Hermione crept along the darkened halls, her hands gripping tightly the black cloak that hid her identity. She scurried silently, fearful that someone could be hiding in the shadows - a witness to her breaking the rules. It was common knowledge amongst the students of Hogwarts that Filch hadn't become any more lenient after the War than he had been before it. She kept glancing over her shoulder nervously, lest he be sulking around, paroling this part of the castle.
She'd already come up with a plan for if she were caught out of bed at this hour - she would blame her rule infringement on the stress of their upcoming finals, pleading that she desperately needed to unwind in a tub of scalding water and bubbles. Surely a professor would agree that her breaking curfew could be justified due to the immense stress that came with redoing her 7th year?
She could admit, it wasn't a great excuse, but at least she had one.
After all, the Head Girl could not be caught breaking the rules for no reason. It just simply wasn't done.
Anyway, her excuse wasn't a total lie - this year was wrapping up to be more challenging than all of their previous years had been combined. In addition to the demanding nature of their curriculum, the amount of work expected of them seemed to have doubled. Not to mention, they'd also been tasked with assisting in the castle's reparation and rebuilding efforts.
Most students did this work happily, relieved to see the school stripped of all physical reminders of the horrible War that took place there. The memories, unfortunately, couldn't be so easily purged.
Other students were helping only to fulfill their obligations to the Ministry.
With their other option being Azkaban, many kids of Death Eaters and Voldemort sympathizers opted to stay out of the imprisonment their parents couldn't avoid and return to Hogwarts, though they were subjected to stricter rules and curfews than others. The Ministry had representatives present in the halls, ensuring these students were doing their part, as terms of their reintegration into society.
Hermione had noticed, regardless of their required participation, it was oftentimes these students - the now ostracized, outcasted children of Voldemort's supporters - who seemed to put the most time and effort into the reconstruction project.
She assumed that, maybe they felt as though they had a lot to make up for. What a sad reality - children feeling burdened to make amends for the mistakes of their parents.
When Hermione finally reached the fifth floor landing, she took a sharp right turn, dodging a few large pieces of stone that remained littered in this hallway. Her feet padding lightly along the stone floor, she traveled noiselessly, nearly to her destination. She set her sights on the statue of Boris the Bewildered, who'd somehow managed to survive any damage during the War.
The same couldn't be said about many other parts of the castle, though their restoration efforts had made immense progress since the beginning of last summer. The state of disrepair had postponed classes to an October start date - yet another reason their schoolwork had become suffocating. Hermione liked a challenge, though - she could admit to her strange liking for busy schedules and completing assignments.
She would probably feel less overwhelmed if she were sleeping well at night. For several months now, Hermione would wake in the morning feeling almost as tired as she had been when she'd fallen asleep the night before.
But it wasn't the heavy workload or the stress of this year that prevented her from a restful sleep.
The truth of tonight's midnight flee through the vacant halls of Hogwarts?
She had dreamt about him again.
The dreams came in droves these days, causing her many restless nights - they starred a man, slender but broad in the shoulders. The features of his face were always blurred, unrecognizable, as if her subconscious wanted to keep his identity a secret, but on multiple occasions, she had dreamt she was writhing in the sheets with him, her back arched and her hands sunk deep into hair so blonde it was nearly white…
The implications of this nameless man's hair color weren't lost on her - she knew of only one man with hair that blonde and, until recently, she could've never imagined she would dream of him like this.
Hermione had a mound of pent up frustrations from these dreams that only the solace of a password guarded room could help her unleash.
She issued a soft sigh of relief as she finally reached the refuge of the Prefects' bath. Standing outside the door, she checked her surroundings one last time, muttered the new password under her breath and dipped past the door. But just as the latch slid back silently back into its place, Hermione realized she was hearing a lot of noise for a bathroom that was meant to be empty at this time of night.
With her back still turned towards the room, her hand froze on the door's handle as a voice bellowed over the sound of running water -
"I didn't expect you to join me tonight."
She would know that voice anywhere. Deep and drawling, Hermione had spent many hours this year with the owner of this voice.
Against her will, she'd also heard it in many of her dreams, too.
The changed man, the shining student who was all but celebrated for his dedication to the cause of restoring Hogwarts to its pre-War state.
This year's Head Boy of Hogwarts.
She could hear his bare feet shuffling along the floor as he stalked towards her.
Shock flooded through her senses, completely dulling her ability to react in any sensible way. She knew what to do, how to flee, but some disconnect between her brain and her limbs caused her feet to stay planted to the uneven ground. In her defense, her hand currently rested on the handle of her wand, as if to protect herself. But the truth was, she felt no threat to her life in here.
Her inhibitions, however, were about to be tested.
Before she could process another thought on her situation, Draco Malfoy had already closed the distance between them, in a way that told her her cloak was doing its job at hiding who she was. She felt his body first - using one hand to prop himself against the door, he came up behind her, leaving not even an inch of space between her back and the hardness of his chest. His free hand snaked greedily around her waist, a gesture that confirmed Draco might've expected someone to join him in the baths tonight, but it wasn't supposed to be Hermione Granger.
She gasped audibly at the strength of his fingers as they pressed into her hips, like they were handles to aid him in getting what his usual guest would've given to him, had it been her instead of Hermione who'd showed up tonight.
Draco let his hands roam freely and Hermione didn't stop him. Why couldn't she remember the words to say that would make him stop?
His caress started at her hands, which now rested uselessly at her sides, and worked upwards, causing bumps to rise in the wake of his touch despite the fabric barrier.. Eventually his fingers reached past the fabric, to the dips in her collarbones, tracing the skin there lightly before they found the bow of her cloak - the only thing keeping the heavy black material from sliding off of her shoulders. Underneath this bow was a second one, the one attached to her cotton nightgown and, if undone, would reveal her hasty choice to run to the baths without a bra.
Hermione's head tilted slightly to the side, her breath growing ragged as this man - not a stranger, nor a friend - explored her body in a way she'd never experienced before. She knew these touches were meant for another woman, but she didn't care. Each passing second that Hermione didn't stop his advances would only worsen the moment when he inevitably found out who she is, but the heat of the moment was making it hard for her to think rationally. Every new touch brought a flush to her cheeks and a coiling sensation to... lower parts of her body that had long since been stimulated..
"You're so.. quiet tonight," he whispered, his lips nearly kissing her ear. His tone had hardened, rough desire wrapped around his words like an illicit promise. Hermione shuddered to think what such promise could entail.
"You know I prefer it when you're loud."
His voice dripped in seduction, and she knew these words would be rendered untrue the moment he found out who she was, but she closed her eyes and let herself believe they were meant for her.
As he spoke, Draco didn't stop his hands as they traveled over her, constantly discovering new places to touch. He came very close to grazing the bow of her nightgown, but he stopped his teasing just above it, at the top of her breast.
Hermione stifled a gasp as he began to palm the tender skin there. The sensation caused her nipples to peak underneath the thin white fabric, something that would've been blatantly visible to him if she turned around. Part of her felt relieved that his fingers had stopped before they discovered her arousal. She didn't think she'd have the willpower - or the desire - to tell him to stop if he noticed how easily her body responded to him.
What was the meaning of this - of her fixation on him? They had spent a lot of time together this year. Between their Head Student responsibilities and their being assigned as partners for the school restoration project, Hermione could argue she'd seen more of Draco Malfoy this year than Harry or Ron or any of her other friends.
He was the reality of her days and the star of her dreams. He was a man who'd been irredeemable to her not even a year ago. Perhaps it was that she'd watched up close as he worked to earn his redemption. He was never vocal about it - he didn't slew fake apologies or pretend to grovel for his part in his dark history.
He just... silently owned up to his transgressions, put his head down and worked to redirect his life. Hermione noticed it and Professor McGonagall noticed it, too - this effort was enough to earn him the spot of Head Boy. Hermione thought his election was meant to send a message - that these students are not our enemies and Hogwarts has now entered a new period where we should blur the line of division that Voldemort tore through our society.
But Draco had worked hard and, though at first Hermione loathed the idea of him receiving such an honor, she now agreed that he'd earned it.
It was getting increasingly harder to think about anything other than Draco's hands - she'd never noticed how large they were before they began claiming large areas of her body - as they carelessly bunched up the fabric of her nightgown in their attempt to reach more intimate places.
Suddenly, she was whisked around, her back pressed roughly against the bathroom door - by the grace of the gods, her hood had remained in place - and she wasn't given any time to react before Draco's lips crashed onto hers. She felt one of his hands leave its assault on her body to grip the side of her neck. His kiss was strong and commanding. The movements of his lips were confident and concise.
She had been kissed before, but not like this.
Her body flooded with warmth as she did her best to follow the fervent motions of his kiss. The roar of flowing water was mere background noise to the intense feelings that were coursing through her. She resisted the urge to reach a hand into the blonde hair that had frequented her dreams recently.
She felt a dull pain on her bottom lip and realized it had been purposefully caught between Draco's teeth.
Hermione gasped and Draco took advantage of this, using her parted lips to deepen their kiss, causing those earlier coils within her stomach to tighten. His tongue explored eagerly, and she couldn't understand how a simple use of the tongue could cause her body to respond in the way that it was. She felt like water - liquid, pliable and ready to take whatever form Draco wanted.
The science behind this was in no textbook Hermione had ever read.
She felt her body lax into him, glad for his expertise at guiding their movements because she was sure it was the reason this kiss ignited so much pleasure. Her back was pressed harder into the wood of the door behind her, but there was no pain, as her brain could only register the feeling of his hard chest rubbing into her breasts, causing a friction even her dreams couldn't have accurately depicted. His fingers delved into her curls, and she lifted her own hand, wanting to touch his face, his neck, any part of him that she could reach -
Draco paused his movements.
With both hands, he gripped the hood of her cloak and slid it backwards, revealing her thick brunette curls and flushed cheeks. She could feel the warmth of the candlelight dance across her face as she looked at him, wide eyed.
She watched the surprise mark his face while his eyes roamed the length of her body, clearly trying to reason with what he was seeing. Hermione didn't dare breathe as he finally met her gaze.
She had become quite familiar with these eyes - an icy mixture of silver and grey, tonight they glinted dangerously.
She used to hate these eyes, but they no longer reflected malice and spite like they once had. She now hated only how weak they made her feel.
In a reaction she didn't completely understand, Draco's slightly swollen lips curved into a smirk.
"Well, well. Tonight just became much more interesting."
He let his arm fall down her body, lingering around her waist before eventually pulling away to walk back towards the tub. She could only stand there, numbly, trying to slow the rapid beat of her heart. She knew very little about clinical diagnoses, but she was sure a heart was not meant to hammer as hard as hers was.
She watched him expectantly, waiting for his next reaction. She noticed he was dressed down to the final layers of his school uniform - his slacks hung loosely on his hips, as if the button had already been unfastened. Similarly, the white buttons of his shirt had been undone, but the material still clung to his shoulders. She could see the dips and curves of his stomach as the fabric billowed in his walk - it was an intimate look at Draco she had dreamt of but never expected to see.
Now that she knew what his lips tasted like, she could only imagine how much more vivid her dreams would become.
With her mind finally free of its fog, Hermione finally took the time to survey the room she'd walked into.
The Prefects' bathroom was alight with candles set on various surfaces around the room which cast it in a deeply golden glow, despite the late time of night. Walls of glass windows allowed the moonlight to seep into the room, a beautiful white light to contrast the gold of the firelightt. The mermaid, a beautiful picture plotted within the colored glass window, seemed more sensual tonight than she had in Hermione's previous visits. She moved through the glass like it was liquid, brushing her hands through her copper hair, as if she was demonstrating to Hermione how to lure the man she desired.
The room abruptly fell into silence. Draco had walked back to the taps of the tub and turned them tightly until the flow of water ceased. Steam was rising visibly from the water, which was now still and smooth as the glass windows. She'd obviously walked in as he was preparing his bath. So far, he hadn't seemed too put out by her unintentional interruption.
Realizing she should probably address her intrusion, Hermione opened her mouth to speak but words were suddenly impossible to string into coherent sentences.
The tension in the room eased slightly as Draco spoke first.
"You're not Pansy," Draco said, an obvious statement she'd expected to be drenched in disappointment but she was pleasantly surprised to see the edges of his mouth curved upward. A rarity, to see a smile on his face, but anytime his lopsided grin made an appearance, it sent a thrill through her.
"I'm - No, I'm not," she replied, the first words she'd uttered since she entered the room. "I'm sorry," she added, unsure of what to say after staying silent through what they'd just done. She felt like a thief - stealing touches that hadn't been meant for her. She felt embarrassed that she'd liked them, that she'd wanted them to belong to her.
Draco shook his head, his smile aimed at the floor. "Don't be - I find your company to be entirely more appealing."
Her stomach somersaulted. He wasn't disappointed that she wasn't Pansy, he was glad she had interrupted him. The thought that maybe he sought from her what she so desperately wanted from him made the heat burning her cheeks dip down lower.
Why wasn't she running for the door? Apologizing profusely for rudely staying somewhere she wasn't welcome?
"What gave me away?" she asked. She knew it was silly to be curious how Draco could tell the difference between her and Pansy. Their similarities began and ended with their enrollment at Hogwarts.
"The passwords changed yesterday. I hadn't given anyone the new password yet." He chuckled, the sound musical in the echo of the room.
He began to walk back towards her and, try as she might, she couldn't help but devour the image of his half-naked body as it peaked through the opening of his shirt. When he came to a stop, he was so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his breath at the top of her head. The proximity caused her breath to momentarily halt. He leaned down so that his lips were near enough to graze her ear. "Also," he whispered, "this hair could only belong to one person in this school," he said playfully, reaching out to touch a loose curl.
She tried to make her brain form intelligible thoughts, but her excuses all came out flat. But she had to say something. Anything.
"I couldn't hear you from outside the door." Her eyes squinted closed. It was true but did little to explain why she let him touch her, kiss her..
How she managed to get herself into complicated situations such as this was the mystery of her life. At one time, she had blamed it on her friendship with Harry Potter. However, her current situation was completely the result of her own misfortune.. and perhaps her own concupiscence.
"That's because I issued a silencing charm," he said. She noticed his hand still rested on her shoulder near where her hair fell toward her chest. Draco cleared his throat. "My baths are sometimes quite... vocal. I'd rather avoid anyone listening in on them." That smirk appeared again and it was starting to feel like an addiction, how much she wanted to keep seeing it.
A silencing charm - that explained the absence of sound from the hallway. Her face reddened at the implications of his words while her mind began to run wild with imaginings of what could possibly take place within this room that he wouldn't want others to be able to hear.
Draco stepped back, gripping his shirt just underneath both sides of the collar and shook his shoulders slightly, allowing the fabric to fall down over his arms. He tossed it to the side and Hermione tried not to go slack-jawed as she took in his innately male form. He was slim and his muscles toned, details that were hard to notice when he was covered in the many layers of their school uniforms. His build was that of a quidditch player - strong biceps from his grip on the broom, slight rivets in his abs and definition in his arms from their team workouts.
Draco reached down to remove his slacks just as Hermione snapped out of her passion-induced stupor.
"What are you doing?" she squealed, turning her back to him as if she hadn't just made a full analysis of his body.
"Oh, so now you decide to offer me some privacy?" His tone was relaxed and playful - quite unlike his old stoic demeanor. She'd only seen him smile a handful of times this year and it had always been while they performed their Senior Prefect duties together, during which Draco had made it a game to see how riled he could make her. Whenever he was successful, she was rewarded with that charming, lopsided grin.
"Well," she huffed, "one would expect a person to refrain from undressing in front of someone else if they wanted privacy." A brave comment for her to make, given that she was the one interrupting his bath.
"Even when that person was rudely interrupted in the middle of their bath?" She could hear the taunt in his voice.
She had no response for that. His deep chuckle vibrated through her.
"Why are you still here, Hermione?" His voice was a whisper this time, and much closer than she'd been expecting. Her name sounded like a curse on his lips - forbidden and striking. He'd never called her by her name before. Her heart rate picked up again as she thought over his question.
Why was she still here? Draco and Hermione, Head Boy and Head Girl, caught in the Prefects' Bath together after curfew: it'd be the scandal of the year. Outwardly, Hermione was supposed to hate him. Despite his high status, her friends hated him, her classmates hated him - he was still considered the enemy.
But those friends and classmates hadn't watched how hard he'd worked this year like she had. How forlorn his eyes looked as he cleaned yet another pile of broken stone and glass hours after his shift was meant to end. He'd lost his parents to Azkaban and realized that every ideology they'd subscribed to his entire life had not only been wrong but - immoral.
Curiosity.
Curiosity was the reason she'd yet to flee that room. Draco Malfoy was a mystery to her and it was in her nature to immerse herself into something she wanted to know more about.
Unable to admit to him her true reason for staying, she reverted to her original reason for escaping to the baths tonight.
"I've been stressed lately. And some…recurring dreams have been keeping me up. So I - I thought a bath might help." She shrugged lamely.
Draco tutted. "Such a bad Head Girl, breaking curfew like this."
This caused her to turn back around to face him and she immediately regretted it. She wondered if the pink of her cheeks had left her face once since she'd entered the room. She found a single freckle on the left side of his forehead and decided to focus on it.
"Then.. what kind of Head Boy does that make you?" she retorted, her brow furrowed and eyes anywhere but the curves of his abdomen.
"Touché." He stepped closer to her again, causing her to ditch the freckle and meet his gaze. The danger dancing in his eyes sent chills through her and she suddenly wished she'd dressed in warmer night clothes. "Who knew you and I had so much in common?"
His arm rose slowly until his hand cradled under her chin, and it startled her, how much she wanted what she knew was coming.
"What are you doing?" She'd meant to ask this at a normal, confident volume, but his grip on her chin was causing her breathing to falter such that a whisper was the loudest she could do. She was lucky she got the words out at all.
"You're being stubborn and refusing to answer my questions, so I plan to follow my own assumption - that you'd like to continue what we'd started when you so rudely interrupted my bath."
She knew how to move her body in a way that would remove herself from his grasp, but her body refused to take the step back. Despite his flirtatious words, Draco's eyes were filled with uncertainty.
"What do you want from me? Why didn't you leave when you realized who was in here?" His gaze was piercing, unfaltering, and a million underlying questions were being asked within the few words he'd just spoken.
What do you want from me? Did he think this was a ruse? Some cleverly conducted plan to reject him even more than he already had been this year? She was surprised by how much his suspicion wounded her. She wanted him to know he had an ally, that she believed he was changing his ways and that she burned for him in a way she'd never burned for anyone before.
Why didn't you leave?
"I don't know," she whispered, but she did know why she still hadn't made a run for it.
She was curious to know what would've happened next if Draco hadn't discovered who she was.
He was still for a moment, a range of emotions seeming to play across his face, which was beginning to dew under the steam radiating from the forgotten tub. She could see his suspicion was about to win over and draw him away from whatever game this had been. His hand fell from its hold on her chin.
Her heart sank. She didn't want it to end.
"I'm supposed to hate you." She blurted the first thing to pop into her head.
His eyes flickered back up to hers. They were fractionally warmer but still laced with doubt. "But you don't?"
She shook her head.
He contemplated this for a moment, chewing distractingly on his bottom lip as he came to whatever conclusion he'd been working through. "A true insurgent," he said. He drew a hand through his hair, allowing it to fall out of its neatly gelled style. She decided then that she preferred his hair like this - unstyled, unkempt, falling loosely onto his forehead.
"How about," he started, using a single finger to draw an agonizingly slow line from her shoulder to her wrist, "I'll tell you what will happen if you stay in here with me." His finger made its stop just above her hand, so he reversed the motion and began to draw upward, covering her arms in bumps at the touch. "Then, you can decide whether you really want to stay or not. Deal?"
Hermione swallowed, attempting to dislodge the lump that formed so she could answer him without sounding as breathless as she felt. "That seems - fair."
Without removing his hand from her arm, Draco walked behind her until her back was once again pressed against his chest. Knowing he had nothing covering him made this time feel much more carnal.
"I've been very clear with you what goes on during my time in here. If you stay, I plan to kiss you again. But I won't be as.. nice about it this time."
She shuddered as she remembered her lip between his teeth. If that had been nice, she was anxious to find out how 'not nice' might feel.
Suddenly, both of his hands made it onto Hermione's arms, rising slowly until they reached her neck, and then her hair. He gathered her curls together and moved them over her left shoulder. He then moved his head to her now exposed right side and -
His lips touched the skin of her neck, just below her ear, and her knees about gave in. "I will take off every inch of fabric that's covering you, starting with this cloak." He reached around but instead of resting on her arms this time, his fingers came to the thin tie holding her cloak together. His fingers worked deftly, undoing the knot and let the thick black fabric pool at their feet.
"When I've taken my time looking at every intimate place on your body, I plan to touch them all - very slowly - until you have no choice but to beg me for more."
A moan escaped from somewhere deep within her, her head dipping back to rest on his body. Her normally very rational, very analytical brain wanted nothing to do with reasoning through whether this was a bad idea and just let him do everything he'd promised - and more.
His hands went back up to her neck, petting the tender skin there.
"It's not a complicated choice, Hermione," he mused. "Either you walk through that door right now, or you stay in here and I fuck you."
Surprised she had any breath left to speak with at all, she voiced what she'd decided the moment he'd kissed her.
"I want to stay."