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, pesky hormones, and friendship - the growing pains of teendom with a dash of magic, 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. Updates will come every 1-3 weeks. Since this is my first venture into creative writing, my chapters are under a periodic state of revision (with passages tweaked as my prose improves).
Of note: I've aged Viktor to 23 and Draco to 18, as I wanted to write sexual content with legal adults (Hermione's birthday is unchanged, and she is also 18).
Thank you to my betas: Intricate_Iris and Rhiannonally! You are amazing!
If you like this first chapter, please follow for updates, and let me know your thoughts with a review.
This is meant to be fun - so I hope you ENJOY!
Tags: explicit sexual content, slow burn, enemies to lovers, AU - canon divergence, AU - no Voldemort, Pureblood culture, Hogwarts era, seventh year Hogwarts, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Smart Hermione Granger, Virgin Hermione Granger, Virgin Draco Malfoy, loss of virginity, risky sex, possible pregnancy, erotica, orgasm delay/denial, teasing, jealousy, horny teenagers, inconsistent contraceptive use, Draco does NOT like to share, Draco wants babies, Hermione wants a career, Draco loves to cuddle, mutual fussing over each other, creampie, semi-public sex, mutual masturbation, oral sex, banter, fluff, vaginal fingering, public display of affection, nipple play, yes there's a plot - I just really like smut, meddling friends
3/6/22 section updates
Hermione Granger's erotic daydream danced behind her eyelids, fracturing her concentration with teasing scenes featuring Viktor Krum, her long-distance crush.
"Hermy-own," Dream Viktor murmured into Hermione's ear while nuzzling his rough, stubbled jaw against her cheek. "Be mine." The gruff command ignited Hermione's senses, and she gasped as Viktor's strong hands cupped her arse. A second later, he swept her off the floor and pressed her back firmly against the wall as he ground his pelvis into her hips, groaning against her neck as she wrapped her legs around his waist in a silent invitation. Viktor's fingers fumbled over the buttons of her blouse, frantically spreading the fabric apart as he dipped his head to-
A soft, masculine scoff roused Hermione's attention, and she opened her eyes with a pursed expression as she squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, purposely ignoring her annoying tablemate. It was profoundly difficult to hold any semblance of focus on the present while she was aroused, and she said a silent prayer for clarity as she glanced at her timepiece and frowned. The first two hours of double Potions had been wasted with daydreams, and she heavily exhaled while turning her gaze towards the charmed chalkboard.
Professor Slughorn's penchant for obnoxious theatrics and driveling speech was the primary reason why Hermione was inattentive in the first place, and she was reluctant to admit she'd allowed her mind to gallivant away more than once while he'd monologued. Erotic daydreams were a frequent favorite distraction, although nearly any memory sufficed as entertainment compared to listening to retellings of Slughorn's glory days of his youth. There were only so many times he could boast of his accomplishment as one of the youngest Ministry Potioneers in history before everyone's eyeballs rolled out of their sockets and teetered down the aisles.
Slughorn's latest self-important, soul-sucking speech filtered in and out of Hermione's ears as her concentration further slipped, and her eyes drifted towards the table. Memories of Viktor spilled onto her blank sheet of parchment, filling the page with scenes from the three short weeks they'd spent in Ireland as summer camp counsellors, 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 promising an exciting special guest did little to draw experienced volunteers or eager young attendees through the camp's doors. Only five wizards answered the call to tutor – a grey-haired, wild-eyed English arithmancer named Gerald, who was as famously gifted as he was insane, and two kind Chinese nationals, a couple, who smiled but were otherwise disinterested in small talk. After Hermione introduced herself, she turned and saw the fifth volunteer – a vaguely familiar-looking, handsome stranger – at the exact moment that his eyes glanced at her.
No flicker of immediate recognition crossed Hermione's face when the square-jawed stranger introduced himself, to which he'd arched his brows in surprise. When he clarified in his thick Bulgarian accent that he was a quidditch player, Hermione assumed he meant in an amateur league and nodded her head politely.
"My friends, Ronald and Harry, also play quidditch. They're both rather good and want to play professionally."
Viktor nodded with interest. "Is that so? Maybe I'll see them on the pitch someday."
Hermione shrugged and thought that was an odd thing to say, as Harry and Ron wanted to play for the Chudley Cannons in England, not a backyard league in Eastern Europe, but she tucked that thought away and changed the conversation to a topic that was far more interesting than quidditch: school.
"So, Viktor, are you a student, as well?" She didn't think Viktor was currently enrolled, as his trimmed black facial hair and faint sun lines aged him several years. Not to mention that his figure was muscular, thickly built, and roguish – entirely different than the wizards of her acquaintance at Hogwarts.
Viktor's broad shoulders shook with stifled laughter as he grinned. "I attended Durmstrang some years ago, but I'm twenty-three," he replied with an arched brow. "You really don't know who I am?"
Hermione blushed and crossed her arms. "You do look a little familiar," she said with a pause, trying to place his face, "but I really couldn't say. Am I supposed to know?"
Viktor's booming laugh startled the other volunteers as Hermione scoffed with a disbelieving smile. What on God's earth was so entertaining about this conversation? She opened her mouth to ask, but the program director interrupted with an excited clap of her hands and ushered Hermione and the rest of the volunteers into the small auditorium. The puzzle pieces of their odd exchange slowly fell into place as Hermione crossed through the doors.
"It's Krum!" Echoed from all sides of the room, and Hermione's eyes widened with shock as every child squealed and catapulted from their seats, trying to get a closer look at her handsome companion. The flashing bulbs from the Prophet photographers overloaded her senses as she sat in the chaos of the front row, riveted to the stage where Viktor stood with a humble hand raised in greeting. Her frazzled brain misfired several times before the 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 sighed in her chair and scribbled Viktor's name across her parchment, then quickly scratched it out before anyone could see and doodled a picture of his face instead. It was unrecognizable as she was a terrible artist, but she'd gotten his beard correct and drew a few extra squiggly hairs for good measure. Once finished with her Picasso abomination, she quickly flipped the parchment to the blank side to hide it from her tablemate so he wouldn't catch a glimpse and laugh
Any witch with eyes and a brain would have been charmed by Viktor, as he was terrific with children and a complete gentleman. It was perfectly sane to have a crush on him – some may say, inevitable, and Hermione nodded to herself as she straightened her spine against the back of her chair. The truth was that she may have fallen a tiny bit in love with the man as she'd watched him gently steer campers towards solving complex problems, although she wouldn't admit the depth of her feelings aloud.
Viktor patted the camper's shoulder then pointed at her parchment as his thin t-shirt stretched across his back. "You're so close. Do you see the way to the answer?"
The nervous witch was too young to be as fascinated with Viktor's body as Hermione was, and thus the girl was able to maintain her focus on the problem, tapping her wand against her forehead as her eyes narrowed. "Oh! If I approach the equation with Podmore's theory, will the numbers align, Mr. Krum?"
This was the part Hermione had been waiting for – the moment when Viktor predicably grinned with pride and lifted his hand for a high-five. The thin shirt stretched above the waistline of his trousers, exposing tan skin and hard muscle, and Hermione bit her lip as she ogled with abandon. Viktor's dark eyes caught Hermione's from across the room, and she swore that for a moment, his smile was only for her.
He was the first man in years to inspire such sexual, 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 equal fervor. They'd spent nearly every meal together in the 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 dingy headquarters, lounging on couches and making excuses to be a bit more handsy than they dared during the day.
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 Snap.
She'd thought he would be arrogant based on his level of celebrity and wealth, or maybe even snobbish based on his pure-blood status and conservative upbringing, as many of the Slytherin students were at school. But it was clear that Viktor conformed 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 horror as Viktor tripped out of the building on the 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 trained healer and was terrible at resetting noses) - but Viktor was already in motion, dusting dirt from his trousers as he rolled to sit. He tucked his chin to his chest and pinched the bridge of his nose to halt the flow of blood as he laughed.
"Mark my words – I will donate enough galleons to fix this camp, so no child's nose will ever look as horrible as mine!"
He caught Hermione's eye and winked as the fretting program director transfigured twigs into tissues.
Hermione smiled into her fist 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 shepherd's pie.
"By 'little bird', do you mean Gerald?" Viktor asked, unbothered by the grub, as he lifted his fork to his lips. He shot a pointed look at the wrinkled English wizard over Hermione's shoulder, the wild-eyed arithmancer-turned-volunteer-chef, who was scowling from his seat 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. Apparently, this was a prediction."
"That was surprisingly coherent for someone who yells at the birds every crack of dawn," Viktor mused, swallowing another bite as he glanced at the odd gentleman. Gerald was as famous for his published research as he was for his reputation for pontificating roaring theories on numerology to flocks of migrating birds – which he'd demonstrated every morning at camp, to the children's terror and the program director's disgruntlement.
Hermione cleared her throat and summoned a healthy dose of courage to be bold and flirt.
"So, is what he said true, Viktor? Am I at risk of being bludgeoned because of our acquaintance?"
Viktor snorted and covered his lips with his napkin as he tried to keep his food inside his mouth. "Hermy-own," he mispronounced after he swallowed, stressing his vowels as he teased. "You are at as much risk of attack by a bludger as I am at risk of attack by your hair. But I'll consult with the birds, if you insist," he said with a grin. "Now, if you'll agree to come to one of my games, that may be a different story, but I'll do everything I can to protect your brain so you can keep coming back to camp."
Hermione blushed and erupted into giggles as Viktor touched her foot under the table. "Is the other part true, then?" She asked, taking a sip through her straw as Viktor glanced at her mouth. "Are you actually the best seeker in the world?"
It was shameful to admit, but for as many hours as Hermione spent listening to the Weasleys and Harry babble on about their favorite sport, she was clueless to the rankings at the international level.
Viktor cleared his throat and loosened his collar. "For now, yes, I'm the best, but there will be others. Maybe your Ron, or your Harry, someday will topple me from the podium."
He lifted his water glass to his lips, sipping as he examined Hermione closely over the rim.
She huffed, blushing at his obvious meaning. "They're not 'mine'," she corrected. "We're just friends."
It was rare for Viktor to look smug, but Hermione thought he did at that moment, 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 travel schedule. Not to mention the countless charitable events he frequented and sponsored, or the requirement of his time for interviews for newspaper publications worldwide. Hermione tried to remain patient as the time between his letters lengthened, trusting her instinct on the matter of his feelings even if he hadn't declared any romantic proclamations outright.
While their relationship wasn't progressing as quickly as Hermione may have liked, she reasoned that Viktor was getting to know her first by building a healthy foundation of friendship. Wasn't that how a successful romantic relationship started, anyhow?
Countless muggle movies and novels supported that reasoning, as Hermione thought of the stash of romantic books on her dormitory shelf. Wizarding romance literature was entirely different, often featuring fated couples brought together by extraordinary circumstances – love potions, magical objects, or spells – where the feelings were instant, and the erotic scenes or descriptions of physical contact were minimal, a consequence of a conservative culture that dominated the magical 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 as she waved a novel with a shirtless Scot on the cover in Hermione's direction. "But these are really for me."
Hermione's most recent letter exchange with Viktor was the most promising yet, as he'd attached a charmed bag that was itself a gift and included several more: a bulky knit sweater in Bulgaria's team colours, which she wore under her robe today in the chilly castle, and two signed copies of Quidditch Through the Ages for Harry and Ron.
Harry laughed and brushed his thumb over the cover as his wide eyes snapped towards Hermione. "I have to give it to Krum – this is really cool," he said in a rush. "The entire team has signed these!"
Ron slowly exhaled with a frown and schooled his excitement by clenching his fists. He shrugged one shoulder and muttered a feigned, disinterested, "Tell the chap thanks," at Hermione's boots.
She squirmed in her chair, pulling at the feathers of her quill and dropping them on the table as she recalled last night's conversation with Harry and Ron in the Gryffindor common room:
Ron frowned at the chessboard and steepled his fingers under his chin as he grumbled, "I can't believe that you're exchanging letters about maths with Viktor bloody Krum."
Ron was a brilliant strategist and ranked player, but the litter of smashed chessmen piled high on his side of the table painted a different picture, and Hermione arched her brow at the mess.
"Yes, well, Viktor 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 shared an amused glance with Harry over her newspaper, who was also growing tired of Ron's comments about Viktor.
Ron sighed and pushed a rook forward with a distracted finger as he mumbled, "You didn't tell us that he would be there, or we would have come." His eyebrows furrowed with confusion as Harry's answering knight smashed his rook off the board. Hermione looked up at the noise and tried to squash her annoyance with Ron, returning her attention to the magizoology crossword in the Puzzles section. She finished the last line then lay the paper on her lap. They'd had this conversation probably one hundred times, and it never changed.
"The advertisement in The Prophet said 'Special Guest in attendance' – it didn't say who it would be – you know that. And Viktor requested anonymity to keep the fanatics at bay."
Hermione had long suspected that Ron carried a soft torch for her, as she'd noticed his lingering glances and blushing cheeks 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 Madame Pomfrey to cancel in an effort to contain the annoying disease, to the disgruntlement of the student body and Tri-Wizard Tournament champions.
Any fantasy she held of becoming Mrs. Ronald Weasley was squashed into the dirt as puberty hit, when their interests diverted and 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 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 days convalescing in his exclusive company to never wish for it again.
When Ron turned his sights to Lavender Brown in sixth-year, Hermione heard the choir sing and the angels' trumpets sound in the heavens. The gossiping Gryffindor, renowned for her ability to spread questionable news faster than Rita Skeeter, was Ron's perfect match. Lavender 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, and she'd hex anyone to smithereens should they argue. It was typical to see Lavender and Ron wrapped around one another in public, shoving their tongues down each other's throats, and Hermione tried to avoid being around them as much as possible so she wouldn't have to hand them a disciplinary slip for untoward behavior.
She shuddered in her seat, grimacing as intrusive images of Lavender grinding in Ron's lap popped into her mind.
Initially, Hermione was a tad surprised that she hadn't felt an inkling of jealousy, 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 could, Hermione wasn't sure.
Ron scoffed at the sight of Viktor's great grey owl, Dulovo, entering the Great Hall with the morning postal rush. Harry's eyes flicked to Ron before he swore under his breath. "Please don't start today," Harry said quietly, pinching Ron's leg under the table.
The request was ignored.
"So," Ron said, buttering his toast with too much enthusiasm as he glared at Hermione across the table. Margarine splattered on his plate as Harry scooted farther down the bench, hunching his shoulders as he pretended to be invisible. "How's your new buddy Krum doing all the way over in Bulgaria?" Ron asked. "Is the bloke actually being useful and sending us tickets to his matches, or is he wasting his time, waxing poetic about imaginary numbers?"
Hermione bit her cheek and glued her eyes to the letter as she tore the seal with her finger. She refused to rise to Ron's bait, for Harry's sake, and stuffed her mouth with a forkful of souffle instead, buying herself time to cool down as she chewed.
"He knows that I can scarcely find the time for extracurriculars," she answered after swallowing while reading the last line of 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 us tickets to his match against the Chudley Cannons over winter holiday, and if you can behave, I'll give you one."
Harry perked up and slapped his hand against the table as he grinned at Hermione. "Seriously? That's brilliant! I can't believe it!"
Ron was less enthused and grumbled his thanks.
Another time, Ron said:
"He sounds like a real bore, Hermione. Arithmancy? I just don't get it. How are you not gouging out your eyes when he sends a letter written in stupid code? Maybe the subject helps him be a better seeker, somehow." He looked to Harry for confirmation of his theory.
Harry sighed and turned his attention to more interesting matters: Ginny Weasley. After a moment, he realized Ron actually expected an answer and muttered, "I'd say that's unlikely," as he gazed at Ginny's chest over 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 odd behavior. She raised a dubious brow when Harry continued his poor stab at mediation and insisted that Ron was even happy for her.
"Are you seriously lying to my face, Harry Potter?" She said with a scoff while poking him in the rib.
Harry took a quick step backward out of poking range and crossed his arms. "Look, just cut him a bit of slack. He's trying, alright? He'll shape up."
Hermione slumped in her chair as she snapped her attention to the present: Professor Slughorn's droning monologue about the Felix Felicis potion – their next assignment. She listened through a few snippets of instruction then zoned out as Slughorn derailed on a self-important tangent. Her eyes unfocused as a daydream bloomed between the aisles, and she bit her lip as her body flooded with arousal and heat. Dream Viktor strode towards her in the dark classroom, sweeping her tightly into his arms while whispering husky commands in her ear. Dream Hermione gasped and tossed her head back as Viktor became even more insatiable, kissing her neck while stroking her hips against his erection. Actual Hermione thought she heard a loud moan from somewhere in the back of the room, but she was too distracted with the fantasy to pay the noise any mind.
While she was legally considered an adult, she was technically still a teenager, and a virgin in all matters of romance, and thus was extremely susceptible to hormonal urges. The only romance she'd ever had was with the male heroes on the pages of her novels, and while she'd studied the erotic scenes with the enthusiasm of a scientist on the brink of discovery, she'd yet to turn her research into practice.
She hadn't even been kissed.
Hermione blamed her perpetual state of singledom on Harry and Ron, who constantly flanked her side since their first encounter on the Hogwarts Express. The two effectively scared away most suitors since none could come within talking range without suffering an instant case of fear. The three had earned the nickname The Golden Trio after Harry took the Gryffindor quidditch team all the way to the inter-house finals in first-year, actually winning the tournament despite lacking the latest model of broom on the market – a testament to his skill. He'd boasted to the Prophet reporters that he couldn't have made it without his best friends' support, throwing his gangly arms around their shoulders, and a cheesy photo was snapped and published in the paper. They remained inseparable, sharing most classes until the beginning of fourth-year when Hermione doubled her workload with a staggering ten courses in preparation for their O.W.L.s.
Hermione's hard work paid off, earning her the most O's of any student in her year, although several Ravenclaws were hot on her heels. To her bewilderment, hearsay floated through the gossip mill that Draco Malfoy also did incredibly well on 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, pure-blood snob with a reputation for disrupting class with clever quips and obnoxious schemes. He prided himself on his status as a lazy intellectual, cushioned from serious reprimand by the notoriety of his surname and the galleons lining his wardrobe. The Slytherin made every effort to dislodge Hermione's concentration when they shared classes as children, and she doubted he'd matured or actualized his potential as a serious student. 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 she made when she raised her hand, even when it was clear 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 and feigned innocence as she whirled around to glare.
It was with profound irritation that Hermione admitted, only to herself, that despite Draco's thuggish behavior, his face was the sort that stole her breath with one glance. An egregious, blasphemous notion followed that admittance, as she decided 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 marks had been accurate.
To her utter astonishment, Draco was a perfectly acceptable Potions partner. 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, 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'd expected Draco to be as obstinate and disruptive as he'd been in the past - as unruly and rude. But hour after hour, Hermione's suspicion grew as she studied her tablemate's distractingly handsome profile, puzzling at his obvious intent to ignore her existence. She knew 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 they'd spent approximately twenty-one hours together brewing simple potions in almost total silence while she gaped at him, trying to figure out his game. 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 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:
Hermione's shrill voice punctured Draco's eardrums as she screeched, "Is there no other seat left!?"
Draco rubbed his ear and glared at Hermione's face as her jaw hung open like a trout out of water. Of course, she would be his partner in Potions – he should have guessed his luck after the visions he'd seen over the summer and shoved his chair as far away as possible as he exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Fuck."
That was three weeks ago. Since then, Draco had been her annoyingly competent, statuesquely handsome, mostly silent partner.
Until now.
"Psst, Granger – you're making noises," Draco muttered while reaching out a leg to kick at her chair, effectively knocking her mind back to the present.
Hermione scoffed and straightened in her seat as she fixed Draco with a glare. "I most certainly am not," she argued under her breath, prickling as Justin Finch-Fletchley and Susan Bones turned their heads to watch from across the aisle.
Draco arched his brow and leaned closer as he whispered, "You're moaning and shaking the table, and it's distracting." His eyes snapped towards her robe-covered knees that were still bouncing, and Hermione smacked her thighs together as she blushed.
"Be quiet, Malfoy. You're imagining things."
Draco scoffed and turned in his seat to face the front, biting his cheek with amusement. Hermione didn't realize how on the nose she was with that comment, and he debated with himself for approximately three seconds before he thought fuck it and decided to tease her.
Hermione thought Draco was finished pestering her and began to relax in her chair, but gasped moments later when he threw his head back and mimicked high-pitched female moaning under his breath.
Her jaw dropped as she gaped at Draco, struggling to reign in her temper before she socked him in the arm. Was he trying to incite a fight? Justin burst into laughter from across the aisle and started to choke as Susan banged her fist on his back to shut him up, drawing the attention of Slughorn, who waved for the back row to quiet down.
Draco waited until Slughorn turned around, then leaned towards Hermione with a taunting whisper, "Your mouth is still hanging open. Are you trying to imitate a fish?"
Hermione snapped her jaw shut as her face flamed. "I liked you better when you ignored my existence and pretended you were mute," she snapped. "Why on God's earth did you stop?"
Draco chuckled and crossed his arms, leaning casually back in his chair as he admired the flush on her cheeks. Hermione was cute when she was angry, which meant she was adorable all the time, and he was in trouble now – as he couldn't make himself stop talking. "Well, your feminine wiles distracted me, and I forgot to pretend."
"Stop it! I told you I wasn't moaning!"
Draco smirked and rolled his neck, mimicking another orgasming woman while Hermione slapped her hand on the table in protest. Teasing her was too entertaining, and Draco swallowed his laughter, then inhaled and scooted his chair a little bit closer. It was a dangerous game he was playing, and he knew he should leave her alone, but she smelled so good – like vanilla – and his nostrils flared as he murmured in her ear, "That's what you sounded like."
Hermione stiffened as his hot breath fanned over her cheek and shivered as the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. She couldn't believe it – she was actually aroused by his deep whisper, and her face twisted with disgust as she hunched in her chair, scribbling a furious sham of notes across her parchment. Justin was still causing a scene – sniggering and acting like this was the funniest thing to happen all month, and several Ravenclaws turned to see the cause of the noisy distraction.
Hermione feigned innocence and remained quietly planted in her seat as the minutes ticked by, staring at her parchment with unfocused eyes. 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 breasts and sucking on her nipples.
Draco burst into laughter, drawing half of the attention of the room.
"You're doing it again!"
"Doing what?!" Hermione cried while turning in her seat to kick his legs. "Thinking?! Am I allowed to think in lecture, Malfoy?!"
Draco avoided her feet as he tried to reign in his snarky tongue, which was too challenging at the moment as Hermione's heel came awfully close to his shin, so he let his words fly.
"Oh, you're allowed to use that big brain of yours, Granger. I'd just rather prefer you didn't use it to fantasize about me!"
"I would never fantasize about y-" she started, only to be interrupted by Professor Slughorn's swift and irritated, "Excuse me, back row – if you please? The lecture is at the front of the room. Pay attention!"
Hermione seethed and levelled one last disgusted glare at Draco's smug face before she turned to the board.
Slughorn tapped his wand twice on his palm. "As I was saying… the side effects of the Felix Felicis potion include feelings of extreme euphoria, giddiness, and disassociation. And if it's taken in too large of a dose, it can be fatal. As you all know, per Ministry protocol, you're required to brew the potion in pairs for your safety. You must both be present at all times when ingredients are added and are responsible for proctoring the other's work."
He pulled a clear glass phial out of his breast pocket and held it above his head. "This little potion, barely enough to fill a shot glass, will take you six months to brew and hundreds of hours of your time. You're required to work outside of class, as we'll continue to brew other potions while this one simmers."
Slughorn handed the phial to a Ravenclaw girl in the front row while Hermione's brain shorted and died. Had she heard their professor correctly? Did Slughorn really just say she was required to spend hundreds of hours outside of class with Draco Malfoy?
Lord have mercy - no.
Padma Patil stared at the phial with a quizzical brow. "Are we really brewing Liquid Luck, Professor?"
Hermione couldn't see the Ravenclaw girl's face as she was too busy staring at her own shaking hands, but she imagined Padma was frowning by the skeptical sound of her voice. "Isn't this what killed that Ministry Potioneer two years ago? I heard it was quite the scandal. It didn't make the paper, but my father works at the Ministry, and he said it was all anyone talked about."
Slughorn sighed and motioned for Padma to pass along the phial. "Indeed, Miss Patil, although Potioneer Blanchett was under the influence of Firewhisky when he brewed, which I trust none of you will be so foolish to follow in his footsteps."
Padma handed the potion to another pair of Ravenclaws, Anthony Goldstein among them, and Hermione watched through an anxious haze as the bottle made its way towards her table. Draco snatched the phial, spinning the liquid in a rapid swirl and igniting the shimmers in the sunlight as he tried to impress Hermione. He held it in front of her face like he expected her to take it, and she scrunched her nose and shook her head at him, motioning for him to get away from her. Draco rolled his eyes and turned to toss the potion over the aisle to Justin, who almost dropped it.
Slughorn sucked in a startled breath as his eyes widened with alarm. "Careful now, Mister Malfoy! That's my personal batch." He relaxed as the potion made its way back to his hands and tucked it in his pocket, securing the button. He glanced around the classroom, observing the dubious expressions of his students, and sighed, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.
"I assure all of you that this is a perfectly safe assignment. Chemical reactions can occur, yes, and some of them may be dangerous, but as long as you follow the safety protocols, your potion will brew to plan. And as required, I've charmed one jar per table to absorb any rogue explosions."
Slughorn lifted his hand above his head as a simple glass jar flew into his grip. He twisted off the lid and placed the jar on Padma's table, then took a step backward and lifted his wand in the air. "Simply leave the lid off while you brew, and any explosion will find its way into the jar. Confringo!"
A potted plant exploded at the front of the classroom as students in the front row screamed and ducked to avoid the shrapnel. As promised, the jar absorbed the explosion with a sizzling hiss, sucking all of the pottery fragments before they could flay the Ravenclaws. Padma toppled to the floor in the mayhem, and Anthony jumped to help her stand, swearing at the professor under his breath.
Anthony Boot crawled back into his seat and raised a shaking hand as his voice trembled with his question. "Professor. D-do we get to use the L-liquid Luck?"
"No, Mister Boot. Since this is a regulated substance, the Potions Association will collect it at the end of the semester – should you be successful. Each brew will yield thirty grams exactly, as most liquid should evaporate during the final stage. Any variation is a compromised potion and should be returned to me immediately for safe disposal. It's not an easy task that you're being asked to do, but to do it well could secure your future in the Ministry. And with that, are there any other questions before you're dismissed?"
Slughorn turned to Hermione as her 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 so much time with our tablemate outside of class? Can't we just brew the potion during our regular schedule?"
"Miss Granger, were you listening? I did not misspeak – you understand we have other potions to complete in preparation for your exams. But rest assured, you can work on other assignments while the Liquid Luck simmers, as long as you're not too distracted. One small misstep, and you could ruin months of work – and fail the class, of course."
Slughorn clapped his hands and rubbed them together as he announced their dismissal.
Minutes passed in silence as Hermione dallied in her chair, trying to revive her brain as it adamantly refused to work. She tripped into another fantasy; except this time, it was about what it would mean for her prospects of working at the Ministry if she resigned from Potions. She supposed her reputation could withstand the 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.
Besides, she still had an O and the title of Head Girl.
She chewed the tip of her quill, mulling over options when she realized her tablemate was still present, and she hadn't spared him a glance since he'd shoved the damn potion in her face.
Hermione turned her head to glance at Draco and found him similarly stalled in his seat with his eyes slammed shut, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he inhaled and held his breath, apparently meditating. Draco felt Hermione's stare and opened his eyes, sighing with annoyance as she didn't shy away. He'd known this assignment was coming, but he hadn't known that Slughorn would force them to work outside of class – and his frustration increased as he realized this must be how everything he'd seen in that damned crystal ball started.
Draco ground his jaw and arched a pale brow as Hermione continued to stare. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained. "Enjoying yourself, there? You'll have six entire months to stare at me at your leisure. Are you sure you can handle it?"
Hermione's face burned as she rolled her eyes. Her ego would surely take a hit at being forced to work so closely with Draco, but she would survive his teasing, as she always had. She'd earned her place to be in this class through countless years of studying and careful work, and she wouldn't let him run her off. She took a deep, steadying breath as their heated gazes locked in a clashing stand-off of wills. A loose curl tickled her cheek, and she brushed away the annoying strand, willing her shaking fingers to cooperate as her eyes narrowed.
"I can handle you, Malfoy – but can you handle me?"
Draco's eyes flickered with the challenge as his cheeks flamed, and he shoved away from the table, quickly packing his belongings before he made a fool of himself. The teasing from earlier couldn't continue, and he avoided her gaze as he shouldered his bag and made for the exit. Hermione resisted patting herself on the back for her show of bravado, but she was pleased that she'd crawled under the snob's skin. 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 really her friend, but they got along well enough when Susan was present.
Justin returned her sour look with a sheepish grin, muttering a lame apology that didn't sound authentic. He wrapped his arm around Susan's shoulders as they walked towards the Great Hall for lunch, then turned his glance back at Hermione. "Honestly though, watching you and Malfoy tip-toe around each other was the highlight of my morning."
Susan smacked him across his chest and laughed. "He's not sorry for being an arse. He's an instigator, this one, and he won't shut up about you and Malfoy. Every week he goes on and on about his theories." She mimed quotations with her fingers as they waited for the Grand Staircase to arrange itself so they could descend.
Hermione was barely listening, as she often daydreamed about other things when Justin talked, but she'd heard enough to respond. "What could you possibly have to say about Malfoy and me?"
"Oh, just that I think that it's hilarious to watch him flirt with you."
The staircase swung to a pause at their platform, and Justin and Susan stepped forward as if nothing was amiss, but something was terribly wrong - Hermione was stupefied, glued to the floor as she registered Justin's words. She missed the stairs and had to wait with gritted teeth, tapping her impatient foot on the stone as the meddling Hufflepuffs rode back up to her several minutes later.
"Are you mental?" Hermione asked as she rocketed on the platform. "Do you have eyes?" She snapped to Justin, pretending to search his person but not actually touching him. "A brain?" She scoffed, tapping the air above his skull as she made an empty knocking sound with her tongue. Susan chuckled into her hands and swung her hip into Justin's thigh. "You deserve all of that, I think."
Hermione scoffed in agreeance with Susan and continued her tirade. "How would you even know anything about Malfoy, Justin? You're not his acquaintance, let alone his friend."
"You think you're so funny, yeah?" Justin huffed, pretending to dust off his robes as he recovered from her theatrics. "I don't have to be his friend to see the way that he looks at you. To see the way he's been looking at you since first-year. Oh, don't stare at me that way, like I'm saying something shocking! I'm hardly the first to notice – half of the school talks about it! I barely even pay the bloke any attention, 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. How have you not noticed? It's pathetic, really."
Justin smirked and waved his wand in a semi-circle, pointing its tip at Hermione's nose as he called her clueless. He chuckled as Hermione's mouth gaped, then strode ahead, pausing in the entryway of the Great Hall to deliver his killing blow. "I'm fairly certain he's in love with you."
Hermione turned as red as her sweater and swallowed a dry patch in her throat, then glanced at Susan, waiting for her to refute every unbelievable word that was just said. When Susan refused to meet her gaze and instead remained silent, Hermione's panic increased. Her feet turned into sticky glue, and she was paralyzed to the floor as Susan pivoted to follow her boyfriend like an absolute traitor.
Hermione's eyes widened with alarm as she tried to comprehend the last four hours of her life, finding that none of it made any sense. She stood in mute agitation in the entryway, effectively blocking traffic as she clenched her fists at her side. Students gave her odd, quizzical looks as they sidled around, muttering under their breaths as they tried not to smack into her stiff shoulders.
Ginny watched the spectacle from her seat across the Hall and elbowed Harry in the ribs before pointing at the entryway. "Do you think she's finally lost her marbles from memorizing all of that arithmancy crap?"
Harry sighed and lifted a chip to his mouth. "No, she's tougher than that."
"Charmed, then? Maybe a stasis spell?"
Harry swallowed a bite and frowned. "It looks more like she's having an anxiety attack. Maybe she needs our help?"
Ginny rose to her knees on the bench, cupping her hands over her mouth as she hollered across the room. "Hermione?! Do you need me to come and walk with you?!"
Ginny sucked in her breath as Hermione remained rooted to the ground. Perhaps she hadn't yelled loud enough, and she reached for her wand to cast a Sonorous charm, but Harry stilled her hands and laughed.
"She heard you. See? She's alright."
Hermione strode forward and shouldered through the crowded hall. By the time she reached the bench, she'd mentally reviewed hundreds of memories involving past encounters with Draco and had surmised with confidence that Justin was a filthy little liar. She couldn't recall a single moment where Draco's behavior was anywhere near flirtatious or where he acted like a man in love.
Was it really possible that the Slytherin snob 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 every time they opened their mouth? Called them a mudblood, regardless of if it had only been once?
Love interest? She scoffed, shaking her head. 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 ridicule – nothing more.
She sat in a graceless heap on the bench and met Ginny's expectant face across the table. "I just had the most unbelievable conversation with Justin Finch-Fletchley of all people."
A cucumber sandwich, Hermione's favorite, appeared on her plate next to a garden salad with vinaigrette. Ginny glanced with disgust at Hermione's lunch as she took a bite of her ham sandwich, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "I don't understand how you can eat like that and have such a buxom bum."
Ron choked on his food as Harry shot off an exasperated "Really?" at Ginny's profile.
Ginny shrugged at Harry and took another bite of her sandwich, muttering around a mouthful of bread and ham. "It's the truth, and it's hardly fair. She eats like a bird but looks like that." She waved her hand at Hermione's chest, hidden under a shapeless black robe.
Hermione arched her brow and cut her sandwich into fourths. "You're quite the comedian this afternoon. Are you finished?"
Ginny stuck out her tongue. "Yeah, I s'pose. So, what did that Hufflepuff wanker say to freeze you up?"
Hermione took a bite of her sandwich and chewed for longer than necessary as she regained composure. Speaking in front of Harry and Ron was a risk, as they disliked Draco even more than she did, having been heated quidditch rivals against Slytherin for years. But, she wouldn't see Ginny again until this evening, and she really couldn't wait to get this off her chest. She lowered her voice and muttered under her breath, "He said that Malfoy is in love with me."
Her whisper was not enough, as Harry and Ron were excellent lip-readers, having had silent conversations with her from across classrooms for years.
Ron doubled over with laughter, startling students several tables over as tears streamed down his reddened cheeks. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands as Ginny bristled, grinding her teeth at her brother's rude behavior.
"Ronald Weasley," Ginny scolded, throwing a strip of bacon at his head. "Shut up, you absolute fool of a man! It's not funny!"
Hermione narrowed her eyes in agreement. "Yes, Ronald, is the idea of someone loving me hilarious?"
Ron sniggered, sobering slightly as he brushed the bacon off his lap and glanced at Hermione's reddened cheeks. He knew it was dangerous to answer her question, but he'd give it a go anyway. "It is when it's Malfoy. Merlin, did someone pay Justin to say that?"
Harry groaned and rubbed at his forehead with his fingers. Could they not have one meal without an argument? "Come on, you two. Can we all agree that it's a silly rumor and just move on? It doesn't matter," Harry said before shoving a handful of chips into his mouth as he sulked.
Hermione shoved away from the table and shouldered her satchel, glaring at Ron as she lifted her nose in the air. "I've lost my appetite, actually. I'll see you all this evening."
Ron's eyes widened as he realized the extent of his fuck-up, and he quickly swallowed another bite of his casserole and rose from the bench. "Wait – hold on, 'Mione. I'm sorry – I didn't mean to be an arse."
Hermione sighed and closed her eyes as she inhaled and counted to ten in her head. She ran a pale hand through her tangled mess of hair, then blew out her breath. "Thank you for apologizing. I actually just wanted everyone's confirmation that Justin was a liar, and I've received it loud and clear." She backed away from the bench, holding up her hands as the boys protested. "I just need to rest for a bit. I've had a terrible morning."
Ginny nodded and yanked on Ron's arm to pull him back to the bench. Ron grimaced as his arse hit the seat and stared at the back of Hermione's stiff shoulders as she stalked towards the door. He was losing his best friend with his churlish behavior – she could barely even look at him anymore without rolling her eyes or meditating. At first, he'd blamed Hermione for their rift, as she'd started all of this by inviting someone new and unwelcome into their group, but as he caught Ginny's narrowed glance and Harry's exasperated frown, he wondered if maybe he was the problem.
He shoved another bite of casserole in his mouth, then turned his eyes towards the Slytherin table, where he was surprised to find Draco following Hermione's movements with a similar frown.
Ron paused mid-bite and elbowed Harry, then motioned towards Draco with his head. "It was a rumor – right?"
Harry followed Ron's gaze and shook his head. "For his sake, it better be."
Author's Note:
I love sharing music, so here are a few songs that I listened to while writing and editing (that have nothing to do with the chapter)
Spotify playlist: 240 Mood
"anemone" by slenderbodies
"belong" by slenderbodies
"gray" by slenderbodies
"opal ocean" by slenderbodies
"opal ocean, pt.2" by slenderbodies