Ch 18 Hermione's Virginity (Part I)
Granger was eating a banana…a long, fat, curved one. Her fingers moved up and down the peel, spreading back the yellow skin. She pressed the phallusagainst perfectly swollen lips that opened and eagerly accepted it. Once, twice, three times, she savored the pale prize.
Draco groaned, mesmerized by the brunette across the room. "Yeah you dirty girl, that's good, isn't it?"
Ice cream cones appeared next and Granger set the half eaten banana aside to select one. Draco watched her sweet pink tongue roll up the sides of the frozen desert and lap at the dribbles that snuck past. What were the house elves trying to do, kill him? Oh Merlin, some has dripped on her chin! The napkin in his hands – now wound into a tightly coiled rope – stung under his clenched-white knuckles.
In the month that passed since their detention with Binns, Draco's and Hermione's relationship grew into almost that: a relationship. Their nighttime rendezvous became the only salvation in an otherwise tiresome world. Both depended on their trysts like an addiction. Draco found it now impossible to spend a moment of conscious thought not involving Hermione…or sex…or sex with Hermione.
But they hadn't quite reached that stage yet – sex. And not, of course, on Draco's accord. He longed for the day when he wouldn't have to invent the affair in his mind, but actually knew the experience of being with her. He'd thought his chance had come when Hermione suggested they stay in the Room of Requirement on Valentine's Day instead of joining their classmates in Hogsmeade. He'd been mistaken, but not sorely; they'd spent the afternoon relaxing on a sofa, kissing, caressing, and surprisingly – talking.
A familiar warming sensation on his right ring finger drew him from his thoughts. His eyes found the silver ring that rested there and he slipped it off to read the message blazing like an inscription on the underside of the band.
Tonight, 20:00 the new place
Draco raised an eyebrow. Hermione hardly ever instigated meetings. He could remember only two such occasions in the three weeks since she'd presented him with the "message rings". He returned his attention to the girl in question in time to see her blush and look down at her water glass. She lifted the glass, took a long swig of its contents, and set it down again before fluttering her eyes back up to meet his. He nodded to confirm his approval of the meeting arrangements and held back a sly smile as he gathered his things and left the Great Hall.
Hermione watched him go, glad to be spared the usual teasing that went along with propositioning (at least that's what he called it) him. Maybe he's learned that I'm more likely to continue "propositioning" him if he doesn't give me a hard time about it.
The door closed behind him leaving Hermione to her thoughts. Thoughts which typically revolved around him these days. She smiled into her cup as she took another swallow of water. Things with Malfoy were going well. She wouldn't say they were dating; that would require going on actual dates, but they were something. Something exciting, dangerous, and just for them.
Movement at the other end of the table caught her attention. Harry and Ron sat with an animated group of 7th years who seemed to be amidst some sort of lunchtime Olympics. Ron had just beaten Seamus in a milk-chugging contest and was bowing to accept his applause. Hermione smiled wistfully. She missed Ron – and all the lighthearted antics that came with him.
He hadn't spoken to her in weeks. He seemed to think it easier ignoring her than trying to make amends. His attitude had put a strain on the entire friendship. Harry was getting tired of being the go-between. He'd begun alternating seats at mealtimes: breakfast with Hermione, dinner with Ron, lunches varied. He'd told Hermione, and she assumed Ron too, that he couldn't take much more of this feud and they'd better reconcile before the friendship became unsalvageable.
He was right. She knew he was right, but what could she do? Talking had no effect. She'd tried that after the first week of silence. Ron could be stubborn and it seemed she'd have to wait for him to put things right. The ball was in his court.
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"Peeves has got to go! I've had it with him!"
Hermione stood in what appeared to be a broom cupboard dabbing hopelessly at her stained shirt. The thick black liquid felt oily and sticky on her skin. "What is this? Ink?"
Ron approached the disgruntled girl to get a better look at the damage. "Could be," he said smiling. Peeves' impromptu air raid had served as an excellent ice breaker for the uncomfortable conversation he'd initiated. "Do you want some help with that?" he asked producing his wand and pointing it at one of the many black spots on her white button-down shirt.
Hermione grunted an affirmation before finding her own wand and getting to work. "Scourgify," she said pointing to a stain and watching it disappear. She couldn't imagine the amount of work it would take to remove this stain in the muggle world.
She felt a hand settle on her shoulder and turned to see fingers slipping under her crisply pressed collar. She was suddenly aware of the intimacy of their situation and, by the look in his eyes, so was Ron. Pressing his wand into a spot above her collarbone, he breathed deeply and whispered the magic words.
Hermione heard Ron gasp before he whipped around to hide his face against the wall. "Sorry!" he said, the embarrassment clear in his voice. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…I didn't see anything…"
Confusion plagued her for only a moment before she realized she was topless. "Oh my God, Ron!" she gasped, wrapping her arms around her bare body for cover. "You vanished my shirt!" and my bra, she added internally. He was either not concentrating at all or a little too much.
"And I didn't even bring my robe!" she complained, looking around for something to transfigure into a shirt.
"Here, it's fine, take my shirt!" Ron said, pulling the garment off while keeping his face buried in the wall.
Hermione snatched the shirt from Ron's outstretched hand, glad that he was still sporting a white undershirt. She couldn't imagine having a conversation with Ron if he'd been bare-chested as well.
The shirt he'd provided was exactly like hers except it was about five sizes too large. It hung down to her knees, so she tied the ends up to her waist and rolled the sleeves. "Okay, I'm decent," she said, buttoning the top button and pushing some pesky curls out of her eyes.
"Are you sure?" Ron asked, still too embarrassed to face her.
"Yes, turn around!" she ordered, quickly losing patience with the boy whose ears were as red as his hair.
"I'm so sorry Hermione, really. I didn't mean to do that. I must have cast a-"
"It's okay, Ron," Hermione interrupted, eager to move past this most embarrassing of topics. "I know it was an accident. Can we just talk about something else? Like the reason you suggested this meeting in the first place?"
Ron nodded, letting his eyes settle on the tempting sight of his large shirt tied up around her smaller body. Swallowing hard, he attempted to bring his mind back to the task at hand.
After seeing her eat alone at lunch, he'd approached Hermione to talk about "something important". The past few weeks had been unbearable and he couldn't put off mending their friendship any longer. He'd followed her out of the Great Hall and they'd been on their way to the common room to talk when Peeves started dive bombing everyone in the halls. They'd been forced to seek shelter behind the nearest door – this broom cupboard.
"Well, I guess, I just wanted to talk to you and…apologize for being such a complete arsehole lately." His ears maintained their signature redness and Hermione found it difficult to stay mad when he was looking so ashamed. It also helped that she felt completely guilty herself.
"It's okay; I haven't exactly been innocent in all this…I'm sorry too. I never meant to hurt you."
And just like that, things got back to normal. Ron accepted her apology and went on to ask how she'd been filling her time without him. Hermione told him about studying, Crookshanks, and everything else she could think of that didn't involve a certain blond Slytherin. Ron spoke of quidditch, his family and his almost-date with Padma Patil. It seemed like she'd finally gotten her friend back and she glowed with relief.
"So, should we go tell Harry the good news?" Ron asked heading for the door and offering his hand. "He's been nagging me to apologize for ages!"
"Me too!" she smiled, taking his extended hand. "Let's go."
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Tonight's the night, Draco thought as he walked the halls on the way to the library. It has to be. Why else would she ask for the date? She knows I can't wait forev… "Shit!" His foot slid on something wet and he fell painfully backwards on the hard floor. "What the hell?" he shouted gathering his scattered belongings and righting himself. Pain throbbed through his ankle as he hobbled around examining the floor for puddles.
Just as he found the culprit (a large pool of black liquid), a door opened down the hall.
"I'm so glad we did this," came the unmistakable jingle of Hermione's voice. "I really missed you, Ron."
Ron? "I'm glad we did this?" "I really missed you?" Draco's eyes locked on the culpable girl standing stock still in front of him. He heard her surprised intake of breath and watched as she pulled her hand out of Weasley's slimy grasp.
"Malfoy," he heard Weasley snipe, but his eyes never left his girl.
All of the color had left her face as soon as she'd seen him. It was disgusting. She'd been so satisfied – both of them had – when she'd thought they were alone. Telling Weasley what a great shag he'd been. Probably pressed her up against the door of that filthy broom cupboard. The evidence so plainly obvious. His shirt tied up around her body. Her nipples visible through the light cotton. And those shit-eating grins; Draco's stomach roiled with revulsion. Disgusting.
"Take a bloody picture, why don't you?" Ron said, moving to shield Hermione from Draco's searing gaze.
"No thanks, Weasley," he growled, his lips curling up into an ugly sneer, "I think I've seen more than enough for one lifetime." His eyes slipped down to rest on Hermione's poorly concealed chest. "Is it cold in here, Granger?" he asked smoothly.
The Gryffindor gasped and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Ron just looked confused. That was an insult but he wasn't sure of its meaning. "It's about to get a lot colder if you don't watch your mouth, Malfoy."
Draco scoffed. "What does that even mean? Why don't you leave the talking to the big kids, yeah?"
"I'm bigger than you ferret," Ron snapped, "and I could kick your ass right now if I wasn't in such a forgiving mood."
Reaching out instinctively, Hermione clutched Ron's arm to hold him back.
The move did not go unnoticed by Draco. Who is she worried about? Him or me? "Oh yes, I'm sure you must be in a wonderful mood after such awkward, sticky, fumblings."
Ron opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but stopped mid-breath. "Fumblings?" His mouth snapped closed and a grin spread across his lips. "Right." He freed his arm from Hermione's hold and circled it around her shoulders.
"That's all you have to say, 'Right'?. Right what? Right, you're a lousy shag?" Draco's face was turning pink in his anger, his expression a mix of frustration and loathing.
Ron's grin morphed into a sideways smirk and it took all of Draco's self control not to hex the smug smile right off his freckled face.
"If I didn't know any better," Ron began, dragging Hermione past the Slytherin, "I'd say you were jealous."
"Jealous?" Draco choked, hoping to pull it off as a scoff. "Of what? A mudblood?" He drew his wand and pointed it at the back of the retreating boy who didn't stop to fight back.
"Stop it, Ron!" he heard Hermione whisper as she glanced over her shoulder and locked eyes with him. She looked sorrowful and he knew that his last words had hurt. But so what? She deserved it.
He stood stone-still until Ron dragged her around a corner and out of sight
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Hermione struggled to keep up with the boy who had a firm grip on her shoulders. Neither she nor Ron had spoken since their lofty departure and it seemed like Ron was staying quiet for self preservation. As he should. It was only a matter of time before Hermione let him know what exactly was on her mind. He practically told Draco that we're screwing! How could he? The only reason she hadn't scorched the hand that felt like contracted claws in her shoulder was that not twenty minutes before she'd been making up with the red-headed idiot.
He doesn't know how lucky he is, she thought angrily. Any other day…
She tried to pull free from his grasp but he was having none of that. "You can let me go now," she said rolling her eyes dramatically.
Ron looked like he'd just awoken from a nap. "Oh, right," he said releasing her. He knew Hermione would be angry about what he said to Malfoy so he stayed quiet to await his punishment.
Seeing the guilty look on his face, Hermione decided to let him off the hook. Ron knew he'd been a git. She could tell. Besides, any new fights would not only put stress on their volatile truce, but also delay her meeting with Draco. A meeting she really needed to attend.
"You don't have to look so worried. I'm not going to kill you," she said pasting on a fake smile, "though I should." She shoved him playfully into a nearby statue.
"Ouch!" he laughed rubbing his side. "I know, I know. I'm sorry…but did you see his face? It was priceless!"
Hermione nodded noncommittally. She had seen his face. The look was one she wasn't likely to forget. He'd been mad. No, not mad – furious. She'd watched as he'd forced that sneer into place to conceal the stringent clench of his jaw. And his eyes – locked to hers – had said more than his practiced insults ever could. She'd hurt him.
Hermione Granger had hurt Draco Malfoy.
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Why would she want Weasley, the clumsy, pushy, hot-headed, slobbering, ginger-haired sidekick, when she could have me, a charming, sexy, skillful, devilishly-handsome alpha-male?
There's really no contest.
…Oh yeah, and Weasley's poor.
Draco paced the floor of a dusty cobwebbed lounge that he and Hermione discovered only days before. He was ten minutes early for their eight o' clock meeting.
"I don't get it," he said aloud. "I don't fucking get it." His voice echoed in the high-raftered room.
He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the image of Hermione in Weasley's shirt. And where was her bra? Draco cringed. On second thought…I don't want to know. Maybe there was some sort of explanation. They were just talking. Alone. In a broom cupboard. And her shirt just disappeared. And he was forced to give her his. Hmm…nope.
He continued to pace, imagining scenarios in which Hermione and Ron had been shagging for weeks, years even, and his hands began to tremble.
Hermione in his shirt. Weasley in his undershirt. Faces red. Probably sweaty. Draco could see none of the room in front of him, only the torturous scene his mind kept replaying. His hands curled into fists.
"I'm so glad we did this, lover, I really missed your cock." Hermione's voice rang in his head. "Let's not tell anyone. Draco can have your sloppy seconds…if I let him."
BANG!
And Draco's hand was through the wall.
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Hermione hurried down the darkened second floor hallway hoping Draco would be at their meeting place.
She'd been able to slip out of Gryffindor unnoticed after purposefully engaging Ron and Harry in a conversation about quidditch. As she walked, she stewed in her guilt. That last look in his eyes tore at her heart.
She replayed the events of the afternoon in her head, remembering every detail, and deciding what she would tell Draco when she saw him. And the more she thought, the more she realized that she didn't quite feel guilty after all…in fact, she felt rather angry.
And now, as she went to find him, her inner monologue ranted with the petty ravings of an overactive conscience. Rationalizations like 'I've done nothing wrong' and 'I don't answer to Malfoy' pumped through her mind.
As she rounded the last corner toward her destination, and began practicing her "nobody-owns-me" speech, she was startled by a thunderous echoing bang.
"Draco?" she yelled, her heart lurching into her throat. "Draco, was that you?"
She sprinted down the corridor toward the lounge, their lounge.
Silence loomed thick around her; the heavy drum of her heartbeat drowned away any previous hostility until all that remained was her fear for him
She found the door handle nestled behind the tapestry of a brutal goblin battle, and turned it slowly.
"Draco?" she said, peeking her head into the room. Silence met her at first, and all she saw was the dusty shadowy lounge. She began to fear for her safety.
Another moment of silence passed before Draco decided to respond. "Yeah, it's me," he snapped from across the room.
Relieved, Hermione noticed the top of his blond head as he sat in chair facing the wall. He didn't turn to address her. But at least he's here, she thought.
"What was that noise?" she asked timidly.
Draco mumbled something under his breath before answering. "Nothing; just me breaking every bone in my hand."
What? Hermione scanned the room and noticed the fist-sized hole in the wall. Oh. He must have hit it in his anger.
Quietness filled the room again, freezing her in place. She wanted to say something but her mind seemed as inactive as her feet. Somehow, her practiced speech didn't seem appropriate anymore.
Gathering her courage, she neared the Slytherin who was attempting to heal his left hand with his non-dominant right. The wand slipped out of his grip and clattered loudly on the floor. "Fuck!" he said frustrated.
"Do you want me to do that?" Hermione asked, picking up the wand and handing it back to him.
"No, not really," he answered, looking into her eyes with the iciest of glares.
Hermione steadied herself. She'd been prepared for this treatment. "Alright, well do you want to go to see Pomfrey?"
Of course this suggestion would tick him off, but his hand did look rather painful.
"No," he said beyond aggravated. "I'm fine."
His left hand lay limply across his lap and the large size and purplish color of his knuckles confirmed his claim that it was broken.
"Okay, but it looks really bad. You should really get it fixed because you need to know if…"
"Hermione!" he interrupted leaping to his feet, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes wild. "The only thing I need to know is – how long?"
The smaller girl backed up instinctually from the seething man before her. "How long?" she asked confused.
Draco smirked, broken hand completely forgotten. "Yes, how long have you been fucking him behind my back?"
A surprised gasp escaped from Hermione's lips as she saw the loathing in his eyes. Was this anger and resentment really for her? She knew he was mad, but come on! They weren't even dating…not officially. And 'behind his back'? He made it sound like he had some sort of claim on her.
"I haven't!" she said in her strongest voice. It wouldn't do any good to let him know how much he was affecting her. "I've never slept with Ron."
"Oh really?" Draco sneered, looking completely unconvinced. "It sure looked like you'd just given him the shag of his life this afternoon."
Hermione gritted her teeth. Jealousy really didn't suit him. "Nothing happened this afternoon," she reiterated, "but even if it did, I don't see how it would be any of your business."
"None of my business?" He threw his arms up dramatically. "The girl I've been pursuing for the greater part of the year boffs a Weasley in a broom cupboard, and it's none of my business?"
Hermione's cheeks went pink. Pursuing! Her girly side preened for a second before she recovered and rolled her eyes. This was getting ridiculous. "I already told you, nothing happened in that broom cupboard!"
Draco turned over his shoulder in irritation, dropping his arms to his sides. "Then pray tell, Hermione, why did the pair of you come out wearing each others clothes?"
Because Ron vanished my shirt! Oh wait…that sounds bad. "We weren't wearing each other's clothes, Draco. He offered me his shirt because mine disappeared when we were trying to get the ink out after Peeves bombed us!" Yeah.
He looked confused – angry and skeptical – but confused. "What?"
Good, this is good. She was getting a chance to explain. "Well, we were heading up to Gryffindor to talk when Peeves started throwing ink at everyone, so we ran into the broom cupboard to hide and my shirt was soaked, so we started trying to vanish the stains and we somehow ended up vanishing my shirt and oh, it was so embarrassing, but Ron gave me his shirt to be nice. It really wasn't a big deal; just looked bad."
"Really," Draco said flatly. It made sense; he'd slipped on that very ink, but he wasn't quite ready to let her off the hook. "And, who did you say made the shirt disappear?"
Play dumb. "Huh?"
"Your shirt. Who made it disappear?"
"Well, I'm not sure; I mean both of us were trying to get the stains out…"
"And what spell were you using?"
"Scourgify."
"Which doesn't make things disappear."
When did this turn into an interrogation? "Draco, what difference does it make?"
"I doubt that you would make that mistake."
"Well, it probably wasn't me, but I know it was an accident."
"Really? And what happened to your bra? Didn't put one on this morning?"
"Of course I put one on! But really, what does it matter? Ron wasn't trying to do anything. He was so embarrassed when it happened; he turned around and gave me his shirt without even looking at me."
"Oh, I'm sure he didn't look at you. Come on, Hermione, he's in love with you."
"He's not in love with me! He likes me; we were dating not too long ago, but he's not in love with me."
"Okay, just keep telling yourself that."
Hermione huffed. This was going nowhere fast. "He's not. And I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"Because you know it's true?"
"No, because it makes my friendship with Ron seem tainted."
"Well it is. He's in love with you, he was bringing you up to Gryffindor to get in your pants, and he vanished your shirt to get a cheap look at your tits!"
She felt like screaming. "Shut up, Draco. You're really starting to make me mad."
"I just thought you might like to know the truth," he said innocently.
"I think I know my friendship with Ron better than you."
He smiled as if he was about to explain something to a young child. "And I think I know the mind of a sex-deprived man better than you."
"I'm sure you do," she said angrily. "Can we just get back on topic?"
Draco stared as if contemplating her suggestion. "So, you and Weasley never…
"No. Like I already told you, I've never been with Ron…because, I mean, I've never been with anyone." Her cheeks colored and her voiced turned hesitant.
It wasn't a surprise. In fact it'd been more of a surprise thinking she'd actually shagged Weasley than that she was a virgin, but Draco felt relieved just the same.
"Well, okay then," he said, looking oddly charming, "crisis averted." He held his palms up and she placed his smaller hands in his. He winced as she rubbed her thumb over his swollen knuckles. "So, how about that hospital visit?"
Stay tuned for the second part of Hermione's Virginity where everything important happens.