Ok, you guys wanted me to update soon, and that's what I'm doing. Hope you enjoy this next chappy!

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Hermione had just finished the homework she hadn't done in the library, and was now trying to figure out how else she could torture Malfoy. The first thing she thought of was to make him dream about Professor McGonagall, but she scratched that immediately. That might make him insane. Then she thought about making a lusty little daydream about Crabbe or Goyle pop into the smart aleck's head. No, she thought. That could turn him gay. Then she decided to write about herself some more. She thought up an idea that should really screw with his head.

You are standing in the middle of the quidditch field, snitch in hand. Harry Potter looks like he is about to beat you up, but he is chained to his Firebolt, which is flying around the quidditch field in circles. Then, suddenly, you look up and everyone disappears. Hermione Granger is on top of one of the bleacher towers, in a skimpy green and silver cheerleading outfit. The top is shredded from the bottom to the point where it's barely even a bra. Her skirt is up to a couple inches above the knee, and shredded in the same way. Her hair was up in pigtails and streaked with green. She is shaking green and silver pom poms shouting "Go, Draco! Go!" You fly to where she stands. She jumps in the air and does a split. She sees you and licks her lips seductively. She throws her pop poms over the ledge and says "Draco, Draco, Catch that Snitch!" She wraps her legs around your waist and gyrates her hips against yours. She reaches down the back of your quidditch robe and unzips it. Discarding that, too, over the ledge. She then removes all your clothes in the same manner. Then she lays herself down on the lowest bleacher, grabs your hand, and moves it under her skirt, between her legs...


Hermione cut off the fantasy there, sensing this was enough to make her idea work. She had read in Cosmo's latest issue, about thirty of men's lustiest fantasies. She was sure every one of them would come in just as handy as the naughty cheerleader.


The next day was a quidditch game, Gryffindor vs Slytherin. Harry and Ron were sitting at the breakfast table next to Hermione that morning, and it was enough to make Draco sick. The way they were completely stuffing their faces and completely ignoring Granger was intolerable. And since when did he become so interested in the Mudblood?

Last night, he had been in a (ahem) compromising position with Parkinson, when very suddenly, he began to have the strangest fantasy. Hermione Granger, in a cheerleading outfit, LETTING him slip his hand up her extremely short skirt. He had gotten and erection AGAIN, just thinking about it. Luckily, Parkinson took it as a compliment. Though he kept her in his room that night, Parkinson was only a substitute for Hermione.

As Draco stared at his plate, thinking about the way his thoughts had gone last night, the entire rest of the school had gone to the quidditch field.


The game ended the way they always did. Harry caught the snitch fifteen seconds in, and won the game for Gryffindor. One thing was different. Hermione was cheering more than she ever had before, practically leading Gryffindor Tower in cheers.

"GO, Harry! GO!" she had shouted once when Malfoy had passed by. She looked his way, and did a full split on the floor of the tower. It was a little known fact that Hermione is double-jointed. Draco's mouth opened wide, his eyes bugged halfway out of his head, and he nearly fell off his broom.

After the game, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking back up to the Gryffindor common room. As they passed by Draco, heading for Slytherin tower, Hermione said loudly "Harry, I'm starting to figure out this quidditch thing. From now on, think of me as your OWN PERSONAL CHEERLEADER."

As the other boys laughed, Malfoy turned around, just in time to see Hermione wink in his direction, and lick her lips. He froze immediately. Could it be? He asked himself. Then quickly, he shook those thoughts from his head. No way. There's no spell in the world that can read thoughts.

Sighing, he headed for the Slytherin common room, trying to figure out how a Mudblood perfectionist bookworm always left him turned on so hot, he could barely move.