirmation of his theory.
"I'd say that's unlikely," Harry sighed, dismissing them both while he gazed in longing at Ginny over the spine of his transfiguration text.
Harry was the balanced voice of reason in their trio, assuring Hermione in confidence that Ron's moods were a 'bloke thing' and that she shouldn't take offense to his minor transgressions. Harry's face burned as he insisted that Ron was pleased with Hermione's friendship with the famous seeker, and she raised a dubious brow at the poor stab at mediation. Although she accepted, with reluctance, that Ron's private thoughts were none of her business. Ron wouldn't be the first man in the world to have complex feelings for two women, if her assumption was even correct, and she wouldn't think less of him for it.
Hermione sighed as she snapped her attention to the present: Professor Slughorn's droning monologue about the Felix Felicis potion – their next assignment. She listened with an impatient ear through a few snippets of instruction, deducing with confidence that she could afford to slip into another daydream. Thus, she unfocused her gaze as she stared ahead, mind whirling through scenarios as her vision blurred.
A vivid dalliance with Viktor bloomed between the aisles, distracting all rational thought as a breathy gasp escaped her lips, body flooding with heat. She flexed her thighs in an undulating rhythm under the table as her thoughts washed red with arousal. Dream Viktor had his hands buried in her mass of brown curls, whispering husky commands in her ear that she needed to undress him - now.
Her short legs bounced in a furious rhythm under the table as Dream Viktor became even more insatiable, cupping his hands in a firm grip around her arse as he stroked her against his robed erection. Hermione thought she heard a moaning noise from somewhere in the classroom, but she was too distracted to pay it any mind.
While the wizarding and non-magical world considered her an adult (she'd just celebrated her eighteenth birthday), she was still very much a virgin in all matters of romance. The only romance that she'd ever had was with the male heroes in her novels – and with Dream Viktor, of course. She hadn't even been kissed. She blamed her perpetual state of singledom on her overprotective and beloved male best friends and her reputation for being a know-it-all instead of a charming or vivacious young witch. She was also, apparently, much too intimidating to approach, as Ginny bluntly explained one evening after Hermione complained (for a very long time) about her untethered state.
"Being single isn't a bad thing, Hermione. The right chap won't be intimidated by you. He'll embrace you as you are… as I do. Now, pass me a butterbeer, please. I think that I've earned it."
Harry and Ron settled at Hermione's flank since their first encounter on the Hogwarts Express, effectively scaring away any would-be suitors. They'd earned the nickname The Golden Trio in first-year, after Harry took the Gryffindor quidditch team all the way to the inter-house cup finals, actually winning the tournament despite lacking the latest model of broom on the market. He'd posed excitedly for an article in the Prophet with his two best friends at his side.
"You're the youngest seeker in Hogwarts history to ever play in the Inter-House Quidditch Cup," the Prophet journalist said with a genuine measure of respect in his voice, camera poised and ready at his front, "Why do you think that you won today, and not Slytherin?" He asked as he snapped a series of photos.
"They're my reason for success," Harry replied in a proud voice, fastening his gangly arms in a hug around Ron and Hermione's shoulders and knocking his glasses askew in the process, "They support me and encourage me to do my best. Ron is going to join the team next year as a keeper. And Hermione comes to every game!"
They'd been inseparable as children, sharing most classes together until the beginning of their fourth-year when Hermione doubled her workload, taking on a staggering ten courses in preparation for their upcoming O.W.L.s.
Hermione's studying yielded a handsome payout, earning her nine Outstandings and one Exceeds Expectations on her exams, the most O's of any student in her year- although several Ravenclaws came close with eight outstanding marks. To Hermione's bewilderment, hearsay floated through the gossip mill that Draco Malfoy earned seven O's on his exams, which was a preposterous and laughable rumor, as Hermione was convinced that he would never put forth any actual effort to study. Draco was her former childhood bully: a pretentious, pureblooded snob with a reputation for disrupting class with his clever quips and obnoxious schemes. He was the sort who prided himself on his status as a lazy intellectual, cushioned from reprimand by the notoriety of his surname and the galleons lining his wardrobe.
Draco made every effort to dislodge Hermione's concentration when they shared classes as children, and she doubted that he'd matured or actualized his potential as a serious intellectual. His usual bag of tricks consisted of tugging on Hermione's curls when she tried to speak with Harry or Ron, and smirking at her while she yelped and threatened to hex him. He also made it a game to be contrarian to every point that she made when she raised her hand, even when it was clear that he didn't believe his own platform and was solely trying to rile her up. On the rare day when Hermione was quiet in class, Draco threw crumpled pieces of parchment at her head, feigning innocence as she whirled around and mouthing, "Stop staring, Granger," with a smirk as she glowered.
With profound irritation, Hermione admitted that despite Draco's thuggish behavior, his face was the sort that stole her breath with one glance, and she thought that God must be cruel to bless such a prat with beauty. Hermione's thoughts were momentarily disrupted by said prat, who shared her table in Potions. Indeed, the rumor regarding his outstanding test scores had been accurate.
To her utter astonishment, Draco was a perfectly acceptable Potions partner despite their rocky history as children. He was punctual and often already present in his chair when Hermione trudged up to the tower after breakfast on Mondays and Wednesdays. He was also annoyingly deft with preparing ingredients with his distracting and stupidly large seeker's hands. And worse, Hermione huffed with a roll of her eyes, he was a wicked fast reader- often turning the pages in his text with such quick repetition that Hermione thought he was testing her patience and trying to incite an argument.
She expected him to be as obstinate and disruptive as he'd been in the past. As unruly. As rude. But hour after hour, her suspicion grew as she studied her tablemate's profile, puzzling at his obvious intent to ignore her existence. She knew that he'd felt the weight of her stare, his pink cheeks had given him away, yet he'd squared his jaw and continued to pretend that she wasn't bothering him class after class. She estimated that they'd spent approximately twenty-one cumulative hours together brewing minimally complex potions in almost total silence. The mocking boy who used to tease her for entertainment was replaced by a disinterested man, devoid of all desire for interaction except to hold out his hand with an expectant quirk of his blond brow when it was his turn to brew, always careful not to touch her.
They'd exchanged exactly one sentence each on their first day of class:
"Is there no other seat?" Hermione sputtered with a shrill cry that punctured her own eardrums, mouth dropping in a horrified gape at the sight of the only empty chair next to the fair-haired wizard. Draco's rigid expression fractured into a scowl at her rude question as the other students sniggered.
"It's our unlucky day," Draco muttered, cheeks flooding with embarrassment at her rejection. He dragged his chair in a screeching howl across the stone tile to the far edge of the table, as far from her as he could comfortably sit while still resting his elbows on the oak.
That was three weeks ago. Since then, he'd been her annoyingly competent, statuesquely handsome, mostly silent partner.
Until now.
"You're making noises," Draco muttered under his breath while reaching out a long, black trousered leg to kick at her chair, effectively knocking her mind back to the present.
"I most certainly am not," Hermione whispered with an irritated huff, aware that they had caught the attention of Justin Finch-Fletchley and Susan Bones at the table next to them.
"You're moaning and shaking the table," Draco replied with an incredulous tone, snapping his grey eyes down to her robe-covered knees that were still bouncing as he spoke. Hermione smacked her thighs together while muttering a tart, "I was not moaning," under her breath.
Draco stared at her for a long moment before he turned his body to face the front in feigned indifference, twisting his mouth at the side as he mimicked licentious, high-pitched female moaning under his breath – the height of maturity. Hermione stiffened and glared at the snob's profile while Justin released a loud snort from across the aisle.
Susan thumped her fist on Justin's back, catching the attention of the droning professor, who cleared his throat in an irritable huff at the disruption and stared with an expectant rise of his brows at the back row to quiet down.
Draco's mouth relaxed into a satisfied smirk as his smug eyes settled on Hermione's indignant pair.
"That's what you sounded like," he whispered with a triumphant gleam as Hermione gave him her profile. She stiffened as his warm breath ghosted across her cheek, and shivered as the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. She seethed in her chair at her body's traitorous physical response as her expression turned murderous. It's a purely physical reaction, Hermione reasoned while straightening in her seat and dipping her quill in the inkwell.
She ignored Draco as she scribbled a furious sham of notes across her parchment, cheeks ablaze with embarrassment. They had barely spoken this year, and each time they had, Hermione felt like she was the ridiculous and immature one of the pair, which was absurd. He was the prat, the bully, the one moaning in the middle of a lecture. Draco was the one who should be embarrassed. Not her.
Surely, she hadn't been moaning… right? Hermione crossed her legs under the table as she felt an uncomfortable dampness in the crotch of her knickers.
Justin was still sniggering, and several Ravenclaws turned in their chairs to see the cause of the noisy distraction, but Hermione remained firmly and quietly planted in her seat, determined to draw no more attention to herself. She would not fall into another vivid, sexual daydream. She would not give Draco Malfoy new ammunition to tease her. And she would absolutely not think about Victor Krum cupping her full breasts and palming his rough hands across her sensitive nipples.
She exhaled with a breathy, noisy sigh around the quill's tuft of ruined feathers, which had found their way back to her parted lips.
"You're doing it again!" Draco expounded with laughter, fully facing her now and no longer pretending to whisper or be a model pupil in front of Slughorn.
"Doing what?" She seethed, "Thinking? Am I allowed to think in lecture, Malfoy?" She scoffed, rolling her haughty eyes as she gave him her burning cheek.
Draco leaned towards Hermione's profile, fanning his warm breath against the sensitive shell of her ear as he spoke, his soft words thrumming in a tight squeeze in her abdomen, "Oh, you're allowed to use that big brain of yours, Granger. I'd just rather prefer that you didn't use it to fantasize about me. "
He smirked as she shivered again, her expression outraged at her body's reaction and at his teasing words. Justin choked on his laughter and was coughing with such violence that Hermione thought he might actually need assistance to clear his airway. An Anapneo incantation, came her offhanded thought as she rallied herself to respond to Draco.
"I would never fantasize about y-," she started, only to be interrupted by Professor Slughorn's quick and loud, "Excuse me, Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy, Mister Finch-Fletchley. If you please? The lecture is at the front of the room. Pay attention." He tapped his wand twice on the enchanted wall for effect, and Hermione gave Draco one last disgusted glare before she faced forward in her chair, her cheeks still aflame and her heart stuttering in her breast.
"As I was saying," Professor Slughorn continued, landing a severe look at each student sitting in the back row, "Side effects of the Felix Felicis potion include feelings of extreme euphoria, giddiness, and disassociation. And if the consumed dosage is too much…," he paused for dramatic effect, waiting for Justin's coughing to subside, "It can be fatal," Slughorn finished with a dramatic snap of his fingers, satisfied that he held everyone's full attention, "You will brew the Felix Felicis potion in pairs, for your safety. I assume that you've found your rhythm in working together over the last few weeks on smaller potions." Hermione caught Justin grinning at her, and she felt her annoyance double.
"This is an extraordinarily complex potion with disastrous results if it's prepared incorrectly, and you must proctor each other's work. You must both be present at all times when ingredients are added, or when the liquid is stirred," Slughorn continued, pulling a clear phial of golden liquid out of his breast pocket and holding it above his head, "This little phial," he announced with bravado, spinning the glass for effect, "Will take you six months to brew and hundreds of hours of your time. You will be required to work outside of lecture, as we will continue to brew other potions in class while this one simmers."
He rotated his meaty arm so that every student had a clear view of the shimmering potion in the sunlight. A few moments later, Slughorn handed the delicate phial to a Ravenclaw girl in the front row while Hermione's brain stuttered and shorted as the reality of the professor's instructions sank in – did Slughorn really just say that she would be spending hundreds of hours outside of class with Draco Malfoy?
Hundreds of hours?! Merlin, no.
"Are we really brewing Liquid Luck, Professor?" Padma Patil asked with a quizzical tone. Hermione couldn't see the Ravenclaw girl's face as she was too busy staring at her own shaking hands in bewilderment, but she imagined that Padma was frowning by the skeptical sound of her voice. "Isn't this what killed that Ministry Potioneer two years ago?"
"Indeed, Miss Patil," Professor Slughorn replied as he motioned for Padma to pass the potion to the following table. Padma handed the delicate phial behind her to another pair of Ravenclaws, Anthony Goldstein among them, and Hermione watched through an anxious, tilting haze as the phial made its way towards her table. Her big brain, as Draco had rudely referred to it, was still sputtering and restarting over Slughorn's admission.
"Although Potioneer Blanchett had an unfortunate case of the, ah… well," Slughorn cleared his throat and straightened his lapels over his barrel chest as he frowned at his students, his lips settling into a line as he spoke, "You're all adults now, I suppose you shouldn't be sheltered from the truth. The reports say that Blanchett was significantly altered on Firewhisky when he brewed the Felix Felicis potion."
Anthony Goldstein snorted as he carefully handed the glass phial behind him to Draco, who held the little bottle with his long fingers and spun the liquid in a rapid swirl, igniting the shimmers in the sunlight for Hermione's view and holding it out for her inspection. She twisted her face as she gaped at him, shaking her head as if to convey that this was the silliest thing that he could be doing, and Draco stiffened in response as he turned to pass the potion over the aisle to Justin, who almost dropped it.
"Careful now, Mister Malfoy," Slughorn reprimanded while Justin grumbled and leveled Draco with an annoyed glare.
Professor Slughorn cleared his throat and continued his instructions as the phial made its way back to his hands, "I assure you that this is a perfectly safe assignment. It is profoundly unusual for a dangerous chemical reaction to occur, although it is possible, as you now know," he finished with a solemn air, his stoic gaze fixed on Justin's surly expression, causing the Hufflepuff to blanch and straighten in his chair.
"I do not anticipate that happening here, as the Ministry requires that all students follow strict safety protocols," Slughorn continued, "Which is why you must always work in pairs when adjusting the potion. However, should a mishap occur…" he turned his serious eyes to Hermione, and she bristled, trying to quiet her sputtering brain so she could retain the material.
"I have charmed one jar per table to absorb the bulk of the explosive chemical reaction," Slughorn announced while lifting up an inconspicuous, simple glass jar with a tin lid from Padma's table, "Simply leave the lid off while you brew," he instructed as he twisted off the top, "And any explosion will find its way into the jar. Confringo!" He shouted the spell with such rapidity that several students screamed as a potted plant exploded at the front of the classroom. As Slughorn promised, the explosion was sucked into the jar with a sizzling hiss before it could flay the front row with shards of pottery. Padma had fallen out of her chair in the mayhem, and Anthony was helping her back into her seat, muttering " Arsehole" at Slughorn under his breath.
"As you see," Slughorn demonstrated with a proud smile, holding up the jar with the harmless explosion swirling inside, "It's perfectly safe."
"Professor," another Ravenclaw asked in a nervous titter, his hands trembling on the table as he spoke, "Do we get to use the Liquid Luck?"
"No, Mister Boot. The Potions Association will collect the phials when the potion is complete, as this is a regulated substance, and it should not find its way into the hands of students who may misuse it. Each successful brew will yield 30 grams of Liquid Luck. Anything less, or anything more, is a compromised potion, and it should be returned to me immediately for safe disposal. Successful completion of this assignment will certainly bode well for students who wish to work in the Ministry or the Potions Association. It is not an easy task that you are being asked to do. But to do it well could secure your future." He finished with an enigmatic air as he steepled his hands over his robe.
"And with that, are there any more questions before you are dismissed?" He turned his unruly grey brows at Hermione in preparation for her question, and her anxious hand flew in the air.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"Excuse me, Professor – It's been several minutes since you've said this. But, is it really necessary to spend hundreds of hours together outside of class?" She questioned with a twisted expression. Surely, she'd misheard him. Surely, the Ministry of Magic wouldn't require that she spend her weekends sitting in a room with Draco Malfoy. She caught Justin's black grin from across the aisle as he silently mouthed, " Sucks to be you."
"Yes, Miss Granger. I did not misspeak – this is one of the most complex potions that you will likely ever brew," Slughorn cautioned, missing or ignoring Hermione's agape expression, "But with that said, you are only required to be present to make sure that the student in charge of brewing is following the instructions correctly. And you must both take turns being lead," he pointed his arthritic finger first at Draco, and then at Hermione, "But you are allowed to work on other assignments while you brew together if it does not distract you too much from your task. One small misstep in brewing, Miss Granger, and you could ruin months of work. And fail the class, of course," he finished with a breezy shrug, clapping his hands and rubbing them together as he announced the students' dismissal.
It took several minutes for Hermione to collect herself and engage her mind back in the present. She had tripped into another fantasy; except this time, it was about what it would mean for her prospects of working at the Ministry of Magic if she resigned from Slughorn's lecture. She supposed that her reputation could withstand a blunder, as she was at the top of her class, and she would hardly be the first student to change their schedule after the start of the year.
She chewed on her quill in silence, mulling over her options, when she realized that she hadn't spared Draco a glance since he'd held out the potion for her inspection.
Hermione turned her gaze and found Draco stalled in his seat, sucking in deep, practiced puffs of air through his straight-bridged, aristocratic nose. It reminded her of muggle meditation exercises for stressful moments that she'd read about in a psychology magazine, and she wondered if he felt equally as confounded by their predicament. Draco caught her staring and narrowed his eyes with annoyance when she didn't shy away. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained, "Six months of weekends with you, Granger? Are you sure that you can handle it?"
It was at that precise moment that Hermione swallowed her pride and acknowledged that, yes, she could handle six months of working with Draco. Her ego would surely take a hit, but she would survive, as she always had. She had earned her place to be in this class through countless years of studying and careful work, and she wouldn't let Draco run her off.
She took a deep, steadying breath and turned to face him, grey eyes clashing with brown in a stand-off of wills, "I can handle you, Malfoy," she clipped, hoping that he couldn't see her fingers shake as she brushed an untamed curl from her burning cheek, "But can you handle me?"
Draco gaped at her as his face flamed with color, his rough laugh coming in a huff as he cleared his throat. To Hermione's immense satisfaction, her bravado unsettled the Slytherin snob. She tried not to pay attention to him as he readjusted the front of his robe and packed his belongings in quick succession, but she had the keen feeling that she'd greatly affected Draco Malfoy, and she secretly basked in his swift withdrawal. One point, Hermione – she tallied in her mind, ignoring Draco's many tallies for the day as he stormed out of the classroom.
She caught Susan and Justin outside in the hallway and glared at the wizard's smug face for laughing at her expense earlier. Justin wasn't a close friend, but they got along well enough when required. Susan was their link, as she and Hermione were friends.
Justin turned his sheepish grin at her as he shrugged a narrow shoulder. "Sorry, Hermione," he laughed, wrapping his arm around Susan's shoulders as they all walked together towards the Great Hall for lunch, "But watching you and Malfoy tip-toe around each other in class is the highlight of my Monday and Wednesday," He finished with a cheeky grin, earning a soft smack across his chest from Susan.
"He's not sorry," Susan admonished him, rolling her brown eyes, "He won't shut up about you and Malfoy. Every week he goes on and on about his theories," She laughed, miming quotations with her fingers as they waited for the Grand Staircase to arrange itself so they could descend.
"Me and Malfoy?" Hermione questioned, only half listening at this point. She had already discarded her surly potions partner from her mind and was focusing on pleasanter thoughts – specifically, her romantic daydream with Viktor, "What could you possibly have to say about Malfoy and me?" She directed with distraction to Justin.
"Oh, just that I think that it's hilarious to watch him court you," the Hufflepuff replied in a teasing tone at the exact moment that the staircase swung to a pause at their platform. Justin and Susan stepped onto the tricky stairs, but Hermione was stupefied as she registered Justin's words. She missed the staircase and had to wait with impatience as the meddling Hufflepuffs rode back up to her several minutes later.
"Are you mental?" Hermione seethed as she joined them. "Do you have eyes?" She snapped to Justin, pretending to search his person but not actually touching him. "A brain?" She quipped, tapping the air above his skull as she made an empty knocking sound with her tongue on the roof of her mouth. Susan chuckled into her hands at Hermione's derisive antics.
"Hear, hear. Hermione. Justin's mad. A real loony sometimes."
Hermione scoffed in agreeance with Susan as she continued her tirade. "How would you even know anything about Malfoy, Justin?" Hermione argued as if he couldn't be more ridiculous, her confidence in her reality returning in strides, "You're not his acquaintance, let alone his friend."
"Think you're funny, yeah?" Justin huffed, pretending to dust off his robes as he recovered from her theatrics, fixing her with a look as if she was a lost little puppy that he pitied. "I don't have to be his friend to see the way that he looks at you," he muttered, "To see the way that he's been looking at you since our first year at Hogwarts. Oh, don't look at me that way. Half of the school talks about it," he defended as he stared at his companions, one witch displaying profound confusion on her face and the other pretending not to exist.
"I barely even pay the bloke any attention," he continued with exasperation, rolling his dark eyes to the ceiling, "But sure enough, if I glance at him when he's being obnoxious in class, he's always got his gaze fixed right on you," Justin huffed, waving his wand in a semi-circle and pointing its tip at Hermione's nose, "Like he's looking for your reaction," He finished, pausing to absorb her startled expression before he delivered his killing blow in the entryway of the Great Hall.
"I figure that's how Malfoys show their love," Justin smirked, lifting his shoulders in a careless shrug as if he wasn't delivering the most unbelievable piece of news of the day. Hermione swallowed (her throat had suddenly developed mysterious dry patches), and gaped as Justin dismissed her and retreated to his table. Susan, who was Hermione's friend but was not her best friend like Harry, Ron, and Ginny, had gone as quiet as a mouse and refused to meet Hermione's eyes.
Susan turned to follow her boyfriend, although she hesitated after a step and glanced one final time over her shoulder at Hermione as she spoke, "Don't listen to him, yeah?" She said, dipping her head in a way that said listen to me, instead, "He's loony, remember?" She tapped at her skull with her fist as Hermione nodded dumbly at her retreating form, trying to comprehend the last four hours of her life and finding that none of it made any sense. She stood in mute agitation in the entryway of the Great Hall, effectively blocking traffic while she pondered and gestured to herself in incredulity. Students gave her odd looks as they sidled around her fixed position in the doorway, muttering under their breaths as they passed.
She was jostled into motion by Ginny's obnoxious waving from the Gryffindor table. "Hermione!? Did someone cast Confundo on you? Blink twice if yes!" Ginny hollered into her cupped hands over the roaring voices of the hundreds of students gathered at once for lunch. It was at moments like this that Hermione appreciated Ginny's shameless and extroverted social graces, as almost nothing embarrassed the youngest Weasley sibling, who'd grown up in a cramped household with six obnoxious older brothers.
By the time that Hermione reached her usual seat at the table across from her friends, she'd already mentally reviewed hundreds of memories involving encounters with Draco Malfoy – his relentless teasing, his snide remarks, his laughter at her expense, and the rough tugs he'd given her curls when he sat behind her in class. And she surmised that Justin was a filthy little liar, as she couldn't recall a single moment where she thought that Draco's behavior was anywhere near flirtatious.
Was it really possible that Draco had been flirting with her all of these years, without her knowledge? To the extent that half of the school was talking about it? Surely not, as she would remember such an occurrence. What kind of person belittled their love interest the first time they met? Made them nearly cry from frustration? Called them a mudblood, regardless of if it had only been once? And said that they were not even a real witch?
Love interest? She scoffed at herself as the thought reverberated in her mind, shaking her head with a rough laugh. No, she was not mistaken in her recollection. Justin was correct that Draco often looked at her, but that was only because she was the subject of his loathing - nothing more. That, she knew to be true.
She sat in a graceless heap on the bench and met Ginny's expectant face across the table.
"I just had the most interesting conversation with Justin Finch-Fletchley," Hermione started with a light tone, attempting to regain her composure as Ginny's brow quirked from across the table. A cucumber sandwich, Hermione's favorite, appeared on her plate next to a garden salad with vinaigrette. Ginny gave Hermione's lunch a disgusted look and took a bite of her ham sandwich, dabbing at the corners of her bow-shaped mouth with her napkin, "I don't understand how you can eat that and have such a buxom bum," Ginny said with haughty false indignance, causing Ron to choke on his food across the table and Harry to shoot off an exasperated "Really?" at Ginny's direction.
Ginny shrugged at Harry and took another bite of her sandwich. The redhead was shameless, yes, but she generally held excellent table manners; today was an obvious exception.
"It's the truth," Ginny defended around a mouthful of bread and ham, "She eats like a bird but looks like that, " she waved her hand in a superfluous motion at Hermione's chest, which was hidden under loosely fitted black robes.
"Ha-ha, Ginny. You're quite the comedian this afternoon," Hermione replied with a tart tongue as she cut her sandwich into fourths.
"Yeah?" Ginny asked with a small, teasing smile after swallowing, "You know that it's true. So, what did that Hufflepuff wanker say to freeze you in your steps? I told Harry that you were obviously charmed into stasis, but he disagreed."
Hermione lifted one triangle of her sandwich to her mouth as she pursed her lips with amusement, feeling total agreement that Justin had earned Ginny's disparaging remark.
She chewed for a longer length of time than necessary as she replayed the last thirty minutes of her life in her head with rapidity, from the time that Slughorn dismissed her class until now. After a few moments that could have actually been several minutes, she could tell that Ginny was growing impatient with her silence and rallied herself to speak. But, Hermione wasn't sure how to convey her thoughts to Ginny in front of Harry and Ron without causing a scene. The boys disliked Draco Malfoy even more than she did, having been heated quidditch rivals against Slytherin for years.
She sighed in resignation as she finished the last bite of her sandwich, gathering her Gryffindor courage to finish the conversation that she'd started. But, courage or not, she still tried to be discreet, and she lowered her voice to Ginny, "He said that Malfoy has fancied me since first-year," she all but whispered, but it was not enough. Harry and Ron were excellent lip-readers, having had silent conversations with her from across classrooms for years, and they were watching her discussion with unabashed interest. She noticed that Harry cut Ginny a quick look before he muttered under his breath, " Don't," to Ron's profile, which went unheard and unheeded.
Ron bellowed out a ferocious laugh that startled students several tables over, and tears streamed down his reddened cheeks as he wiped at his eyes with the backs of his hands.
"Ronald Weasley," Ginny chided, throwing a strip of bacon at his head as she frowned, "Shut up, you git!"
Hermione scowled as she bristled in her seat, appreciating Ginny's unspoken sentiment: It isn't hilarious that someone fancies Hermione, no matter who it is.
Harry smacked Ron on the back several times to stifle the redhead's laughter and gave Hermione a sheepish grimace.
"Malfoy has feelings? That's fresh," Harry muttered as he shoved a handful of chips into his mouth, effectively shutting himself up. Ginny had given up on shaming her brother into silence and turned her attention back to Hermione.
"That's not the strangest thing that I've heard yet, Hermione," Ginny said with a graceful shrug of her shoulder, "Boys are notoriously stupid when it comes to courting women," she finished with a snap, training her hard green eyes on her older brother's inappropriate expression.
Ron's wheezes gained new momentum at Ginny's comment, his loud choking laughter earning him glares from the professors' table at the front of the room. Lavender was shooting peculiar, narrowed looks from her seat down the table where she was situated next to her best friend, Parvati Patil. Lavender was with Ron at every possible moment outside of class, except during meals, which she shared in the exclusive company of her best friend.
"Oh, that's hilarious, Hermione," Ron gasped between struggles for air, "The best thing that I've heard all year. Wait, my entire life. Malfoy? Fancies you? " He registered her affronted look and managed to gain some control back over his laughter.
"Don't give me that look, 'Mione," Ron chided with affection as he moved a heap of casserole around his plate with his fork, "You're not the ridiculous one in this situation. You know that I respect you and that you're too good for any bloke here," he finished, saving himself from being hexed off of his seat by Ginny, "But Justin's a fool," He added under his breath, following Harry's example to stuff his mouth with food so that he could say no more.
Harry continued to pretend that his chips were the most exciting thing at the table as Ginny looked back and forth between the boys, rolling her green eyes heavenward as she gave Hermione's hand an affectionate squeeze under the table.
"Like I said," Ginny huffed in pretend confidence, "Boys are invariably stupid."
Hermione found her voice and uttered a cutting, "Indeed," as she glared at her male best friends.
I could do without boys for a while, she thought with irritation, recalling how nearly every male that she'd encountered that morning had invoked her ire.
Fatigued from the morning's events and annoyed with Ron's mocking, Hermione stood with abrupt commotion from the table, her salad forgotten on her plate.
"Don't leave, 'Mione," Ron begged with a laugh from around a mouthful of casserole at her obvious intention, "We didn't mean to upset you."
She shook her head to clear it and squeezed her eyes shut, running a pale hand through her tangled mess of hair as she opened her eyes and cut them to Ron.
"I'm not angry with you, Ron. At least, not anymore," she sighed as Ron's expression relaxed, "I wanted your confirmation that Justin was a liar, and I've received it. So, thank you," she clipped, gathering her satchel as she started to back away from the bench, "I just need to rest for a bit," she added at the boys' collective protest, swinging her satchel over her shoulder in finality, "I've had a terrible morning."
"Of course," Ginny nodded, giving Hermione permission to leave, "We'll see you later, then." Ron looked like he would say something more but thought better of it and returned to his meal, pushing his casserole around his plate with his lips pulled in a thin line as Hermione gave him her back.
"I'll see you later," Hermione waved from over her shoulder as she left to return to the common room, oblivious to the heated gaze from the Slytherin table that followed her movements.