Once Upon a Time During SEX:

"Next, Scabies. Volunteers? No?" she said, pretending to look surprised. "Draco, what do you think?" A devilish flash marred his eyes.

"I can't pick Weasley?" he asked feebly and Hermione shook her head.

"No, I don't think-" she started, but he interrupted her.

"Ian Whitcomb."

Scabies savagely jumped off the desk and scampered to Ian, who looked scared out of his mind. To his surprise, once the rat reached him, it lost much of its horribleness and curled into a ball on his lap. Ian hoped it wouldn't mind the dampness.

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Chapter Nine: What Sleeping Does for You

The heads common room was quiet most of Thursday afternoon. True to her word, (as the students seemed to enjoy disrupting her teachings with crude jokes and unintelligent questions) Hermione kept the class in session until nearly eleven thirty, and all those involved were very lethargic and grumpy for classes the following day. Many students had tried to catch a few winks during the Sunday night class and Hermione reprimanded most of them. However, when Aly fell asleep on Ron's shoulder half way through The Rises and Falls of Estrogen in the Gestation Cycle, both she and Draco pretended they hadn't noticed.

The strain on the students was reflected ten fold in the teachers, who had ended up awake until nearly one o'clock with discussion of the class itself and the creation of a working schedule for the following week, when it was virtually impossible for them to meet up for more than a few hours a day. Quidditch season was drawing to a close and Draco had already sacrificed much of his practice time to helping prepare for the class as well as studying for his own benefit, and Hermione allowed him air-leave after expressing her gratitude. She had no doubt that losing to Harry because of her would not put Malfoy in a good mood, and vowed to save the entire day of Sunday to sleep in preparation for a late night, if one should be inevitable.

Monday and Thursday were the best days for Draco to sit stationed in the common room, and Hermione tailored to his schedule by putting her studying aside for the time he was available. It seemed purposeless, however, when she showed up late on Thursday, list of excuses fresh on her tongue, to find him asleep on the couch, still dressed in his Quidditch gear. She tutted at him, silently complaining, and removed his horrendously muddy shoes to save the carpet, which already sported unattractive brown footprints. To be a good Samaritan, she put away his books and broom and sat herself down quietly with her NEWT Review: Transfiguration booklet, going over every problem that had appeared on the midterm exam, as well as mentally marking down the sections that seemed to have been the most heavily tested. About an hour after dinner (to which Hermione had gone and brought her flat mate back a bacon sandwich), there was a knock at the common room door. Hermione marked her review and got up quickly, scurrying across the room in hope of stopping the barrage before it woke the blond on the couch. Draco had been sleeping like a log since he'd fallen at least three hours ago and didn't seem a light sleeper. Hermione truthfully didn't expect him to wake up again until at least midnight.

She opened the door with a smile, anticipating Harry, Ron or possibly Ginny, coming to complain about one thing or another, but her smile dropped at the sight before her.

"Clint," she said before she could consciously think the word, and the smirk that crawled onto his face made her instantly regret it.

"Hermione," he purred, chuckling softly before completely dropping his act. "Is your roomy here? We've got a... date." Hermione gave him half a smile in thanks for willingly submitting to easy conversation.

"Um... he is, but I'm afraid he's unavailable at the moment," she admitted, moving aside in the doorway so that the caller could view his tutor. Draco flinched and shifted slightly in response to a fly that had landed on his nose. Hermione turned back to Clint, a look of slight surprise on her face. "That's the most he's moved in hours." He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah, well, he's been beating himself up at practice this week. Trying to make up for lost time, I guess."

"You play?"

"No, but I'm supportive. I watch the practices... sometimes the other houses too. Like to know my competition," Clint said, then sighed. "Damn, I needed a session, too. I've only got until Christmas." Hermione gave him a small sympathetic smile.

"I've heard," she said, and her answer was fallowed by a brief period of silence. Clint opened his mouth to thank her and bid goodnight, but Hermione interrupted him. "You know, I could take over. Just for today." His dark eyebrows buried themselves in the hair that fell over his forehead.

"You speak French?" he asked and Hermione smiled shyly.

"I'm Hermione Granger. I do everything. Come on in, we'll use my room," she said, turning and entering the common area while leaving the door open for Clint to follow. He followed her passed his drowsy housemate and toward the splendors of her room. Just as he reached the threshold, she stopped him. "Shoes off in the commons, please. I'd like to keep my floor at a level of cleanliness higher than Draco's mud encrusted flying boots." Clint smiled in amusement and slipped off his oxfords before stepping into the haven that could be expected of Hermione Granger's sanctuary. It was more immaculate than he'd thought possible for the room of a teenager. "Right," she said after adjusting the covers so that the sheets would not be susceptible to any small dirt particles that may be riding with either of them. "Have a seat. Do you have any... texts, or anything?" Clint shook his shoulders.

"Usually we just wing it. I've done acceptably with conjugations, I want to start on real sentence structure... if that's all right."

"That's fine," Hermione said, taking a tablet of parchment and smuggled ballpoint pen from the desk in the corner and crawling onto her massive bed. She chewed on the end of her pen for a moment, thinking over strategies as Clint joined her, sitting cross-legged at an angle to her laid back position and watching with interest as she wracked her brain for ideas. After a moment, as if realizing that he were watching her, Hermione looked up and smiled, moving to sit sidesaddle. "You've got to listen to some old man talk and then answer questions about what he says, right?" she asked, but Clint shook his head.

"I've got to read aloud from a book."

"Oh, right. Well, let's start with that, then. I'll just write something and you tell me what it says," she suggested, then looked to him for approval. He lifted his eyebrows and gave a nod, moving closer to watch as she wrote and trying not to be too distracted by the no-doubt muggle object she was using to spread ink. Hermione dotted her first sentence with flourish and smiled. "Here. Forgive me if it's too easy; I'm trying to... gauge your level, I suppose." Clint flashed a smile, then stared at the sentence with eyebrows creased in thought. Hermione watched him with interest; he was usually so much of a joker that seeing him in deep thought struck her as intriguing. After a minute he sighed and pointed at the page.

"That's ball, right? And... The ball red... something... out of the wagon," he said, struggling slightly and scratching his head. "Ha, and you thought it'd be too easy." Hermione smiled.

"Well, you've got most of it. In most European languages, the adjective comes after the noun. Where as we would say 'red ball': in French, it's 'ball red'. This word means falls; have you studied any verbs yet?" she asked and Clint, who had been rhythmically nodding as she spoke, shrugged.

"Some. We spent all of last week on conjugations... I've just never seen this one before."

"Well, I'm officially assigning that as your homework; to learn as many as you possibly can. Verbs are very important. Do you know what tense your text is written in? The one you've to read from."

"Mostly past, like the bible. I know the basics; I'm not going to bother with the rest until afterward, when I can do it more leisurely."

"So you're going to learn it fluently, then?" she asked, sounding interested, and he nodded.

"It's a family tradition. Half my older relatives only speak French."

"If you don't mind me asking, why didn't your parents have you taught when you were younger? Studies have proven that babies and toddlers are more malleable and therefore learn languages more easily than teenagers or adults," Hermione said, writing down a list of more sentences, and Clint shook his head at her textbook-like attitude.

"It's part of the ceremony. I have to learn, take part, and then," he paused to sigh. "...get married." She looked up at the note of his final step.

"Have you an arranged marriage?" Hermione asked, sounding empathetic. He chuckled and shook his head.

"Of course not. I get until my twenty first birthday to find someone, and if I don't, I get to be paraded with women of my mother's choosing and pick the one with the prettiest face and the widest hips. Depressing, really. I plan to make for myself before I have to resort to that. A bearded man lived in a large leather boot." She had nodded throughout his explanation, but jerked in surprise at his final statement.

"Excuse me?"

"The next sentence, there," Clint said, pointing.

"Oh," she said, laughing lightly at herself. "Yes, that's right. Seems you know more that you give yourself credit for. Forget this... here-"

"I looked when He opened the sixth seal," he began, reading as she wrote, and paused to look up at her, but Hermione continued in her task and he followed suit. "and behold, there was a great earthquake and the sun became black as lock of hair, and the moon became like blood. And the kings of the earth, the great men, the rich men, the commanders, the mighty men, every slave and every free man, hid themselves in the caves and in the rocks of the mountains and said to the mountains and rocks, 'Fall on us and hide us from the face of Him who sits on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb for the great day of His wrath has come, and who is able to stand?'" Hermione smiled as he finished her sentence seconds after it was written.

"I thought you said you needed practice? I do believe you're wasting my time, Mr. Zimmerman."

"Well," Clint said, smirking with a quality of haughtiness that all Slytherin seemed to possess. "That one wasn't quite fair. I knew the gist of it already. Revelations." Hermione smiled.

"My favorite book. You tend to take to that sort of thing when you're a minority; death- the great equalizer," she shared, pausing for a moment before flipping to a clean sheet of parchment. "You know, I've got an idea. These are all the books I can think of that are in the library written completely in French. I think they're for the benefit of Beauxbaton's transfers... but we've got them in English as well. You can take out both and test yourself." She scribbled furiously for a few moments, then paused to think and sighed. "It seems my brain is elsewhere today. It's not much, but it's a start. Madam Pince can help you find some others, if you need them." Clint laughed.

"There are about ten books there; I doubt I'll be able to finish all those in a week."

"Oh," Hermione said, counting the titles she'd written. "I suppose you're right. Sometimes I just get a bit carried away."

"Nothing wrong with that," he said, then straightened. "Listen, thanks for all your help; you really didn't have to."

"It was no trouble at all; I'm head girl, that's my job," she assured, taking his thanks graciously.

"But I'm sure you had better things to do this afternoon than hang out with some good-for-nothing Slytherin," he countered, propping his forearm between his knee and chin. Hermione laughed softly and shook her head.

"Actually, that's exactly what I had planned to do. Draco and I were supposed to have a strategy meeting, but the bloody great lump slept through it... I was just studying for my t-fig NEWT when you got here."

"What?" Clint asked in pleasant surprise. "That test isn't until June. You've got months." Hermione shook a shoulder.

"I like to be prepared," she defended, and he shook his head, sitting up straight, and sighed.

"Speaking of prepared, I'd better get to the library. I'll need a running start if I plan to read ten books in ten days," he noted and she laughed, nodding.

"Right. I suppose you will." Clint stood from the bed and Hermione followed suit in common hospitality. "Hey, let me know how you're doing, okay? I'm geekishly interested. Something about preserving cultures has always appealed to me." He laughed.

"Yeah, well, I don't know how much longer we'll be doing this. The only people qualified to run the ceremony must have gone to school with Dumbledore," he joked and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You're a lot different when you're working than when you're being a prick," she commented, annoyed by the smirk the crawled from his lips.

"A good different or a bad different?" he asked, mocking her use of emphasis and Hermione sighed.

"Definitely a good different. I don't-" she began to elaborate, but her words were in vain. For a moment, Hermione scoured her brain for any reason she could find to push him away, but came up empty. She wasn't attached to anyone and, as far as she could tell, neither was he. He was a Slytherin, but initiating a kiss with a Gryffindor was much worse on the whole than returning that kiss. She was Head Girl, but there were no rules anywhere written that a peer authority figure could not have an innuendo or relationship with another student.

All excuses aside, the sole truth that made her respond to his surprisingly bold action was the fact that he was an amazing kisser. True, she had very little to compare it to, but it was a blessed experience nonetheless, and Hermione wanted to take advantage of it. Her response, which had been slightly hesitant and self-conscious while she contemplated her involvement in such an escapade, became more confident and daring. She felt one of his hands on her jawbone, and curled her own fingers over his wrist while placing her others on the collar of his shirt.

Just as Hermione was ready to admit defeat and place herself wholly into his pouty lips, Clint moved his hands to her shoulders and pushed her back, breaking their connection.

"Stop," he breathed and, before Hermione could stop herself (as requested), she pitched forward in attempt to reestablish their lover's lock.

"Why?" she asked when he held her at arms length and refused her closer proximity. He swallowed, shaking his head.

"This is wrong... it was a mistake, I- I have to go," Clint uncharacteristically rambled, then pulled away to leave, but Hermione held to his wrist.

"Why?" she repeated. "Why is it wrong? Why am I always a mistake?" He sighed and reluctantly turned back to her, placing his hands on either side of her face, and she clamped her fingers around his wrists.

"Hermione, it's not you. God, it's everything but you. I just... can't. I'm sorry," he said and he left, stomping through the common room and slamming the door loud enough to wake Draco, who very nearly fell off the couch. After a brief period of disorientation, he identified his surroundings and wandered toward Hermione's room, which was open and revealing her to be lying in a fetal like position, facing the wall and on top of her bedcovers.

"Granger..." he started, speaking softly as if testing to see if she were asleep. Hermione heaved a heavy sigh.

"Malfoy, you slept through our meeting so we'll have to do it at lunch tomorrow, because with the game on Saturday I don't expect you to have much free time, and I plan to do absolutely nothing on Sunday. I brought you dinner; it's on the end table. Now, kindly leave me alone."

"Erm... thanks, but I can't meet with you at lunch tomorrow," he said, and Hermione turn halfway over to lift an eyebrow at him.

"We can eat here, if that's what you're worried about."

"Hardly; I've got to tutor Clint..." he explained, then cursed and looked down at his watch. "I was supposed to meet him an hour ago." Hermione sighed and turned back to face the wall.

"He came here looking for you," she explained. "I offered to help since you were so obviously indisposed and I gave him a list of reading that should keep him busy for the rest of this week and next. That leaves you free for lunch. Now, as I said, go away."

"Oh," Draco said, sounding at a loss. "You... you helped him? Why?" He could see her body expand as she took another cleansing breath.

"I'm head girl," she noted tartly. "I had to."

-x- -x- -x-

Every head looked up as Hermione entered the Ravenclaw common room. She froze in the doorway and lifted her hand in an innocent wave, which drew much attention away from her. She received a few "Hello, Hermione"s and a very enthusiastic vice hold from one blonde seventh year.

"Hermione!" she squealed, grinning. "God, I haven't seen you in days! Not properly, anyway. Where've you been?"

"Trying to plan Sunday's class, practically by myself," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Not that it's really Malfoy's fault; I told him he could go to Quidditch practice. Biggest mistake I've ever made. I'm actually here looking for Ian Whitcomb; do you know where I can find him?" Aly looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping a finger on her chin.

"Hey, Mary, have you seen Ian?" she asked a younger student, who seemed to be making her way toward the dormitories. She didn't speak a word, but pointed to a desk in the corner where the man of the hour was seated, doing his homework with one hand and scratching Scabies with the other. [a/n mwa hahaha]. Aly thanked her friend and Hermione gave her own smile of gratitude before making the journey across the room. She sat on the corner of Ian's desk and waited for him to notice her, but he was very enthralled in his work and couldn't be bothered with such things as remaining alert to his surroundings. Hermione cleared her throat and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Scabies jumped as well, and scurried onto Ian's lap, curling up into a trembling ball.

"Hermione!" Ian exclaimed, holding the rat against him and patting it softly for comfort. "What did I do now?" She laughed and shook her head.

"Nothing, Ian, nothing. Your week's almost up, I just wanted to see how you were getting on," Hermione said, pointing to his pet. Ian smiled.

"I almost don't want to give him up. He's a little intimidating, but he's really just a big softie."

"So you're having fun with Scabies?" she joked, and Ian blushed.

"I wouldn't say that," he defended. "He's very demanding; keeps me up all night, and always want to be scratched and petted. I can't do much of anything fun with him. I'll probably skip Hogsmeade tomorrow and stay with him. I don't think he'd like to go and it'd be too much of a pain." Hermione smiled in silence for a moment, then sighed.

"You know what, Ian? Since you've been so nice to him, and I can tell he's been happy with you, I'll take him back with me now so that you can go tomorrow. And, because you've done so well as the first to look after him, I'll fund your purchase of a real rat. What do you say?"

"Blimey, d'ya mean it? That'd be great, Hermione! Thanks!" he said, lifting Scabies onto the countertop and Hermione smiled as she took him into her arms and dropped a sachet of gold in his place.

"You have a good weekend, Ian. You've done brilliantly," she said, sliding off the desk and making her way toward the door.

"Hermione," he called her back, and she turned with a smile. "Do you think I could meet you at lunch tomorrow and do my essay? I think I'm ready."

"That sounds fine, Ian. I'm free tomorrow; it's Quidditch day," she answered. "If you know of anyone else who might want to do it as well, have them come along. The more the merrier."

"Sure."

Hermione left the Ravenclaw common room after a goodbye to Aly and inquisition of Ron's whereabouts. She shook her shoulders nonchalantly and Hermione followed suit, deciding to check the Gryffindor common room before making the trek all the way to the pitch.

As Hermione entered, she only received a few looks, which were quickly taken by lack of interest. Harry was pacing the bottom of the staircase, looking very much frustrated, and Hermione sighed in expectation of something foul.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

"It's Ron. We're late for practice; the Slytherin get the pitch in an hour and he's not bloody ready!"

"Well, what's he doing?" she asked innocently and Harry threw his hands to the air.

"Who the hell knows with Ron? The last I asked, he was setting a trap for your little imp girl," he said, crying in anguish. "Ron, come on!" A moment later, a pair of big feet began clomping down the staircase.

"I'm coming, Harry, I'm coming! She'll never get out of that, once she gets in... come on, let's fly, it'll be faster," he said hurriedly, mounting his broom before he'd completed his decent into the common room. Harry was at a loss.

"Erm..."

"Hello, Ron," Hermione said sweetly, and he blanched, coming slowly back to place his feet on the floor.

"Hey... Hermione."

"Ronald, I hope you weren't planning to fly through the hallways... you know that's against school policy," she scolded, smiling in amusement as Ron struggled to come up with an excuse.

"No, no- of course not. I just meant to... I mean, I was only going to fly once we were already outside."

"Oh, really? And why have you mounted your broom in the common room, then?" she asked, and he laughed nervously.

"Well, you see, it's a very funny thing... I... window. Going to use the window."

"Ron," Harry intervened. "Stop making excuses and just tell her, I want to get to practice sometime in this century, if you don't mind." Ron sighed.

"You're right, Harry. Herms, I was going to fly through the halls, and I'm sorry, and I'll never do it again, and I'll have detention with Professor Sprout on Monday night. Okay?" She laughed and shrugged.

"Well, if you insist. I was actually going to let you off the hook that time, for favor of talking about Chlamydia. How are things?" Hermione asked, but had no sooner finished her question when Ron burst into complaint.

"She's a bloody nightmare! I lost her for three days, then I woke up in the middle of the night and... well... it was the night John Tomas cried," he said, and Hermione opened her mouth in shock.

"Ronald! What did I tell you about trying to take advantage of her!" she asked, and he looked horror struck.

"It was the other way around! He was crying in pain! She was using me like a combination punching bag and trampoline! I was afraid to use the loo in the morning!" he cried in defense, and Hermione crossed her arms, lips pinched in a sour expression.

"She'd only act like that if you didn't treat her well, Ron, and from your timeline, I'd say you violated her the very first day," she accused, annoyed with Harry, who was basically in tears at the loss of precious Quidditch time. "Go, Harry; Ron will have to catch up." Before his friend could make a defense, Harry had shot out of the common room like the scar on his forehead.

"All right, all right," Ron said, giving in. "This is what happened; that first night, she fell asleep before class was over and I was holding her like this." He fixed his arms in a cradle-like position, as if holding a baby. "I walked Aly back to her common room and then I took Chlamydia upstairs and put her in my night table drawer, with some pillows and all that... and then I kissed her." Hermione's eyes shone fire and he quickly held up his hands in defense. "Not like that! A good night kiss, on the forehead... like I kiss Charlie's baby when they spend Christmas."

"Anja," Hermione supplied and he narrowed his eyebrows.

"I know her name!" he huffed, then took a breath to calm himself, still glaring coldly. "Anyway, she woke up and had a fit. She spit on me, and I got these big sores, and I hadn't done anything wrong, so I yelled at her. I didn't mean to, but I was mad and... well, she ran away. The next time I saw her she was playing sausage football. I put out some sweets so she'll come and a box will fall on her and I can keep her there until Sunday." Hermione sighed.

"Well, I supposed it wasn't entirely your fault," she agreed, then whistled. A few moments later, Chlamydia peeked out from behind a bookcase and ran to her, clinging to her shin. Hermione smiled and scooped the girl up, and she blew a raspberry at Ron (who stepped back to avoid the splatter) before mounting Scabies like a horse. He jumped off Hermione's shoulder and ran toward the door, scratching against it. "Remember your detention on Monday," Hermione noted with a smirk before following her flat mate's shoes and opening the door for them. They ran off at much too quick a pace for her, but she knew they would only wander a bit before returning home and allowed them to explore.

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A/N: Well, we learned one thing this chapter: Clint most certainly isn't gay. And he won't be getting with Hermione, either (not to ruin the surprise)... I needed him to create a bit of tension. Worked, didn't it? And wtf is his problem, anyway? Find out on our next SEXual escapade! (don't expect it as soon as this one ;o)

This is for Beach, who is a pain in my ass. Look! You're in another a/n!