The next day
Each time Hermione looked up from her breakfast, it was to find Draco staring at her. There wasn't anything subtle about it. Even when she was looking at her plate, or (more accurately) at a study notebook next to her plate, she could almost feel the intense eyeballing emanating from the Slytherin table. She definitely wasn't wearing the daisy chain crown, so she couldn't work out what Draco's obsession with her was. And she didn't have time to ask, because she wanted to catch the History of Magic professor before class started.
Draco's stares continued throughout the day, except during Advanced Charms, when the professor tore verbal strips off him for flubbing a rather basic charm because he was, according to the professor, 'obviously spending too much time ogling the ladies.'
Face burning, Draco held his tongue. He wasn't ogling the ladies!
Just one.
And he had good reason to.
The rest of the day passed the same, with Draco staring at Hermione from afar (or not so afar) but failing to approach her to have an honest-to-goodness conversation about whatever the hell was bugging him. All it did was slowly bring Hermione's temper to a smidge short of a rolling boil.
So, when Hermione felt the almost physical burn of two Slytherin eyes between her shoulder blades as she headed towards the Prefects' Bathroom (for some well-deserved relaxation after rising before dawn to tackle Potions revision), she stopped and whirled around so fast that Draco nearly trampled over her. A hand shot out from her robes and slammed right into his Pectoralis Major (Hermione was doing some extra reading in preparation for Healer School). He winced in pain.
"Draco, seriously, what is going on?" Hermione snapped with slim patience.
Draco's face turned red and he ran a random hand through his formerly perfect hair. He studied the floor with such intent that Hermione copied him, wondering what he was looking at. Then he looked up, and his grey gaze zeroed in on her face.
"I'm so worried about you," he said in a low voice, stepping closer. Not that there was anyone else in the dimly-lit corridor to looky-loo.
Something tingled in the bottom of Hermione's tummy. Knickers may or may not have dampened.
"You're working all the hours Merlin sends," Draco continued. "Surely you must be only getting a few hours sleep a night? Considering your schoolwork, revision, prefect duties and your Spe" – he stopped and corrected himself – "S.P.E.W commitments... I don't want you collapsing from exhaustion. Or putting too much strain on your mental health."
Hermione did not like that last bit. No sir. "What do you mean?" she whispered, alarmed.
Draco bit his lip and looked... miserable. For jolly good reason. The deception was killing him. And it was all of his own volition.
"Sometimes," he mumbled, "if I've been studying for a long time and don't get to bed until late, I end up having these vividly realistic dreams, so realistic that I'm certain they're memories of events that have already occurred, but... they're not. And it's confusing as hell."
Hermione stared at him.
"Do... you have those sorts of dreams?"
"Uh..." Hermione decided silence was probably golden here. But what a sweet bloke, to be so concerned for her well-being!
She nodded in the direction of the Prefects' Bathroom. "I'm actually going to have a good, long soak in the bath," she said, feigning brightness. "No books allowed."
Draco's smile transformed his face, and her knickers now felt superfluous to requirements. "That sounds perfect!"
Hermione dimpled, then she took a breath and girded her loins.
"Wanttojoinme?"
For an awful second, a look of pain crossed Draco's face and Hermione wanted to sink into the floor in shame. But then it cleared, and the desire in his response was unmistakable.
"I'd love to."
Prefects' Bathroom
When the door closed behind them, Hermione pulled out her wand and applied a few Very Advanced Charms to make the entrance more watertight than a mermaid's brassiere. This was not a situation where bargers-in would be welcome.
Speaking of, the mermaid in the stained-glass portrait glanced at Draco and threw Hermione a coy, approving wink before innocently combing her hair and looking at something very exciting in the rafters of the ceiling.
Draco took Hermione's hand and gently led her to the enormous bath. "You choose," he suggested. "I'll be happy with anything you like."
Hermione approved of his gentleman-like manners, and stepped forward to peruse the extraordinary selection of water colour, scents, oils, salts and bubbles. Running her fingers through the myriad of bottles and along the hundreds of taps, she went for champagne-coloured water, plain white bubbles, Roman chamomile and rose oils, and set the taps running while she shyly turned to the young man standing so close to her.
He took Hermione's hand and kissed it, then slowly drew her close and lowered his head. She raised hers, even stood on her tiptoes, and thrilled to the gentle touch of his lips on hers. She barely noticed the gentle removal of her uniform, clothes fluttering to the floor. And when she next opened her eyes, she was surprised to find that he was just as nude as she.
Still the gentleman, Draco led Hermione into the perfectly-heated bath, and both exhaled a sign of pleasure at the tingle of the heated bubbles against their skin and over-worked muscles.
Hermione secretly thrilled at the proximity of Draco's body to hers. A dry and clothed Draco was worthy of a second look, but a wet and naked Draco was a mesmerising sight. Drops of water pebbled on his upper body and snaked down, following the contours of his muscles.
In return, Draco watched Hermione's hair transform from masses of curls to long, wet and sleek strands. Without the business of her hair surrounding her face, her large, lustrous eyes featured, along with her delicate cheekbones and the line of her jaw.
She became more beautiful day by day.
Draco ducked under the water and swam a few lengths to try and get himself under control.
He was perfectly capable of spending quality time with a beautiful, naked girl without wanting to fuck her. Right?
When he surfaced, however, he knew in his heart what the answer was.
Wrong. So very, very wrong.
Hermione studied his erection, magnified through the water. Draco saw the direction of her stare and half-smiled. "You have an advantage over me. It's pretty clear how I feel about you."
"I'd hoped you liked me," she confessed, "but I wasn't sure... hard to tell with your clothes on."
Draco moved closer so they were nearly nose to nose. "Now you know."
"Now I know."
"Do you want me?"
Hermione blushed, but the steam of the water had heated her face, anyway.
"Very much," she confessed. Her heart was tap-dancing inside her chest.
Their lips met for their second kiss of the evening.
Hermione noticed how careful Draco was before he entered her. Asking after contraception, painstakingly checking to make sure she was ready to take him. Sliding into the core of her body so slowly, with infinite patience, holding back from entering her in one deep, hard stroke – his self-control appeared to be limitless.
Hermione felt so wild, so brave – never in her deepest, darkest moments did she think that she, the study-mad girly swot, would be wrapped around the Slytherin Prince's body, rising and falling on his steel-hard length, capturing his lips with hers, revelling in the kisses he dropped onto her neck, clavicle, jawline and ears. Steam rose in tendrils around them, helping to muffle the moans that broke from her throat as he coaxed her body into ecstasy. The muscles in his back rippled under her hands as he moved her body along the length of his cock.
They came in unison with each other. The intensity of Hermione's orgasm had Draco struggling to keep to his feet in the bath, but as he joined her, nothing else mattered but their intimacy. It was just the two of them. (And a portrait mermaid, who was definitely not watching). And in that perfect moment, he pictured themselves together, in a future that couldn't possibly ever happen.
They lingered in the quiet of the bathroom, exchanging kisses and engaging in small talk. Eventually, they pulled their pruny selves out of the bath and dressed.
Before Hermione unsealed the doors, she asked "See you tomorrow, then?"
Draco, wand in hand, hidden behind his robes, replied "You know it."
Draco remained in the shadows of the darkened bathroom while Hermione stepped out of the door. He raised his wand, and –
...An outraged feline hiss shattered the night.
Rearing back in fright, Hermione's head moved out of range. Already halfway through the spell, Draco cursed and adjusted his aim as best he could.
If the spell made its mark, he couldn't tell, because a triumphant Filch and smug Mrs Norris had a tearful Hermione cornered in the hallway.
"Allrigh', who's in there with yer? Make yerself known!" Filch cackled.
Reluctantly, Draco stepped into the dimly-lit hallway, still cursing himself to Hades and back under his breath.
"Mister Malfoy," Filch sneered. "Once a bad seed, always a bad seed. What will your parole manager say to this, I wonder?"
Frog-marching his way to the Headmistress's office alongside Hermione, he wasn't too worried about what the parole manager would think. On the surface, he got caught out-of-hours with a girl. While it was against the rules, it wasn't the worst crime he had committed that day.
But poor Hermione. Walking next to him, her head was down and her arms were crossed against her chest. Sniffly noises filtered through her mass of hair. She'd faced down evil at its most potent, fought in a terrifying battle and helped her friends save the wizarding world. But all it took for tears to form in her eyes was to get into trouble with the Headmistress.
Draco allowed himself a small, cynical smile.
Draco and Hermione waited in the Headmistress's office for a good number of minutes, waiting for Professor McGonagall to make herself decent before receiving them. Conversation wasn't possible, since Filch and his pestilent cat stood too close to the pair for comfort.
When McGonagall finally appeared in the office, Filch presented his criminals to her with a flourish. "Caught them both exiting the Prefects' Bathroom at the same time," he relayed with relish. "And hours past Lights Out, too."
"Thank you, Mr Filch," McGonagall said tiredly. "That will be all."
Smarting at having his moment of glory cut off too soon, Filch nonetheless bowed to the Headmistress and made himself reluctantly scarce. Mrs Norris sat on top of McGonagall's desk until McGonagall's basilisk glare made the cat decide she'd be better off somewhere else.
Professor McGonagall seated herself behind the desk and steepled her fingers together. "Miss Granger. Mr Malfoy. I have to say, I'm surprised and disappointed by you both," she began.
"It's my fault, Professor!" an anguished Hermione burst out. "I – I invited Malfoy into the bathroom, and – and I lost track of time. Please don't tell his parole manager."
The words made Draco both warm with gratitude and icy cold with fear.
She remembers we spent time together in the bathroom.
The spell didn't take.
Or – Draco clung to this thought like a life ring tossed to him in the middle of a stormy sea – maybe it partially took? Maybe she will have forgotten enough by tomorrow morning?
Gods! Another sleepless night beckons.
…"Mr Malfoy? I said, 'what do you have to say for yourself?'"
Draco glanced up to see Professor McGonagall tapping her finger on the desktop impatiently and looking at him narrowly.
He cleared his throat and said "I take full responsibility for my actions, Professor. I should have kept an eye on the time, but I failed to, and I sincerely apologise to you and Miss Granger for the result. I leave it to you to decide whether or not the matter is serious enough to notify my parole manager."
Hermione glanced up at him, fear written all over her face.
McGonagall watched the pair silently communicate. Truth be told, she was bloody annoyed to be dragged out of bed to discipline two senior students who were more adult than child. Two lonely people who'd found some level of comfort in each other to help recover from the recent horror of their pasts. It was rather a relief to find that Miss Granger was capable of breaking (comparatively) small rules, not just the gigantic ones she and Messrs Potter and Weasley broke every other year of their schooling. And as for Mr Malfoy, this breach of the school rules paled in comparison to what he was (in her opinion) over-punished for; so it wasn't worth the quill, parchment or owl needed to contact the parole manager.
But still, they couldn't get off scot-free.
She cleared her throat. "It was foolhardy of you both to be roaming the school after hours outside of your prefect duties. Since you both seem to enjoy the night-time, I require you both to pull double duty as prefects for a week. I'll message the Head Boy so he can adjust the roster."
Hermione and Draco stared at each other, then at the Professor. "Will you inform my parole manager?" Draco asked nervously.
McGonagall stood up and doused the light from her desk. The room was now bathed in the gentle orange glow that came from the sleeping young phoenix in his enclosure, a rare gift bestowed upon Professor McGonagall by the Order of the Phoenix (remaining members) upon her ascension to Headmistress. "I will not," she replied in a tone that informed them the discussion was over. "Miss Granger, I will escort you back to your room. Mr Malfoy, I trust you can find your way back to your dormitory?"
"Yes, Professor," he mumbled. Nuts. So much for another opportunity to check the spell on Hermione.
Heading back to Slytherin House, a sharp pain attacked his side before subsiding to a dull ache. Probably an ulcer, Draco thought grimly. I'm surprised my hair hasn't turned white with all this stress.
Well. Whiter than normal.
The next morning
As expected by now, Hermione slept in. Fighting her way to consciousness, she recalled last night – or, rather– this morning's events with flushed cheeks. She was on detention for a week, goddamnit, busted for being caught outside her room after hours. She must have been heading back from the Library.
Ugh.
And she had to serve detention with Malfoy. Was he studying in the Library until the wee smalls, too?
Rubbing her face, she recalled the other reason that kept herself hot and bothered. The remarkably erotic dream she had, that also co-starred a gorgeous, wet, naked and thoughtful Malfoy. The care and attention dream Malfoy lavished on her dream body made her pussy tingle, and she wasn't surprised that an exploratory finger found her achingly wet.
She gasped, and her blood ran cold.
I end up having these vividly realistic dreams, so realistic that I'm certain they're memories of events that have already occurred, but... they're not. And it's confusing as hell.
Was she caught leaving the Library?
Or is her dream... evocative of reality?
She took a delicate sniff of her hair. It smelled of Roman chamomile and rose.
What is going on?
Is Malfoy...?
She decided to Floo-call Harry. He might be able to shed light on her befuddled thoughts.