A/N: Warning! I thought I'd take a swipe at a funny, sexy R fic, so while this doesn't have anything terribly graphic, foul language abounds, as does Draco's horniness and Hermione's confidence. Set in fifth year. In OLL, the Yule Ball increased Hermione's self-esteem- she's still not popular or whatever, and she's not incredibly gorgeous or anything, but she's a normal teenage girl- witch, I guess- and she wears lipstick and stuff. Some things may seem out-of-character for her, but she's loyal to her friends and grants their Christmas-present request. Plus, this is all you'll be seeing of incredibly-self-assured Hermione- just bear with me, it'll all come out in the next chapters.
Please remember that this is R for a reason (specifically, sexual innuendo and sex-ual content- not actual sex-, plus language and themes). Not for innocent kiddies.
-ONE LESSON LEFT-
LESSON ONE: BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU ASK FOR
The first mistake I'd made was asking Harry what he'd like for Christmas. His eyes did this evil-glinty thing that made me step back a few feet, and then he put on a poor-little-puppy face. I rolled my eyes. "What?"
"The one thing I want most in the world, Hermione," Harry began, "is to win the Cup this year. Now that I'm the captain, I can't let it go to Slytherin!"
"What do you want me to do, impersonate Madam Hooch and call a lot of foul plays on the opposing team?"
Harry stopped. "Actually, that's not a bad idea," he remarked. "But I had something else in mind."
Which was how I ended up in the laundry room, picking blond hairs off Pansy Parkinson's towels (monogrammed with her initials- PWP) and then in the girls' bathroom I'd left so thankfully three years ago, stirring a rank, puce-colored potion in a cauldron on the dusty floor. Moaning Myrtle was regarding me appraisingly from across the room, and kept asking questions as to my motives, which I pointedly ignored.
"So where are your cute little friends?" she asked. "I've missed seeing them around." And then, with a pitiful frown, "I love company."
I continued crumbling lacewings into my lap and watched as they camouflaged themselves to match my brown skirt, short with age. The potion only had four days to go; I'd snatched a pair of Pansy's size-34 robes from the laundry, and they were neatly folded beneath the cauldron.
Before Myrtle could ask again, footsteps pounded into the bathroom and Harry burst through the door of my toilet. "The potion!"
"Yes," I said as I stood and poured the lacewings into the liquid, making it sizzle and flash bright red before settling on pale russet. "It is, indeed, a potion."
"Hermione, the Slytherins just got onto the field for their first practice of the season and Malfoy's dad got them Firebolts! You have to be there!"
"The potion's not ready yet," I protested. But Harry, obstinate as usual, failed to listen, which was how I found myself under an invisible but not waterproof Cloak, in the sleetish January rain, high in the stone tiers of the Quidditch Stadium.
On their seven latest-model racing brooms, the Slytherin team were blurs of grey and green swishing across the field. Congratulatory shouts rang out every once in a while, along with jubilant, self-directed cheers when one of the keepers scored a goal. I rolled my eyes and dug in my pocket for the Omnioculars that had been safely stored in my trunk for games since the summer before last. They were ever so useful.
Unknown Technique, the screen admitted in purple ink as I zoomed in on Malfoy, who was currently shooting directly downward. At the speed he was flying, he would never avoid the ground. His white-blond hair was whipped awry by the rain.
Applause went up from the Slytherin girlfriends and hangers-on sitting in the stands closest to the pitch; Malfoy was pulling into a complex spiral loop around the Snitch that seemed to be coercing it into a stream of wind down the center of his path. Finally straightening, he shot up a triumphant, pale hand and crushed its anxious wings beneath his fingers.
I hit record' on my Omnioculars and rewound the past few seconds. Harry and Ron had to see this.
"This is great, Hermione," Ron said cheerfully from behind the Omnioculars.
"No, it's not!" I exclaimed. "That's an amazing move! How is Harry going to compete with that?"
Ron lowered the Omnioculars and handed them to Harry with a disappointed expression on his face. "Oh, ye of little faith," he admonished. "Don't you trust the best Seeker in a hundred years to beat the slimiest git this school has to offer?"
"I think Ron means that it was great you were able to catch this, Hermione," Harry offered, watching Malfoy's technique with an expression of reluctant admiration. "He's good."
"Hold on just a moment," I said. "Malfoy is not good. Ron himself just called him slimy and, come on, we've all seen how he plays in games. Perhaps he crumbles under pressure?"
Harry gave me back the Omnioculars. "That's exactly it, Hermione- you've got to find out what his weakness is. He knew- or thought- dementors had power over me in third year, and almost managed to distract me from the game. You have to help us do the same to him."
I hesitated before shrouding myself with the Cloak again and pocketing the Omnioculars ruefully. "I better be getting one hell of a Christmas present from you two."
The Slytherins were already heading for the locker room when I made it back to the Quidditch field; their girlfriends were streaming out of the stands and back toward the castle, huddled under umbrellas and scrunched together in groups. I passed them all unnoticed and slipped into the rowdy, warm light of the Slytherin changing room.
I blushed despite myself at the sight of several players- there was Blaise Zabini in all his black-haired, golden-hazel-eyed glory removing his pants at the end of the bench- disrobing, but the one I, unfortunately, wanted to find was already half-wrapped in a towel and disappearing toward the showers. Malfoy's muscular but slender shoulders were glimmering with sweat and rain, and his hair had retained its windblown quality. I had to agree with Parvati and Lavender- he was definitely hotter than any of the Gryffindors. Though he was still a slimy git, he was most definitely a hot and slimy git. Not that I would- or could, with the Redheaded Ball of Jealousy around- do anything about it. Besides, Malfoy was a total jerk. Every girl he fucked either ended up in the hospital wing owling home an abortion permission slip, or in the endless queue to ask him to the Cup Celebration that was already being planned for the night following the big match this spring- either way, he never paid her any mind again. The only girl who remained on his arm permanently was Pansy Parkinson, the slender, rich, blonde, snooty pureblood collectively despised by the whole female population of Hogwarts. No matter how much Ron and Harry tried to deny it, both the future Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had grown up quite well.
I took a deep breath before locking myself into one of the bathroom-cubicles with mirrors on the insides of the doors and removing the Cloak and letting it pool around my feet. First came the uniform shirt, then the same lacewing-dusted brown skirt. I kept my brown knee-highs, heeled loafers, and bra and underwear on, tossed the Cloak about my body and looked in the mirror one last time. My hair, in loose, disheveled chocolate-brown curls that lacked shine, wouldn't be a problem where I was headed, but it looked decent anyway; the lipstick I'd put on after lunch was still in place, and my eyebrows were sufficiently non-bushy. "Okay, Hermione," I muttered, more to calm myself than anything else. "Remember, no endless searching for Ron-and-Harry-Christmas-presents this year."
Malfoy's silhouette was clearly outlined-his back to me- in the shower door as I neatly folded the Cloak and my uniform outside the room's arched entrance. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, and resolutely opened the door and stepped inside.
Malfoy didn't turn around until the cold blast of air from outside hit him, a few seconds later. He whirled to face me. "What the- Granger?"
"Shhh, shut up," I said quickly and, taking him by the shoulders, spun around so onlookers would only see his profile. Then I kissed him.
Unsurprisingly, he didn't protest, and pushed me against the back wall of the shower with tense muscles tightened by practice. It was guaranteed that one of the following thoughts was going through his head:
-Haha, I got virgin Granger! Take that, Weasley!
-Mudblood's a nice piece of ass. Too bad she doesn't show it off more often.
-Not necessarily my favorite person to associate with normally, but in a hot shower with next to no clothing on, I'm not complaining.
From the way he was pressing his apparent agreement with my actions against my thigh, one of the thoughts going through his head was not:
-What the fuck is Gryffindor Granger doing in her underwear in the Slytherin locker room?
Which, while it didn't say much for Malfoy's ability to separate his brain from his dick, was definitely good for me. I was actually kind of enjoying myself. Keeping up the good-girl-Granger persona required most of my time and energy to be spent honing my already-razor-sharp secretarial skills, not to mention it was sexually frustrating; it was fun to drop the façade for the good of my house and two best friends.
Malfoy had shoved his tongue into my mouth some minutes ago and pulled away only for lack of breath. He stood, water raining on his white-blond hair and slicking enticingly across his well-muscled chest, for a surprised minute; his hands still pinned me against the wall. I smiled despite myself.
"You look fucking sexy, you know that, Granger?" he said finally, and I glanced down at myself- the white underwear was wet to the point of transparency, and while my knee-highs had not come unglued, my shoes were filling with water. It was surreal and terribly wonderful to break so many rules with one blow, both tangible and personal.
"Yeah, I know," I said, amazing myself with my bravado as I wrapped a shoe-capped leg around his thigh and trailed a finger up its inside. "Fucking sexy."
He leaned in and melded his mouth to mine again, and I shook involuntarily as Malfoy pressed himself against the now-exposed area between my legs. I was going to lose my virginity to Draco Malfoy, muggle-hater extraordinaire, in a locker room shower stall.
Wait a minute, this wasn't part of the plan, I thought vaguely as wet fingers worked their way across my splayed upper-leg. I was not going this far. I was not losing my virginity in a shower stall or to Draco Malfoy. No fucking way.
I disentangled myself from him and flashed him a flirty smile as I pushed the door open, then darted into the hallway, where I performed a quick Drying Charm and dressed before heading back to the Gryffindor dorm.
After all, I'd found Draco Malfoy's weakness:
Sex.
A/N: I know! It's short! But I like it, seemed like a good place to end. Ideas? Comments? Criticism? All are yours to give for the low, low, price of pushing the review button. Call now!
-goldenberry