September 13, 1996
Hermione Granger wasn't even sure how she ended up on her hands and knees, scrubbing floors across from Draco Malfoy in the kitchens that night. Of course, every moment in time has a series of events which lead up to it: cause and effect— not a difficult concept to grasp. Adding too much toad's eye to a burn healing potion would— of course— result in an explosion. An explosion would lead to being reprimanded by Snape and perhaps a loss of house points. But the detention was an unforeseen consequence of her forced partnership with Malfoy in potions earlier in the day.
She just knew he had sabotaged that potion to make her look bad. Malfoy had historically earned the highest marks in potions, and Hermione could not formulate in her mind a reason he would make such a simple mistake.
Burn Paste was intended to heal any common burn, and took approximately one hour to cure before it could be separated into vials. Hermione had carefully read the instructions prior to class, while Malfoy had not.
Six Mandrake leaves, quartered, simmered with six drops of essence of dittany for five minutes, stirred constantly
One whole bat spleen, crushed, added 1 gram at a time, separated by ten second intervals, not stirred
One gram hair of cat, scorched, immediately added ten seconds after bat spleen, stirred for five minutes
Four eye of toad, smashed into a paste, added carefully one at a time, allowing for one minute intervals between eyes.
Six additional drops of essence of dittany added at once, stirred for five additional minutes.
Two grams of eye of newt added simultaneously with ten drops essence of comfrey
Potion to be stirred every three minutes for three quarters of an hour
After a predictable five minute argument—wherein Draco had arrogantly sat back in his chair and suggested she make the potion herself if she thought she was "so smart"— the two had decided upon splitting up ingredients to prepare. Hermione had just added bat spleen to her cauldron and begun to stir the potion when Malfoy prematurely scraped at least six eye of toad into the potion.
She didn't even have time to speak before the cauldron in front of her exploded in her face. But she had ample time to shout at him immediately afterwards. The two had engaged in a shouting match, before Snape assigned them both a two hour detention in the kitchens and removed twenty house points each.
Now Hermione angrily scrubbed at the kitchen floor in silence, wondering how Draco Malfoy could have been so daft. The only noise made between the two of them was Malfoy's constant scoffs.
After thirty minutes of listening to his wordless complaints, Hermione looked at Malfoy– really looked at him. He was dressed in trousers and a button up, a horrible choice of clothing for their task. He was practically pawing at the dark tiled floor beneath him, sloshing soapy water around as if he had never held a sponge before. As if he had never cleaned a floor before.
That's what house elves are for, Hermione thought with disgust. She wondered if he had ever done manual labor before in his life, aside from a few detentions. Even those came sparse for him, as his fathers status in the Ministry made professors hesitate to assign him any punishment. He practically pranced around the school like he believed himself to be invincible.
She studied him more, eyes traveling to the scowl on his face. She tried to imagine the thoughts running through his mind. "—forced to clean floors like a peasant, in the company of a Mudblood! From my own head of house, of all people! My father will surely hear about this." She snickered at the thought.
Malfoy's eyes snapped to her. She glanced back at the floor, attempting to hide the fact she'd been staring.
"And what exactly, Granger, do you find so amusing?" he snarled, spitting her name as if it had no business passing through his lips.
"I can practically feel your outrage from across the room." Hermione snickered. "The great Draco Malfoy, scrubbing floors like a muggle."
He smirked, arrogance painted across his face. "I'm sure you know all about that, don't you?"
"What?" She couldn't help bursting into laughter. "Manual labor? Yes, in fact, I do. Because unlike you, I was not waited on hand and foot and treated like a God amongst men, Malfoy."
"That's not hard to believe." He muttered under his breath, scowling.
Hermione eyed him again as he went back to his work, ignoring her. His trousers were soaked. But he still held himself with a sort of determination, underneath all the discontentment. He's trying, she thought to herself.
Draco Malfoy was not as above the work as he thought, and perhaps he already knew that. Under the god complex he showed to the world, Hermione wondered if he felt the need to prove it. Prove his superiority. Prove he was worth the status. Prove the worth of the Malfoy name. She thought back to all the times he'd known the content in their classes. He raised his hand nearly as much as she did. Malfoy was intelligent, she couldn't deny it. Aside from herself, he received the highest marks in their class, which she knew only because he reminded his peers relentlessly, often falsely claiming his marks were higher than hers.
She wondered how lonely it was, treating everyone else as if they did not deserve his presence. Pushing himself to uphold an image of prestige. His only friends were a small group of Slytherins, including Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson— all from the list of truly Pureblooded Families in Britain. Beside those three, she only saw him with Crabbe and Goyle. But they seemed to be goons rather than friends.
Everyone else feared him. Everyone else was beneath him.
"You know, if you were raised in a different family, perhaps we could have been friends." She muttered and eyed him with pity.
"I'd never be friends with a mudblood." Malfoy looked up at her with disgust, dropping his sponge. He met her eyes with a cold, hard stare. She noted that he looked neither threatening nor scared. All she saw in his eyes was hatred. Misguided hatred.
Hermione held his glare with equal intensity. If he thought he could scare her, as she suspected he did, she would show him he was wrong. Her eyes began to burn, but she refused to blink.
He was the first to look away. "And don't you ever talk about my family. You are not worthy to comment on the Malfoy name." With that, as if he expected the conversation to be over, he picked up his sponge and returned to pawing pathetically at the tiles. Again. Still trying.
Hermione laughed. "Get over yourself, Malfoy. You can't possibly believe that pureblooded propaganda you're too smart." She shook her head. "I think this is just for show."
"Propaganda?" Malfoy muttered, disinterested. Was that the only thing you heard?
"Yes, propaganda." Hermione stated, matter-of-factly.
"I'll show you propaganda. The Malfoys were royalty until the bloody Potters came around– became bloody martyrs. A blood traitor and a Mudblood. My ancestors are rolling in their graves. Now baby Potter has the whole school believing Purebloods are evil, the righteous git."
"You did that yourself, Malfoy." Hermione cut his tangent short. "People dislike you because of how you act, not your name."
"And how do I act, Granger?"
"Like an arrogant prick– consumed with archaic ideologies. You treat people like scum."
"Oh yeah? Maybe it's because I have a right to my magic, unlike you lot." He was still facing the floor.
Hermione tensed, rage boiling inside her. "I don't have a right to my magic?"
"That's what I said, isn't it?"
Out of all the things he'd ever said, that was the worst. She reconsidered her previous thought process. Perhaps he did believe his own words. He can't even look at me when he speaks.
"It must wound your ego, then, that I am nothing but a muggleborn. With 'no right to my magic.' A bookish, little know-it-all, and yet I am a better witch now than you could ever be a wizard. Because despite my lineage, I exceed you in every subject." She seethed. "Does your father ever hear about that, Draco?"
Malfoy's head snapped up. "Don't talk about my fa–"
Hermione wasn't finished.
"You walk around like you are Merlin's gift to the wizarding world. The mighty Malfoy heir. Beware mudbloods and blood traitors, you have met your superior!" She was seething now.
"You act like you're so much better than everyone else. More worthy." She spat. "Maybe at surface level, that's what you think; that's what you've been taught. But deep down, you are not that dense. You can't be. And if you are, I pity you."
The words tasted bitter on her tongue. She spoke with a tone she had never used towards anyone else. She was defying every etiquette lesson her parents had taught her, yet she loved it. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape– he was shocked. Shocked that she– or anyone– would dare speak to him as she had. But Hermione loved that. Shock was a much better look on him than hatred. She loved the power.
Malfoy leapt from the ground, squeezing the sponge so hard, water rained onto his fancy leather shoes. "YOU pity ME, Granger?" His voice was loud now– he too was angry.
"Yes, I pity you." Hermione rose as well. She couldn't ascertain whether Malfoy was angry enough to hurt her, but she didn't want to stay seated while he stood. She wondered if his father had even taught him not to hit a woman. But she tried her luck nonetheless. "Must be difficult being the Malfoy heir. The Sacred Twenty-Eight. I heard you purebloods are so afraid of muggles you'll breed amongst yourselves rather than dirty your bloodline."
"Doing some research on my family?" Malfoy sneered, again ignoring everything else she had said.
"Don't flatter yourself, it's practically impossible to NOT find your name somewhere in history books. I gag every time. I usually skip ahead but I found the part about your aunt particularly interesting." Hermione glared. "Ever visited her in Azkaban?"
Malfoy clenched his fists. "You watch your fucking mouth, Granger."
That was his breaking point. The power she felt intensified. He had cursed– something he never did. He'd throw slurs like a quaffle but never a word as taboo as fuck. She was sure he too had now broken every etiquette rule he'd learned.
She was capable of making him angry. That felt good.
"Or what, Malfoy?" Hermione cocked her head. "I dare you– do something—"
She felt the urge to reach out and slap him like she had in third year. She remembered how great that felt. "You don't have your wand. You're useless without it. Can't even scrub a floor on your own." She motioned to his side of the floor, soaked with soapy water.
"Useless?" He laughed. Laughed. "Might I remind you that you don't have Potter or Weaslebee here to protect you, Granger. You're just as 'useless' as you believe me to be."
Malfoy now began to close the space between them. Hermione watched as he stepped over tile after tile, careful like a wolf hunting prey. She couldn't help but shiver in his cold stare. It was icier than usual.
"I'm not useless," She spat, never breaking eye contact. Malfoy was only a few tiles away from her now. He sneered, glancing up and down her body— sizing her up.
Panic flooded Hermione's senses. She eyed the door. It was at least ten meters away, and she wasn't that quick of a runner. What have I done? Malfoy looked angrier than he ever had. Perhaps she had truly hit a nerve. Always running your mouth, 'Mione. What have you done?
"You think you're so smart, Granger? With your books and your spells?" Malfoy smirked, realizing he held the power now.
Malfoy took one step forward; Hermione took two steps back.
"I'll tell you what you are, mudblood." He chuckled, watching her flinch at the word. "You're a know-it-all. You say I act superior? Have you ever taken a look at yourself? Listened to yourself speak?" His voice was scarily low.
"You do the exact same. But the difference here is that you're not. You just read your little books and bat your pretty little eyes and pretend you're this innocent. Bookish. Little. Witch."
Malfoy took one step forward; Hermione took two steps back.
"But you want the power, the glory–"
I did enjoy the power. Briefly. She thought, but shouted "I do not!"
"Shut up, Granger. Don't pretend." He glared. "You want people to tell you how good you are, because deep down, you don't believe it."
He took one step forward; Hermione took two steps back, until her rear collided with a stone wall. Bloody hell.
"You crave validation– approval." He continued. "Because you know you don't deserve it: the magic, the grades, the friends." Malfoy eyed her. He was within reaching distance. "That's why you hate hearing me call you a mudblood. You already hear it from yourself."
"Every."
Hermione tensed.
"Fucking."
Rage boiled inside her. Rage like no other.
"Day."
At that moment, she snapped. She put all her strength into her fist as it collided with his cheekbone. The force knocked his head sideways.
That was enough for Malfoy. He snapped his head back towards her, eyes full of rage, with a hint of... hunger. He bridged the gap between them and brought one hand to her throat and the other to pin her wrist against the wall. She didn't have time to defend herself.
He squeezed, not enough to asphyxiate her, but enough to scare her. To tell her he had the power to do so.
"You seem to like hitting me, Granger. You like having that power, yeah? You think I've learned not to hit women? Uphold your muggle morals?"
Their eyes met– his darkened. She struggled to pull her wrist from his grasp, to no avail.
"Yeah, you do, don't you? You like feeling superior. You'll criticize me, when we are one in the same." He cocked his head. "Except of course, for the fact that you've got filthy blood."
But Hermione noticed he lacked conviction this time. He didn't seem as disgusted by her 'filthy blood.' Not up close.
Hermione found the courage to speak. She looked down at his hand around her throat. "You're touching me, Malfoy. You must have lost your fear of me."
"I have never feared you, Granger." He licked his lips with a sneer.
She thought back to how his behavior had changed since third year. She had once concluded that he did, in fact, fear her, ever since the slap in third year. As if her touch was poisonous. Even in potions class, he never came close enough to touch her. He had stood at the opposite end of the table, even. He wouldn't even look at her as they worked– only when they had argued. Only when he was angry– or when he thought she couldn't see.
He actually did that a lot.
"Then what is it? When you look at me in the halls?" Hermione felt his grip shift on her throat. Tighter, but only slightly. His hand was hot against her skin. "You're always looking." It was a hyperbolic statement, though she realized it held some semblance of truth.
"You look, but you never want me to see. You run like a scared little puppy if I get close. Only insult me when your friends can see."
"I've never feared you, Granger." He repeated, his voice a low growl. He craned his head downwards, towering at least 20 centimeters above her.
Hermione analyzed the situation, as she had been taught to do in her muggle self defense classes. Malfoy's grip around her neck was too distracting. His hand was twice the size of her face. And his skin was burning hers. She wondered if he had a fever.
She then shifted her gaze from his hands to his eyes. His gaze travelled across her face— her body— and she saw...
No. It can't be...
She saw– or thought she saw– a hint of something else. There was something hidden under the hatred in his silver eyes.
Memories of Harry crossed her mind. Harry and Ginny. When they argued. Harry looked at her like that. Only Ginny could make him that angry.
Hermione had never excelled in people skills. School, yes. But on the playground, she had always chosen to read instead of play. When she was young, her teachers had thought her to be neurodivergent, the way she never interacted with others. But the truth was, she tried– she always tried– but she simply wasn't well versed in the art of understanding people. Emotions.
So she had solved the problem the only way she knew how. It actually took a while before she actually found a muggle book about facial expressions to understand how others felt, so she could better interact with the kids her age. She accredited it entirely for the way she had made friends with Harry and Ron.
Hermione flipped through the pages in her mind. Anger, furrowed brows, scowl. Joy, corners of mouth lifted, "happy" eyes.
The book had been for adults, not children, so it mentioned... other things.
She began to think there was another reason he had avoided her eyes this past year. The idea was incredulous, but all signs pointed towards it. A telltale sign is licking of the lips, darkened, often roaming eyes, and warm, flushed skin. The person will maintain close proximity, and initiate physical contact.
It added up. Did Draco Malfoy–
"You..." Hermione croaked.
Malfoy used his hold to push her head against the wall, glaring all the while. It hurt. "I what, Granger?" He practically purred, voice deep. Husky, almost. His chest rose and fell as she eyed him, searching for signs that she was wrong.
Hermione's thoughts got the better of her. She couldn't help herself– she burst into laughter, with what little air Malfoy's hand would allow. "All this time..." She could barely get the words out.
"Spit it out Granger. Speak wisely. I'm growing impatient."
"You don't want to hurt me, Malfoy." Hermione inspected him, still questioning herself. His lips were curled into an expression halfway between a sneer and a smirk. His pale cheeks were slightly flushed. She wondered what she'd see if his hand weren't in the way of looking... lower.
"You want to fuck me."
He scowled, but to her surprise, Malfoy had no rebuttal.
Draco Malfoy, for once, was silent.
Now Hermione once again held the power. All the power. And she wasn't quite sure how to use it. She'd never considered the idea that Malfoy's cruelty could be the result of a childhood crush. She'd read that men often showed affection through insults in adolescence, and she'd considered that to be the case with Ron, but Malfoy's name had never crossed her mind.
Complete arse.
Hermione decided that she would abuse the power– karma for all the years of bullying she had endured. "'Filthy little mudblood,' 'insufferable know-it-all,'" she snickered. "Were all just guises." She stared at him, amused.
"Don't flatter yourself, Granger." He averted his eyes, looking at her hand against the wall. But he licked his lips again.
"So I'm wrong?" Hermione cooed, batting her eyes.
"Absolutely. I would never–" He drawled. Cheeks still flushed.
"What? Feel for a mudblood?"
He nodded slightly.
Hermione realized she still had one free hand– and she knew now he wouldn't actually asphyxiate her. She brushed her fingertips against the hand on her throat. She tried not to laugh or think about Draco Malfoy at all as she trailed her hand up his arm.
He shuddered.
She had no intention of continuing, but watching him shiver lit a fire inside her. His cold, hard exterior had fallen. Draco Malfoy was vulnerable.
She decided she would make him beg– quiver– and leave. She traced her fingers along his bicep. He was muscular for someone so pampered. He was a seeker with the arms of a beater. She tried to push the image of Draco Malfoy exercising out of her mind. She tried not to think of him at all.
She had once– thought of him. In fourth year. When he stopped gelling his hair back– when he grew. When his jaw became chiseled and his shoulders broadened.
"Granger, what are you doing? I am trying to–"
"Choke me?" She forced out a flirtatious voice. "Yes, I noticed."
"You know muggles consider that a kink." She laughed again. Her hand now rested on the one on her throat. Then she brought her hand back to the hand around her throat and dug her fingernails into his skin.
"Granger, what the fuck?" He let go of her throat and took a step back, clutching his hand.
"You really thought, after all these years, I would even like you?" Hermione glared, dropping the charade. "What did you think would happen today? Did you spend an hour deciding what to wear? Were you dreaming about what you'd do when you got me alone when you added the toad's eye prematurely?"
She thought he looked wounded, but his face hardened before she could confirm it. Stone cold. "You really thought I would ever, in a million years, want to fuck you?" He hissed. "You really are daft. Merlin, you really do think everyone likes you. Why would I risk being inside someone like you? Salazar knows what I'd come back with."
She couldn't help but remark, "So you've thought about being inside me, have you?" Though she blushed as the words crossed her lips. She tried not to think about Draco Malfoy being inside of her.
He scoffed, and his smirk grew. "I never thought you'd be one to join my fanclub Granger. You'd be at the very end of the line if I had my pick."
"Give it up Malfoy, you practically seep sexual repression from every pore. You would stick your dick into anything with legs at this point—"
"Repression Granger?" Malfoy interrupted. "Researching my family, now butting your nose into my sex life– I'm flattered." He scowled, still holding his hand as if she'd broken it. Dramatic. "Potter and Weasley have you on a tight leash, thinking of trying something new? Obsessing over me to feel–"
"Obsess over YOU?" Hermione spat, stepping forward.
"YES!" Malfoy mirrored her.
Their faces were inches apart, though his was still much higher than hers. They both seethed, breathing heavily. On each inhale she could smell him now. He smelled like a mixture of mint, cologne and the cleaning solution from his sponge.
Hermione felt her cheeks burn. She really had thought about him, despite the bullying. She— begrudgingly— had imagined being this close to him before. More than once, she admitted to herself. She tried not to look at his lips. She hated him. Arrogant prick. Bully. But against her own wishes, she did. When she looked back up to his eyes, he looked hungry.
They stared at each other in silence for what felt like a decade. His eyes roamed and she knew he was lying. She knew from his expressions, the book couldn't lie. Intrusive thoughts continued to seep into her mind.
His hand on her neck. It had been... warm.
His eyes flashed. She opened her mouth, sucking in air.
Then she was on the wall, his full force pushing her against it. And his lips were on hers. Between hers.
His lips on hers were angry. Not sweet: he was proving something. She didn't kiss back— too busy thinking. Questioning. Analyzing. But she didn't pull away. She didn't protest– didn't stop him.
He pulled away, turning his head. She imagined a scowl on his face.
Then something— whatever she was searching for inside— clicked, and Hermione brought her hand to his jawline, sharp against her palm. She forced his head to face her.
"I'm never wrong." She smirked and crashed her lips to his.
The kiss was a battle for dominance. It was a war between hate and desire. Disgust and need. Passion and aggression. It was laced with hatred and it stung like acromantula venom. It wasn't romantic, like with Krum, but somehow, it was better.
Malfoy gripped her hair— didn't lace his fingers through it and stroke it, or even play with her curls. His fingers hooked around the hair tie holding her nest of curls out of her face, snapping it with a simple tug. His hand replaced it and he pulled her back back. Hermione groaned.
Malfoy's lips curled upwards against hers. He liked that.
An overwhelming heat bubbled inside her, burning from the highest point of her scalp to the arch of her feet. It radiated from her core like a warming potion— which she knew him to be skilled with from when he had beat her for ten house points from Snape in second year. Why was she thinking about Snape?
"Turn your fucking brain off, Granger," Malfoy mumbled against her mouth. She realized she had slowed.
"I'm sor—"
"Don't. Apologize." he hummed before returning to the kiss.
She grasped at his chest— felt how muscular he was underneath his luxury shirt that probably cost more galleons than she owned. Rich prick. Who wears a button up to scrub floors? She tugged at the buttons, hoping to destroy it in the process. One popped. She expected him to complain, scold her. Instead, he laughed and snapped a finger, lips never leaving hers. It was unbuttoned immediately.
She gasped. He didn't even have his wand!
He stepped back with a smirk wider than the Great Lake. His eyes scanned her body. She realized her back was arched against the stone awkwardly. She straightened.
"The things I could do, Granger." He breathed, eyes resting on her hips. "Innocent little Hermione Granger..." His tongue flicked over his lips again.
Hermione rolled her eyes. She stroked his chest under the open shirt— he was lean, muscles defined.
"Tell me, was it Potter or Weasley who taught you to snog like that?"
"Krum, actually," she chuckled nervously. "But he was never really... good at it."
Malfoy looked taken aback. He shook his head and tsked at her. "The Bulgarian? Really?" He watched her blush. "You could have done so much better."
"Oh, I suppose you mean you?"
"Believe what you want to believe, Granger. If you think I'm better—"
"Oh shut up, Draco."
"Draco?" He raised a brow. She had never called him by his first name before. He brought his hand to her throat again, leaning in close as their bodies would allow. She felt his chest against her breasts and held her breath– wondered if he had noticed. He practically growled as he said,"My name sounds good in your mouth, Hermione."
She met his hungry eyes and smiled, her mind turning to... other things. She tried to wink. This felt like the appropriate time— with him mentioning her mouth and all. She wasn't sure if she did it right, or got her point across but then his face shifted and she knew she had.
"Merlin," He muttered under his breath. With that, his grip around her throat tightened and he brought his mouth to her collarbone. He sucked on her skin like a peppermint candy: she was sure there would be marks to conceal later.
Hermione leaned against the wall, head tilted back as she gasped. She tried not to think about who she was letting pepper her neck with love bites. Or how he was squeezing her throat in a way that made her stomach flutter, and pushing his body against hers. Or how he was slowly tracing his hand down the back of her hip towards her arse. Even when his mouth began to dip lower, she tried to ignore the platinum blonde hair, as he dropped to his knees, head now at breast level. Anybody else. Think of anybody else.
"Can I show you my trick again, Granger?" He looked up at her, his breath hot against her shirt. He positioned his fingers as if he was ready to snap them.
"I don't have buttons—"
"You'd be shocked to learn that my parlor tricks extend beyond a button up shirt. Want to see?" He smiled. Actually smiled, as if he found himself to be the funniest man in the world.
She nodded with a chuckle. She heard the sound of his snap and then she was standing in her pink bra and underwear– absolutely nothing else.
"MALFOY WHAT THE—" Hermione scrambled to cover herself. "YOU GIVE ME MY CLOTHES RIGHT NOW!"
Malfoy laughed heartily, eyes gleaming. He pushed himself to his feet. "And if I don't?"
"Give me my clothes Draco." Hermione glared. This had all just been a sick prank hadn't it? She'd fallen for his scheme; steal her clothes and humiliate her.
He stared at her, still amused. "I don't think I will, Granger." The humor in his eyes turned darker. His gaze roamed. He sucked in air. "Christ."
"Look, if you think this is some way to get back at me for— for whatever— whatever I did..." She was certain a blush had crawled across every inch of her skin. The way Malfoy looked at her— she'd never been looked at like that.
"Get back at you?" He cocked his head.
"Yes. Some sort of revenge? I- I... Where are my clothes Malfoy?"
"The only thing I'm seeking revenge for is all the years you hid this," he pried her arms apart, which were her body's only shield. "The years you walked around with Potter and Weasley attached to you. The year you spent with Krum. The years I couldn't even get a good look at you without somebody coming to your defense. Taking you away."
Hermione's blush intensified. She squeezed her eyes shut. She was nearly naked in front of her bully.
"Did you fuck Krum?" He spat the name like he had once spat hers.
Her eyes shot open. She thought about telling him off, but she couldn't really. Not if tonight were to go the way she wanted it to. The way she suspected he wanted it to. "Yes, but—"
He stepped forward as she stuttered. He bent down, lips brushing her ear as he said, "Good. I won't have to go slow."