Chapter Four: A Bad Breakout of Acne

Well, that had been beyond bizarre.

Malfoy headed straight for the Prefect's bathroom. Thanking all that was good and kind in the world that it was empty, he stepped up to the sink and started scrubbing his hands. His hand was covered, infested, contaminated, with horribly, stinky, awful Mudblood juices. He had to get them off, get them away. Wash them down the sink and out of his life forever. He needed to erase all existence of that ever having happened.

Then he remembered to also charm away the telling stain on his pants. That might help.

It was no good. He could still feel her on his hand, writhing against his palm as he fingered her. As he pleasured her. As he, a Malfoy, a pureblood, got off a dirty Muggle-born with no thought for his own needs. If he was any real man he would have just fucked her against the wall, dry and crying, but still wanting him like the Mudblood whore she was. That would have shown her who was superior. That would have shut her up.

Maybe that would have squelched the slow burning need for her that had gathered in his stomach.

Merlin she had been beautiful.

Ugh, gross.

What he needed was to find a nice, pureblood witch and screw the living daylights out of her. But coupling with a new girl would lead to all sorts of problems. The easy ones, like Daphne Greengrass, he didn't want to touch, because they'd all at some point slept with a Hufflepuff. Draco Malfoy picking up Hufflepuff leftovers? No thanks, don't think so. With the others, like Tracey Davis, it involved flowers and flirting and crap like that. And he was just so tired of Pansy. Granger had been so much more dignified and sexy than Pansy could ever hope to be. She really was the brightest witch he knew. Even fighting with her was more stimulating than the best sex with Pansy.

What was he talking about!

Something had to be done about this renegade train of thought. He had to curb this trend. He had to cut it off the head of the beast. Divide and conquer. He had to do everything that every cliché phrase said to do to make him stop this ridiculous fixation on Hermione Granger.

If he could wipe her off the face of the planet, that would be great. But alas, that would probably draw too much attention, even if no one should care about the life of a stupid Mudblood. Ditto for maiming her, or otherwise relegating her to the hospital wing. He needed something to disfigure her, so he wouldn't feel any attraction what-so-ever to her soft, supple form-

What? Where did that come from? That needed to stop immediately…

Whatever spell he decided on needed to be something that would shame her so much she wouldn't set one foot out of her dorm. Not even to go down to the hospital wing.

For embarrassment spells, he went to Millicent Bulstrode. She was all too experienced in the art of making people's lives miserable. She had also been, not that he would admit it to anyone and didn't like to admit it himself, his first. That had been a very… physical encounter.

And painful.

Very, very painful.

Whatever malfunction that had occurred to make him think that had been a good idea luckily never repeated itself. Malfoy, however, never indulged too heavily in fire whiskey after that night though, just in case.

Merlin, that had been painful.

Millicent was mean, and terribly sadistic. It wasn't a good combination in a lover, but made her an excellent resource for a time like this. He approached her solitary corner of the Slytherin Common Room cautiously, not wanting to draw the attention of his housemates.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked irritably, not looking up from her book, which, it just so happened, featured full-color pictures of Medieval torture devices. Lovely.

Seriously, he had thought she was trying to crush his ribs with her thighs to make her dinner. Try explaining those bruised ribs to Madame Pomfrey.

"I want to ask you opinion," he drawled offhandedly.

"Oh really," she looked up and blinked slowly. "Regarding what, exactly?"

"The best spell for embarrassing somebody," he shifted his weight to one leg in carefully measured detachment. "Facial disfigurement, to be specific." She watched him with a cool, even gaze for a moment, then closed her book.

"Male or Female?" she re-crossed her legs and relaxed back into the leather chair that no one below sixth year dared to even touch.

"It's a girl."

"What house?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Does it matter?" he retorted in warning, knowing she was digging around for gossip.

"Fine, fine," she smiled weakly. "Can you tell me whether or not she's a Slytherin? That will affect my decision."

"Not Slytherin," Malfoy replied shortly.

"Well then, she's not going to be that tough, is she?" Millicent smirked. Malfoy had to nod. "But I don't suppose you want something that's going to attract too much attention, correct?" Again, he nodded. Everyone who mattered in Slytherin knew he was on assignment and couldn't have attention drawn to him. "The answer is simple, Malfoy. I'm surprised you didn't come up with it yourself."

"Humor me, Bulstrode."

"Rufus Punctum," she said, and picked her book back up.

"What is that?"

"A pimple charm."

"Pimples?" Malfoy was incredulous. How were a few red spots going to stem the need to hump Granger's brains out?

"You've never seen pimples like this before," Millicent's smirk broke into a full-fledged maniacal grin. "Pritchard! Come here!" The fourth year jumped at the sound of his name being called, nearly upsetting the Wizard's Chess board. He looked around like a frightened mouse as he slowly walked towards the large sixth year girl. "Faster!" she boomed. He tripped over his own feet as he fell into a run and came to a panicked stop next to Malfoy.

"Rufus Punctum!" Millicent announced without pause from her comfortable seat. A sickly yellow spell flew from her wand and coated Pritchard's face. The boy shrieked most effeminately and covered his face with his hands. When the spell dissipated, Millicent ordered him to lower them. Reluctantly, he complied.

Malfoy was definitely not disappointed.

These were not any normal blemishes. They were huge, each the size of about five normal pimples put together. And they were everywhere. Graham Pritchard's face had been transformed into a giant pimple with eyes. His skin was so red he practically glowed.

"It hurts!" he sobbed and gingerly touched one of the horrendous bumps.

"Don't be such a child," Millicent waved him away. Malfoy couldn't contain his laughter as the boy scrambled up the stairs to his dormitory.

"It's perfect," Malfoy managed to say once his chuckles had subsided. Millicent now sported an utterly pleased expression, the proverbial cat who got the canary. It was hungry looking, and scary. "But how long does it last?"

"The quickest I've seen Pomfrey clear it up is three days," she replied matter-of-factly. But sometimes the ingredients for the cure aren't always available and she has to owl for them." Even Granger, who hardly cared two licks about her appearance, wouldn't set foot outside of her dormitory for days. Maybe that would be enough time for him to shake this sickness.

"Thanks," Malfoy replied simply.

"It's my pleasure to make the lives of those outside Slytherin a living hell," she shrugged and opened her book back up. After a pause, she looked back up at Malfoy. "Can't you tell me who it is?"

"Hopefully the results will be apparent to the entire school for days," he smirked.

-----

It really wasn't fair, Hermione thought as she examined her reflection in the window. Angry red bumps covered her face. All she had done was taken away his voice. It wasn't even permanent. She hadn't turned him into a mountain troll or something equally horrific. Yet he'd gone and done this. She looked more awful than Eloise Midgen on her worst days.

Malfoy really must be despised with himself. Any normal person would have just avoided her, avoided any memory of the incident. But not Draco Malfoy. That boy could hold the most ridiculous grudge. It's not like she had forced him to do anything! But, his little in-bred mind was so twisted there was probably no chance of explaining that to him.

Luckily, he hadn't gotten her alone until Friday after classes. He'd been so unassuming, asking if they could talk, a slight blush on his pale cheeks. It was the oddity of the situation that didn't allow her to plan for it. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought that Draco Malfoy would track her down for a 'chat' about 'that.' Hermione couldn't stop kicking herself for falling for it and following the blonde devil down a rarely used hallway. Then he'd sprung his evil little trap and left her dumbfounded, angry, and with a face full of zits.

She really had to get better about this 'walking down dark corridors alone' thing. It had gotten her into quite a few bits of trouble recently, without even the help of Harry and Ron. Madame Pomfrey had promised her face would be cleared up to something passable by Monday morning though. All teenagers got pimples, she tried to tell Hermione. No one will care about a few here or there.

Hermione hoped a 'few' was considerably less than the half a million invading her face at the current moment. And really, it was quite embarrassing having Draco Malfoy get the better of you in a duel. That was partly the reason she hadn't told anyone about her ailment, that and the festering puss bulbs growing out of her face.

Thank goodness Malfoy's sneak attack happened on a weekend. She could easily hide from all forms of life on the weekend. She already sat by herself at meals, so she would hardly be missed if she stopped going at all. The house elves had been kind enough to agree to bring her meals to her dorm room, as long as she agreed to not try and sneak them any clothes. Other than that, she just had to leave her dorm early and come back once the lights were out. Everyone knew Hermione went to the library to study on the weekends. She'd just increased the time frame a little.

Friday and Saturday had gone off without a hitch. Lavender had decided recently to avoid all verbal and visual communication, so the sneaking part was made easier. And by Sunday, the pimples had really started to make a noticeable retreat from her face. So, with a light step and some smuggled scones in her backpack, Hermione had set off for the library.

Madame Pince had begrudgingly allowed Hermione to take her studying into the Restricted Section, but warned that she would check the validity of the pass with Madame Pomfrey and the Headmaster, just as she had threatened for the past two days. Hermione smiled sweetly, as best she could with a face made out of bumps, and headed for the most hidden table she could find. By mid-morning she had made considerable progress in her extra Potions work. She was sick of Harry and his stupid book always getting the better of her.

Hermione had nearly forgotten about the spell that had ravaged her face when she set off into the stacks for a reference book. She softly crept out into the main area of the library, checked that the coast was clear, and climbed a ladder to reach the desired shelf. At that point, of course, she heard someone approach. Cursing her bad luck, she continued facing the books, willing them to keep walking. But whoever it was just stood there. Hermione peeked warily out of the corner of her eye to find her least favorite person standing at the base of the ladder. She suppressed the desire to kick Draco Malfoy in the face as he stood there smirking up at her.

-----

Everything had been sunshine and lollipops Friday and Saturday. Granger had missed every meal since Friday's lunch. It was wonderful not having the reminder of how weak he was sitting across the Great Hall from him, taunting him. Unfortunately, getting rid of her physical presence hadn't solved everything. He kept flashing back to that dark hallway and the look on her face, that utterly perfect look of contentment. He had wanted to kiss her with his entire being at that point. It had taken all the effort in the world to pull away coldly and retreat down the hallway. He had to get out of there for his own sake, to preserve some part of his sanity.

Malfoy had considered himself safe from the alluring sight of Hermione Granger for the remainder of the weekend. All he had wanted was to pick up a few books on magical cabinetry. He wasn't even looking for trouble. What he found, regardless, was a witch in old faded jeans that hugged her slight curves. She really did have a cute little butt. There she stood, gloriously stretched against the top of a ladder, hair a brunette halo of beauty and purity shining in the daylight.

Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the embarrassingly sappy imagery and verse. He opened them only to be drawn to the upper half of the girl clad in a dark green sweater. Malfoy quickly came to the realization that Muggle clothes were fantastic and all the girls should be wearing them. Especially if they exposed smooth midriffs on a regular basis, as Granger was demonstrating at the moment while reaching for a book. What was she thinking hiding that great frame under a damn robe everyday? And the wool skirts? Totally wouldn't cut it after this moment

"Something I can help you with, Malfoy?" Granger snapped. Malfoy blinked and tilted his head up to meet her eyes.

Holy hell!

"Skin troubles, Granger?" he somehow managed to say and not break in to complete hysterics.

"You're a regular comedic genius, Malfoy," Granger rolled her eyes and started to step back down the ladder. Despite the deplorable state of her face, Malfoy found himself smiling as he watched her appreciatively. "What do you want?"

"I came to see you of course," he immediately broke into a sneer and leant against a bookshelf. It was much easier to talk with her when she looked so ridiculous. But even as he said them, he knew his taunts walked a fine line with flirtation. It made him a little sick, but he couldn't stop. "I enjoy the quality time we have together."

"Again with the humor," Granger smiled derisively and turned to face him. Wow, he wished he could have seen the full effects of the spell. Even after a couple days of treatment, the pimples were still spectacular!

"Is that really so hard to believe?"

"I was a fool to think that before. I'd be a complete moron to fall for it now. Don't think you can try another spell. Madam Pince will have your head if you pull anything in the library," Granger hugged her book tightly and looked down the aisle behind him, searching for the crazed librarian.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"I will get you back for this," Granger pointed sternly at a zit. "Don't you worry."

"It's not my fault Mudbloods don't know how to wash," Draco shrugged. "You really should give it a try." Granger took a deep breath. He could practically feel the rage emanating off of her.

"My personal hygiene has nothing to do with this. It's not my fault you attacked me in the hallway."

"It's not my fault you can't keep your legs closed!"

Granger blushed fiercely, even behind the mask of red bumps, her skin glowed scarlet. "I wasn't talking about that, Malfoy!" she whispered fiercely, her eyes frantically searched for anyone in hearing distance.

"Good, don't ever talk about it," Malfoy barked, not believing he actually brought up the topic. "I've tried to Obliviate it from my mind."

Or replay it every fifteen minutes. Same difference, really.

"You started the whole thing!" she practically shrieked. Surprised at her own volume, Granger whispered the next line. "I tried to get away."

"Yeah, you tried really hard," Malfoy scoffed.

"I can't believe I let a slimy little ferret like you touch me," she growled and turned on her heel. "You can be sure that will never happen again."

Malfoy didn't realize he was moving until he'd wrapped his arms around Granger's waist, pulled her close, and heard her book hitting the floor with a thud. He could touch her all her wanted. She was the Muggle-born, not him. He deserved a pretty witch, especially after having wrestled with that damn dresser all morning.

He nuzzled against her neck and breathed in the fresh scent of her hair. It was like rain and freshly trimmed grass. Clean and pure, everything he knew she wasn't. But having her warm little body pressed up against him was enough to let him forget her shortcomings.

Shortcomings? What shortcomings? He found it hard to think straight with her scent swirling around in his head and her soft sweater at his fingertips.

The moment was entirely ruined by her clawing away at his hands, trying to escape.

-----

She was at a complete loss as to what to do. This really hadn't been in the cards. Hermione considered for a moment the possibility of Malfoy having gone insane. This was possible. Consider, for a moment, Lucius Malfoy. Not exactly what you would call 'stable.' And he wasn't in the running for "Best Father of the Year" as far as Hermione was aware.

"Malfoy," Hermione tried to peel his fingers from her waist. "You attacked me for this just a couple days ago."

"So?"

"I know you hate me," she loathed how her voice slightly cracked at this. What did she care that Malfoy hated her? She was so tired of his games. "What makes you think I want any part in this?"

"Because you like it," he purred into her ear and dropped a soft kiss to the back of her neck. A little shiver ran up her spine. No one had kissed her there before. "You filthy little Mudblood."

"I don't want to be with a person who hates me," she retched herself out of his grasp. As quickly as she escaped he had her back in his arms.

"Where do you think you're going?" Malfoy whispered into her ear and pressed his fingers against the v of her legs.

"Away from you," Hermione replied dangerously and prepared to escape when she felt his other hand creep up her sweater. "What are you doing?" she couldn't help but laugh.

"I thought that was pretty obvious," Malfoy replied and made an affronted noise. Hermione giggled, his former words forgotten for the moment, as his hand came to lie on right breast. "What's so funny?"

Viktor hadn't understood Hermione's uncharacteristic outburst either.

"It's not exactly funny-," a new fit of giggles interrupted her speech as an irritated Malfoy moved his other hand to rest on her stomach. "I mean, if all guys to that."

"Do what?" his voice edged with annoyance, and a hint of doubt.

"You know, touch a girl's… breasts," Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing again.

"Are you serious, Granger?"

Hermione rested her forehead on the side of the ladder in front of her, trying to compose her thoughts. "So all guys do it then?" She'd never had the guts to ask Harry and Ron. They would probably be scarred for life if she had. But at this point, what was the harm in asking Malfoy?

"Of course," Malfoy laughed amiably, and squeezed with his right hand to emphasis his point. Hermione liked the way his chest rumbled against her back when he chuckled.

"I just don't understand 'why' though," Hermione smiled as she felt her cheeks warm. "I mean, you know what they're for, right?"

"Of course. What do you take me for, Granger?" she could feel him smile against the back of her neck. "Girls like the way it feels."

"Really?"

"As far as I'm aware."

"Oh," Hermione pondered this new information. Viktor's attentions to her breasts never led to any arousal on her part. She actually thought it looked quite funny, a full grown man sucking on her nipple. "What's the fascination men have with them, though?"

"Why am I having this conversation?"

"I've just never understood the attraction, that's all."

"Well, you walk around with them all day."

"You walk around with…that," Hermione trailed off, not at all wanting to complete the sentence. Not believing she'd actually started it in the first place. "And I have no desire to fondle 'that' all the time."

"What?" she heard Malfoy laugh again.

"You know," Hermione closed her eyes, willing the conversation to take a new direction. But Malfoy persisted.

"I'm not a Legilimens, Granger," he responded and gave a playful nip to her throat.

"You know," Hermione repeated softly, face red with embarrassment. She gingerly reached a hand behind her and traced her fingers along the front of Malfoy's pants. Touching the subject of the conversation directly was impossible, as it was pushed fully against her backside. The hardness against the crack of her butt was actually quite distracting and not all together unpleasant.

"Fuck, Granger," her name rumbled deep in his throat. Hermione was heady with his touch. She found herself grasping the rungs of the library ladder with white knuckles as he pushed roughly against her. It was awful. She knew how entirely wrong the situation was, but she craved the attention Malfoy was giving her. With Harry and Ron she had always been the odd man out. But she'd realized this and really hadn't minded being pushed to the wayside. They were her boys, she loved them with all her heart. And working in the background had its advantages. She wasn't looking for recognition. But to have the sheer animal desire of Draco Malfoy focused on her was too intoxicating to pass up.

"We should stop," she said, just because she knew that's what she was supposed to say. Malfoy paid her no heed as he removed his hand from her breast and brought it around to her back. With thumb and forefinger on either side he ran his hand slowly up her spine. Hermione couldn't hold in a little sigh of contentment as thin little ribbons of pleasure spread out from his gentle fingers. They wound their way through her body before centering where his other hand was pressed against her jeans.

Malfoy kissed her neck, and she didn't protest when he flicked open the button and pulled down the zipper of her pants. She was really all too happy to have his hand that much closer to the pooling molten desire at her center. Hoping to express encouragement, she ground her ass against his groin. She smiled when she heard him give a muffled groan. His hand quickly traveled from making delicate tracings of her spine, to pulling her butt even more firmly against his rolling hips.

He was responding to her. It was amazing. Hermione couldn't stop herself as she turned her head to capture Malfoy's mouth in a kiss. Before she even came close, he had extracted his hands and pushed her away. A look of revulsion twisted his pale features.

A violent feeling of rejection immediately jolted Hermione. Realization of what had happened, what could have happened, and what she had wanted to happen hit her like a rampaging mountain troll.

"What do you want Malfoy?" she snapped out irritably, all her frustrations spewing out of her mouth. "What are you even doing here?"

"Doing some research," Malfoy narrowed his eyes and grabbed a book blindly off the shelf. "Not that I have to explain myself to you."

"Just get out of here Malfoy," Hermione replied sharply. She realized with no little amount of embarrassment that her fly was open and quickly remedied the situation. "I don't want to deal with you and your immaturity right now."

"I don't want to deal with your face right now. Or ever."

"Then go find someone else to bother," she growled. "Like Parkinson, though I doubt she's ever set foot inside the library. Does she even know what one is?"

"Shove off, Granger," Malfoy sneered.

"You first, you little ferret."

"I have a right to be here, just like you have the right to look like an old hag."

"And I have a right to my own personal space, just like you have the right to be an enormous git." Malfoy didn't even spare her a final glare when he turned and quickly exited the library.

Well, that could have gone better.