This is a tribute to all who don't think that Hermione is good enough to pair with Draco without giving her big boobs, endless legs, revealing clothes and 'long, sleek, shiny hair' that she is to acquire over the summer. I use the word tribute loosely. I'm not trying to offend everyone, but perhaps using four thousand different clichés at once doesn't help a story that one person has read at some point or another in his or her life.
This is to the authors who feel Hermione needs to completely change over the summer.
This is what I see when I read your magnificent masterpieces:
________
Beautiful Peoples' Pasttime
The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and a brand new Hermione Granger flounced across the train station to her ultimate destination: Platform 9 ¾. Reaching the familiar platform, Hermione looked around and bit her lip as she tried to place where her best friends in the whole wide world would be.
Instead, she found the Devil. No, wait—she found Malfoy.
The world instantly froze, all boarding passengers halting their movements in mid-air, whether transporting luggage or not, as Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger locked eyes from opposite ends of the platform. Naturally, there were no people in their way as everyone had cleared out for their obvious showdown.
Hermione Granger—well, the old Hermione Granger—would've backed down at Malfoy's evil attempt to duel her with grueling eye contact, but the new Hermione Granger only looked forward to the challenge. She'd show him who was the boss.
Amidst all the intimidation, though, Hermione's eyes couldn't help but drift over the indulgent body Draco had grown to inhabit over the years. Although they did have Double Potions constantly—as if there were any other classes besides Hagrid's ever-dangerous Care of Magical Creatures—she hadn't noticed his bulging biceps, toned chest, and mouthwatering six-pack until she got a good glimpse of him at that very moment.
Quidditch had been good—to—him. Of course, he was the seeker, so the bulk of his training was riding a broom, essentially whisking through the air effortlessly as he and Harry were known to do, but that didn't matter because somehow the Gods looked down upon him and graced him with these bulging, attractive, oh-so-gorgeous muscles that were practically invisible before. How could she have missed them?
And then she noticed his hair. He'd stopped gelling it back when he'd renounced his ferret title—which was still held in reserve for the utmost dis if the situation really required it—and had grown out his hair instead. Now it fell into his eyes carelessly and constantly although the blonde handled it very well. He never once tripped even though his sexy hair was always obstructing his view of the world.
Hermione, what are you thinking? This is Malfoy! Malfoy who has ruined your life from the minute you stepped on the Hogwarts Express because you're the famous one, not Harry. No, Harry was simply there for spectacle; they just put up a funny backstory of him being the hero and being a royal pain in Malfoy's and Voldemort's arse for not dying when he was expected to. You were the one he always made fun of on purpose. How he constantly called you a mudblood, although you only have one recollection of it back in Third Year. There must've been other times. I couldn't have blown all of this out of proportion in my head!
Oh, but speaking of proportions... Look at how tight that shirt is on him. Look at his brilliant abdomen and toned six-pack!
Hermione, stop it! Are you stark raving mad? Are you losing your bloody marbles? He's a villain—a bad man.
But he's so irresistable.
But he's made your life miserable!
Not when he looked this fabulous.
Hermione, get a hold of yourse—
Oh, shut up!
Back across the platform, Draco Malfoy wasn't having much luck controlling his own mind either. And no, it wasn't schizophrenia as far as he knew. It was simply his eyes telling him he'd hit the jackpot, and the player that he was, he simply must have that girl standing there, looking at him with as much longing in her eyes as he held in his.
She didn't look familiar to him, although her face seemed distinctly familiar. No, if he had even thought once of whom he'd constantly seen in class, laughed at, or generally passed in the halls, it probably would've occurred to him that standing there, her jaw on the floor and eyes gazing at him with lust was none other than 'The Bookworm' Granger, or Mudblood as he preferred to call her. Although he'd only tried it out once.
However, the thought escaped him as he was simply entranced by her beauty and utter sex appeal.
Unknowingly, he was checking out the new and improved Hermione.
Over the summer, she had changed a lot. After tanning on beaches, vacationing with her parents, and generally getting a lot of harmful, UV ray-emitting sun, Hermione had decided that she was tired of being a mousy bookworm and that after all these years, she'd put her good looks to use instead of her brain. Who the bloody hell got ahead in this world with brains?
No, she really had a transformation.
With a few simple charms and spells—that have only now occurred to her after years of battling bad hair—Hermione got rid of her bushy-haired look and indulged in the sensation of her hair cascading in soft waves down her back.
Finally noticing the impeccably huge bulge in her chest as a well-stacked rack, Hermione had decided to present herself to all her professors at Hogwarts on the first day of school scantily clad in a tank top that stretched over her ample bosom showing off a good amount of cleavage and over her flat stomach, where it stopped short. Leaving a good six inches of navel flesh showing—completely with an awesome belly-button ring of course—Hermione topped off her whole ensemble by wearing the shortest skirt she could find at the Muggle store Abercrombie and Fitch—you know, the plaid one with the buttons on the sides that reach to the top of your thighs if you're lucky and probably served as belt once upon a time but now passes off as a skirt in stores for only $44.99; and yes, dollars, because Hermione thought Americans were cool.
Painted toenails and five-inch heels—yes, all this being measured in inches and feet because England doesn't use a silly thing called the metric system—completed her looks as made for a complete knock-out and babe in Malfoy's eyes.
He was sure he'd bed by dinner.
Deciding that he'd better make his move now, he began his slow and steady prowl across the platform which had yet to unfreeze its passengers from their audience position while watching the drama of these two beautiful people play out.
As he finally reached this hot babe and was about to make his move, two heads blocked his way as they bobbed excitedly at obviously seeing the girl in front of them.
"Mione!" they both yelled in unison and nearly strangled her in their bear hug.
Draco's mind whirled—Mione? Mione...Mione...the face...the familiarity of the situation...nope, it wasn't reaching him.
"So how was your summer, Mione? I mean, you've...changed," the redhead in front of Draco commented, probably trying not to drool as his eyes bulged out, focusing his gaze just below Hermione's neck.
Hermione smoothed down her hair and looked at her fingernails boredly.
"Yeah, well, I decided it was time that boring old Hermione got a break for a while," she responded evenly before breaking into a big grin. "What do you guys think?"
Even as she asked them the question, Draco could tell that she was trying to catch his eye as she asked.
Mione...Hermione...
Oh, Merlin, it was Granger!
Oh, but how she'd changed.
Draco eyed her appreciatively, his gaze also stopping where Ron's couldn't seem to leave. Her ample bosom. That tight shirt. Legs that went on forever. How she'd changed. How he'd like to—
Merlin, Draco, that is Granger we're talking about here. Mudblood Granger!
Oh, but if all mudbloods had that fine of an ass...
Draco, you're from England. Who the bloody hell says 'fine' as an appropriate adjective also categorized as slang but Americans?
Shut up, she's fine and I want her. No matter what.
No, stop thinking that! She's unworthy of your gaze. She's unworthy of your...your...your air! Look, she's taking up your very oxygen as we speak...and sharing it with Harry Potter and that Weasley boy!
Blimey.
"Well, well, well," Draco snarled, trying to cover up his lusty feelings for the only present mudblood. Although there must have been at least forty present on the platform, to Draco, she was the only mudblood ever and for that, she had to take all the flack for her unfortunate blood heritage. So darn unlucky. "If it isn't Potty, Weasel, and the Mudblood." See? The mudblood. Singular. The very one. Ooh, danger and contamination ahead.
Harry and Ron both turned to face Draco while Hermione eyed him hatefully, all along trying to hide her very own forbidden feelings as well.
Meanwhile, Draco's antagonistic efforts seemed to pay off the most with Ron, whom had been huffing, puffing, and steaming in place for a good two seconds with Harry calmly holding him back. Ron's face and ears with red with rage.
"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron finally spat, settling on the most profound set of words yet to reach his mind. "And stop looking at Hermione like that. You leave her alone." All about protecting the weak girl. Funny how he hadn't stood up for Harry. But Harry was famous; he could hold his own.
Harry glared evenly for good measure.
"Yeah," he added finally, nodding his head as if he'd just solved the world's mystery and was now expected to perform a 'take that' dance.
"You guys go ahead," Hermione ushered Ron and Harry out of the way as her gaze remained with Draco. "I'll handle this."
"Are you sure, Mione, because if he does anything to you—"
"If Malfoy lays a finger on you, I'll—"
"I will handle this, guys," Hermione emphasized, making her point clear with a flash of her brown, sexy eyes and a flick of her shiny, wavy hair.
"Okay," Harry and Ron recited in unison as they took her trunk along with their own and boarded the Hogwarts Express. The platform had allowed its passengers to move about know, but not within the gaze of Hermione or Draco whom were about to have another very important and steamy showdown, though much closer together now, therefore having no need for everyone to clear out of their way.
"So, got rid of your little boyfriends, now, Mudblood," Draco observed with the raise of an eyebrow. His mouse invaded her privacy as it lowered to her ear. "You can't resist me after all, can you?"
Hermione's mouth watered with him being so close, his scent invading her nostrils, his sexy hair brushing the side of her face. Even his voice was almost enough to make her orgasm. Damn, that man was a sex bomb!
"You wish," Hermione retorted, masking her deep-ceited feelings after all. It was the only way. She stepped away from him, although longing for his touch, his lips on her ear, as soon as she couldn't feel them anymore.
"I don't have to," Draco grinned cockily. "You want me. You know you do. I'm a sexy bitch. You know you want a piece of the Draco-meister."
He's right, I want him. Merlin, look at toned chest practically begging me to suck it and lick it just because his shirt is pulled so tight over it. I don't care if these feelings surfaced out of nowhere, I...I...I can't believe I'm saying this...I, Hermione Granger, love Draco Malfoy.
What?
Shut up. You're me. You're not supposed to be surprised!
But...but...but you hate him. You haven't said more to him than angry retorts and sly remarks for six years! How can you love him?
How can one not love that sexy bitch, just like he said?
He didn't say anything about love.
Yeah, I added that part in.
Hermione, you're crazy—
Crazy in love! Which is one of my favorite songs, by the way, that I like to play on my enchanted Walkman that I've charmed to work at Hogwarts. On my burned CD, I have "Crazy in Love" as the second track from Beyonce's album, Dangerously in Love, available at Rasputin's and Best Buy for only $21.99. And yes, dollars. Again. I don't know why.
"So, finally admitted it to yourself yet, Mudblood?" Draco's voice traveled to her ear in a whisper once more. And although Hermione was not aware of Draco's feelings and he was just teasing her and humiliating her to the best of her knowledge, she didn't care anymore. He was so sexy and changed so much over the summer that it didn't matter if he constantly called her Mudblood, even if he recognized the evil meaning behind it.
She couldn't take it anymore.
But she had to. He couldn't know.
"G-Get away from me, Malfoy," Hermione cautioned, unsure of how long her bravado would last. And the predetorial look on Draco's face didn't help cease her butterflies in her stomach.
"You don't want me to," he taunted, his voice deep and rumbly and sexy and all of the above. His hair, once again in his eyes, made Hermione want to run her fingers through it like crazy, although it never occurred to her that one receives no real pleasure from running one's fingers through another's hair, especially if it risks getting it dirty and oily and making it look as though Draco never really had abandoned his gelled-back look. Oh, Merlin!
"Y-Yes, I...I...do..." Hermione whispered softly.
"Then why do you want this so much?" he asked, deathy quiet, looking into her eyes hungrily.
She was afraid to ask.
"Want what?"
Her breath was knocked out of her and it took her completely by surprise as Draco suddenly got a hold of Hermione's wrists and pinned them above her head just as he plundered her mouth with his and slammed her against a nearby wall. Any wall. Any convenient, dirty wall. Didn't matter if her revealing tank top was getting dirty. Nope, she probably wouldn't need it after a couple of minutes into the sweaty, yummy foreplay anyway.
Oh, Hermione's thoughts were suddenly blown out of her mind—the small amount that was there to begin with after this summer's transformation. Again, who the bloody hell needed brains in this world?
His tongue, oh that magnificent tongue. What wonders he did to her. It swirved in and out of ever crevice in her mouth, finally catching her own tongue and roughly inviting it for a pleasurable dance and mingle.
Draco's feelings were far less poetic on the matter, though no less meaningful.
Need bed. Wait, Hogwarts Express...Platform 9 ¾. Damn, no bed near. Need closet. Need bathroom. Yes. Bathroom inside Hogwarts Express. Do girl in bathroom. Hot sweaty sex in bathroom. Then all will be well. Her mouth is so soft and hot. Need to do her now and cut it out with these damn games. And it doesn't matter that I never noticed her before the make-up, clothes, and boobs because after the sex, all of a sudden she'll be a hot babe to me no matter what she wears—and that's preferably nothing.
Hence the original plan: need bathroom to do girl in.
Finally, pulling away and getting the much-needed air that the both of them required, Hermione and Draco stared into each other's eyes meaningfully, panting in each other's faces and pretending like the long silence and panting wasn't bothering either of them, or that the platform wasn't hot enough that each other's breath only made it worse.
They just stared at each other until the only possible conclusion fled to both of their minds after a kiss like this. It had tongue, emotion, and a lot of tongue. And they were both hot, sweaty, sexy teenagers. There was only one conclusion to end all doubt here that plagued their thoughts:
I love you.
At this realization, they both scrambled onto the now tooting and nearly-departing Hogwarts Express, only to stumble into each other in a dark corner and continue more of the staring into each other's eyes and panting into each other's faces.
Ten minutes later, no one could get into a far bathroom down the train's corridor, on the left, as it had been occupied for quiet some time.
Draco's original plan was brilliant. And everything worked out in the end.
Love conquers all.