COUNTERFEIT
II
In bed as he promised that night, Draco tossed and turned. For three years he had been deprived of everything he had and was robbed the ability to get it back. Now here he sleeps, with a stolen name, in a stolen body, filling in the stolen position as a student in Hogwarts. So what if the body and identity he's been walking around in isn't really his? He's got back everything he's lost.
You'd think he'd be happy. But no, of all the girls in the school who would trample on each other to share his bed, he chooses the one girl who would not only be revolted by the very idea, but would rather be drawn and quartered and die as a martyr than to do such a thing. In fact, Hermione finds the concept of looking at him without a glare appalling.
Smart boy, Draco.
He lay there, cursing at himself for not being able to stop thinking about her, hating the fact that he was almost hyperventilating from anticipating having Transfiguration with her tomorrow, and urging his hands to stay by his side instead of wanking himself silly. He sighed and closed his eyes. It's no use. Maybe he'd stop thinking about her if he…uh…relaxed the tightened muscle that is his groin. But then again, it was because of him thinking about her that his groin 'tightened' in the first place.
Let me explain, wanking to Draco is like books to Hermione – addictive. Horrible, I know. He developed the habit when he first attained his body. The body's natural biological inclination to an erection plus Draco's three years of sexual frustration equals a lot of urges. The kind of urges that kept him awake for the first two nights after the transaction into his new body, wanking away.
I mean…he's done it before. He had started to touch himself as early as nine. You girls out there might be a little shocked, but believe it or not, he actually started a little later than most boys. The thing is, his previous body didn't…stiffen up as much. Medically speaking, it's probably because the pituitary gland in this body produces a lot more hormones. So he didn't have to do it as much before, but now, especially since his contact with Hermione Granger through the Pensieve, he had been…ahem, perfecting this…art of masturbation every night for the last month.
I regret to have to inform you of this, but it's becoming quite a bit of a habit – very, very hard to quit. And I must say, he's not really making that much of an effort, because the next morning, he awoke to find himself pants-less and exhausted.
He took a bath (taking care to wash his hands properly), got dressed and went downstairs. On the way to the Great Hall, rumour-mill generators – Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil – spotted him. They took one look at him and started squeaking in delight. Their reaction isn't much of a surprise. The year before, they had conducted a secret poll where all the girls in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff rated the most fanciable and shagable guys in the school. Surprisingly (to me, at least), Draco ranked second, right after Harry. Guess the jerky, arrogant, bad boy personality appealed to the female mass. It isn't really a new concept. You don't even have to good-looking as long as you have a 'bad' reputation, but it helped that Draco was both…actually, it helped a lot. I am sorry to report that last year, after the poll results were posted, several girls had come to create a little 'club' with a name that was too long and inappropriate for me to write. I just call it the "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy Lovers Anonymous".
The basic idea of the 'club' when it was first created was for its members to anonymously share their feeling and fantasies of two certain young men, but later, when ex-Dumbledore's Army members introduced 'The Coin' (you know, those gold galleons the Dumbledore's Army originally used to instant message each other) as a communication tool, the club became more of a "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy Stalkers Anonymous". They began stalking the boys all around school and reported stupid and unimportant little things such as what they were wearing, whom they've talked to and even which side of the Charms classroom door they had touched. They conveyed this information by using 'The Coin' which they were all equipped with.
So, it didn't take long before every "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy Stalkers Anonymous" member (or Coin-holders, as I like to call them) was notified that Draco Malfoy looked especially sexy this morning, with his short-ish, dense hair unintentionally artfully messed – the kind of messiness rock bands nowadays try to imitate. Draco pulled it off quite well, seeing the number of eyes, male and female alike, which were drawn to him that morning.
So I guess my point is, he looked so tired and ruffled it was hot.
And I'm not the only one who thought so. Hermione did too, though she would never admit it. She saw him in Transfiguration that morning and traced her jaw where he had touched her the day before. Her sudden desires scared her. She dismissed it as a result of Ginny Weasley's constant rambling about how fanciable he was.
Hermione propped her elbows onto her desk and lowered her chin into her left hand, staring at the mass of white hair sitting a few rows in front of her. She decided that to really get over he silly little fancy (if you can even call it that) of Draco Malfoy she needed to remind herself of how absolutely nasty and hideous he is. Absentmindedly, she drew a chart, labelling the two categories Good and Bad.
She looked back up at the back of his platinum head. He definitely wasn't bad looking…and he's tall. Tall is good. She likes tall. He…plays Quidditch – which means he should be quite athletic. He did kind of buy his way into the team though…but he did okay in the matches. Slytherin hardly ever caught the snitch when playing Gryffindor, but that's because Harry's a Quidditch prodigy…Slytherin always beats Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff…so Draco must have some talent…hmm…okay. Hermione listed the good points under the Good column and moved on.
Now…the bad stuff…there really should be quite a lot under this category. First of all, he's a total arrogant prick. Second of all, he's a pureblood – but that's not really his fault, you really can't choose the family you're born into, so scratch that. Okay, so, second of all…uh…um…Hermione frowned, there must be something else other than that he's a total prick.
Ah! On the train he…uh…helped her pick up her parchments and quill? No, that's not right…he's ugly! Ha, that's it! Wait…nope. She had just put him down as good-looking…ah…hmm…oh! He's ugly personality-wise. There! But, wait…that's the same thing as being a prick. Ugh.
Hermione stared at her chart for a second. The fact that he had helped her pick up her fallen items on the train goes under the good column. So, he's…nice? But he can't be if she had just put him down for being a prick.
This is hopeless! Hermione sighed. Her eyes drifted away from the chart on the parchment and onto the next table, where Ron sat.
Hermione's head snapped up. What was she doing? She furiously scratched out her chart and crumpled the parchment into a ball. She was listing the good qualities of Draco Malfoy! How could she? He's the hated enemy, sworn adversary and Death Eater to be…or is he already a Death Eater? She was actually considering him.
Bad girl! Bad, bad, girl!
Very bad, indeed!
Shame on you, Hermione, shame on you…
"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall's shrill voice sliced through Hermione's thoughts. "Concentrate on the lesson, please. You'll be needing to copy this note to do your homework tonight."
"Yes, Professor," Hermione muttered, her face burning. Never, in all her past six year in Hogwarts had she needed a teacher to remind her to pay attention to class or to copy down a note. Do you understand this kind of humiliation? Her perfect record is broken! Never had this happened to her. Hermione looked down onto her ripped parchment, utterly mortified. She could feel all her classmate's eyes on her, mocking her. She looked up through the tangle of curls that fell in front of her face at the blob of white hair in front of her. She cursed him. It was entirely his fault.
Draco, however, was perfectly undisturbed. He had a wonderful, if not tiring, morning, and sat with all his green and silver clad mates at their usual spot along the Slytherin table. His object of affection seemed to be avoiding him ever since Transfiguration today. Why, it appears that she had even skipped lunch to prevent being in his presence. Therefore, Draco had a perfectly trouble-free morning.
His afternoon went quite well also. His first Advanced Potions assignment was returned and he was pleased to see that he had received a perfect grade. Also, on the back of his assignment Professor Snape had scribbled a note, instructing Draco to meet him near the Quidditch pitch at eight this very night. Draco assumed the set up has something to do with his request of the password to the Headmaster's office. It was good to know that Snape was coming round at last.
To make his afternoon even better, while running an errand for Professor Sinistra during his last class of the day, Draco spotted Hermione racing down the giant swirling staircase to the Charms classroom. Unable to resist, Draco hid behind a thick column in the lobby and waited for the Head Girl to whip around the corner. When she did, he pointed his wand to the marble ground her foot had landed on and muttered a quick spell. The marble beneath her one foot melted away. She yelped in surprise as her foot sank into the wet cement-like ground.
Grinning broadly, Draco gracefully stepped out from behind his column. He leant on it for some time, and watched her struggle as she tried to yank her foot out of the now solid marble, oblivious to his being there. His eyes hovered to Hermione's heavily robed body. Her moans making sinful, dirty images pop up in his mind. He blushed.
Finally, he couldn't take to hear her frustrated grumble anymore.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" He exclaimed, as if he had just stumbled upon the situation.
Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice. Her eyes narrowed as she saw him.
"How long have you been standing there?" She asked quietly, a sure sign of her anger.
Draco smiled. "Why, I've just arrived." He told her with an air of surprise. "I heard you from down the hall. You'll injure yourself if you keep pulling at your leg like that, you know." He said matter-of-factly.
"I'm stuck," Hermione spat, not buying his lies at all, "can't you see that, or is your head held too high to notice the goings-on on the ground?"
"Oh, are you really?" Draco gasped mockingly, ignoring her second comment, "I'm so sorry. I had no idea. Do you need any help?"
"No, I'm fine on my own, thank you very much," Hermione retorted sarcastically with a forced grin.
"Well, in that case, I'd better be on my way," Draco smiled, and happily waved her goodbye.
"No!" Hermione burst out, grabbing his sleeve. "I know you did this, Malfoy. You better let me go, or else!"
Draco turned to face her, his expression serious. "I'm sorry, but you're one holding onto me right now. So, you'd better let me go, or else!"
Hermione sighed, let go of his sleeve and stood as tall as she could with one foot stuck inside solid marble. "I, as Head Girl, demand that you undo this…spell, or it'll be twenty, no, fifty points from Slytherin."
Draco raised an eyebrow and grinned at her. "My dear Head Girl, if you knew anything about me at all, you would know that this pathetic little custom you call House points mean nothing to me, and it will mean even less when I graduate in ten months." He paused, grinning wider at the look of horror on her face, "Good day, Miss Granger." He turned his back and began walking away, quietly counting in his head…
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One…
"WAIT!" Hermione's call rang clearly down the hall. Draco smiled. "Just as I thought," he muttered as he turned around once again to face her. "Yes?"
"What do you want?"
Draco was genuinely surprised to see the tears welling up in her eyes. His stomach flipped and guilt clung to him with a death grip. He swallowed, "A…a reward for my trouble, perhaps?"
"What kind of reward?" Hermione asked, suspicion written all over her face.
Draco smiled nicely as he walked back toward her, "How 'bout…a kiss?"
Hermione flushed deep scarlet at this outrageous request. "In your dreams, Malfoy!" She yelled at him, disgusted and embarrassed.
Draco gasped, faking hurt. "Well…if you really feel that way." He shrugged, hung his head slightly and slowly walked away. Inwardly he was laughing, but as he ascended the staircase he peeked over the banister down at her, still struggling, getting more and more colourful with her vocabulary by the second.
This little encounter didn't make him feel less aroused by her. It didn't make him feel better about himself. It did, however, make him feel more attracted to her. It gave him the longing of protecting her. He wanted to yell sorry, he wanted to go down there and hold her till she felt better, he wanted to fall upon his hands and knees and beg for her forgiveness…
He sighed. Good guys aren't meant to do bad things. He pulled out his wand, pointed down to her, whispered a charm, and after seeing that she had been safely released by the floor, he slowly trekked back to class, feeling upset and confused.
---
That evening, well after dinner in the Great Hall, Draco put on his cloak, side stepped Blaise, told his gorillas off, snuck past Pansy and set out for his meeting with Professor Snape.
The Quidditch pitch was located to the front left side of the school. Getting there from the Slytherin dungeons meant that Draco had to pass by the Gryffindor tower, which also means…complications.
He could have just walked past. He could have. He didn't even have to look at the portrait of the Fat Lady, guarding the Gryffindor dorms. He could have…but he didn't.
Draco paused at the portrait. The Fat Lady looked up at him. "Can I help you?" she asked pointedly and rather rudely – after all, he was a Slytherin. Draco ignored her. He stood in front of the portrait, contemplating the possibilities. Every brain cell in his head was screaming for him to slowly back away from the portrait and continue on with his business. It was too bad, however, that Draco didn't choose to use his brain in this particular situation.
He retreated around a corner, out of the radius of the Fat Lady's glare. He took two deep breaths and then propped his back against the cold wall, trying to think straight. He could enter the Tower. It was easy. A little spell here and a small charm there and he's in…then he could see her. There were three problems with this possibility though: one – he's definitely not supposed to do that; two – those little spells and charms are what are classified as Dark Magic, he's not supposed to know how to do those; and three – he doubts the pretty Head Girl will be even slightest delighted to see him.
Of course, there is the second possibility: he would walk away right now. The only problem with this possibility was that he doesn't like it. Not one bit. But, if he had any self-control, he would make the second possibility a reality.
So, being the god of self-control that he is, Draco chose the first possibility. He performed a little spell here and a small charm there, then walked up to the Fat Lady's portrait (unseen), lifted it from its hinges and entered the Gryffindor Tower.
Once inside, the loud yelling that was his angry diminutive conscience scoffing him for being a stupid dolt had faded. He was free to do whatever the hell he wished.
A smug grin spread across Draco's features as he ascended the tight spiral stairs to the Head Girl's dorm. His heart was hammering so hard that I wouldn't be surprised if his rib cage collapsed.
As he reached the door to her room, he was sweating and restless. He had long lost the smug grin somewhere along the way up the staircase.
He held his breath as he tried the doorknob.
It was unlocked.
Draco's hands shook as he quietly opened the door. The room was empty. Draco let out his breath, relieved that his respiratory system had decided to function again. Now, slowly, a small smile settled on his face as an idea occurred to him, a brilliantly horrible idea.
Draco closed the door behind him…
---
Hermione reached up for the shampoo. Pink, scented suds and multicoloured, transparent bubbles slid down her bare arm. Her wet hair trailed into the porcelain bathtub, brushing her shoulders and covering her back.
A bubble bath – just what a girl needed after a taxing day. Hermione cringed as the events of the day flooded through her mind…
Professor McGonagall's reminder for her to pay attention in class was nothing compared to her mortification when Ron asked her why she had been staring at Draco Malfoy. She didn't think he had noticed, but apparently, he did, and he didn't like what he saw.
"You were practically drooling!" Ron had told her not too quietly. Both Harry and Ginny had turned to stare at her, eyebrows raised.
"I was not!" Hermione had retorted. Her face had burned much more brightly than it did now, as she sat in her bathtub, remembering. Ron and her had bickered all the way to the entrance to the dungeons. The quarrel had bothered Hermione so much that she forgot to read the grading on her Advanced Potions essay until she walked into the Great Hall for lunch.
Snape had failed her.
Hermione had stared at the vile comments on her essay, aghast. She was so angry and preoccupied that she missed witnessing Pansy Parkinson place a very suspicious chocolate cupcake on her table. Depressed and not thinking straight, Hermione ate cupcake…as comfort food…and ended up having great gooey clumps of mud leak out of her nose, mouth and ears for the next two hours, making her miss lunch, Ancient Runes and History of Magic.
When Madam Pomfrey had finally countered the effects of Pansy's cupcake, Hermione had just enough time to get to Charms…until Draco Malfoy had come along and made her foot sink into the marble floor. Hermione was twenty minutes late for Charms – an atrocious experience for her.
She had retired to her room before dinner in tears. Ginny had stopped by and apologized for Ron's behaviour, making Hermione feel a slight bit better, and that was when she decided to take a bubble bath to calm her nerves and to think things through. Hermione had been in the bathtub for almost two hours now and no solution came to mind. She sighed and decided to rinse off and go to bed early. Maybe some extra sleep might help.
After a quick shower, Hermione stretched and eased herself out of the tub, yawning. She wrapped herself in her favourite towel and flung her wet curls out of her face. She opened the bathroom door.
There, on her bed, in all its repulsiveness, was Draco Malfoy.
Hermione's jaw dropped.
Unbelievable.
Just when you think a day couldn't get any worse.
She freaked.
"JUST WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Hermione screeched as she stomped over to the side of her bed, glowering down at the surprised boy.
Draco shrugged and a very amused expression settled on his face. "Looking through your stuff?" He suggested, motioning at the items lying on her bed, including her school clothes, her skirts, her knickers, her bras and…oh, look! Her diary's there too! How delightful!
Not.
Hermione stood there at a loss of words, not believing the absolute horror he had unleashed onto her. "Oh, and, by the way, I wanted to ask you…" Draco trailed off sitting up, looking for something. She watched helplessly as he picked up a pair of lacy, blue knickers, "…how do you fit into these?" he inquired cutely.
"GET. OUT. OF. MY. ROOM!" Hermione screamed, shaking with anger and blinded by the oncoming tears.
For the second time in one day Draco watched as tears swelled up in those beautiful chocolate eyes. To him, her standing there, wrapped in her towel and shrieking at him was the most beautiful thing in the world. Her face shone and her curly tresses bounced as she trembled in fury. Her smooth, ivory skin glowed so warm in the fading evening light, and her lips…naturally scarlet and full. His groin lit on fire again. But there was something different about her now, Draco could feel it. Something was not right. He didn't need to see the tears to know it. She's in an unusually vile mood.
Draco immediately leapt up from the soft bed. He stood facing her, brow creased with concern. She glared straight into his eyes. If looks really could kill, Draco would have been long gone. An easy smile formed on Draco's lips. He slowly and cautiously placed one hand on her bare shoulder. The touch of her skin was so inviting that it made him pull his hand back.
She looked up at his touch, surprised…confused.
He looked down at his feet, embarrassed by her innocence. Then he raised his arm a second time, still not looking at her, and pulled her close to him, his arm resting across her shoulders. "I'm sorry," he apologized, softly and sincerely. Hermione frowned up at him and pouted. "I'm sorry," he repeated, eyes still on his feet, "I really am. Please forgive me." He looked up at her. Her pouted lips trembled.
"Aw…don't be like that," he sighed, his hand massaging her upper arm comfortingly. Something really bad must have happened to her today, he could feel it. (It just never occurred to him that he was the 'something bad' that happened to her.) He leant towards her and sniffed her hair. The scent of roses sent a warm feeling down his spine. His lips brushed the top of her ear, making her stiffen. She looked up at him, not really registering what she was seeing.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered slowly in her ear, his right arm wrapped itself tighter around her shoulders. "You're too lovely to be real…" his hushed voice and warm breath made her want to bury herself in his arms. His free arm lifted from his side and leisurely rested on her other shoulder. They stood facing each other, with his arms on her shoulders.
Every one of Hermione's instincts told her to pull away, slap him and run, but for some odd reason, she stayed where she was and looked into his silvery eyes. She was surprised by the warmth and concern in his eyes. She had never thought such icy coloured eyes could be so emotional and affectionate.
Oh…God.
Hermione's natural female intuition picked up a very strange wave of energy emitting from this boy standing in front of her. She knows what it was, but she was too afraid to divulge it. It was too dangerous and too risky to allow herself to believe it, but there is one thing she cannot deny – this white haired boy is definitely not the Draco Malfoy she had known for the past six years. He cannot possibly be.
Draco smiled at her. "I hope I'm not dreaming," he told her softly. Then he pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight.
Hermione gasped silently as she came in contact with his body. It was amazing how much heat the boy generates. Instantly, she felt warm and relaxed. She felt both strangely tranquil and awkward. By this time, tears were rolling freely down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and breathed in. Everything about him…about them…felt so surreal, so unnatural and so impossible that she, for everything in the world, wanted to dismiss all this – everything that had happened after she stepped out of the bathroom – as a bizarre dream. But his scent, his warmth, his body and his hug felt so sincere…she quickly forgot that she was in the arms of her childhood adversary and arrogant prick extraordinaire.
As for Draco, at the moment she entered into his arms he melted in pleasure. When you want someone so much that you can achieve an orgasm just by hugging them, then you know you're obsessed. Her soft body felt limp and welcoming in his arms. The scent of roses was so overwhelming now that Draco could just faint. His hands made small circles on her back, enjoying the way she felt. He lowered his face into the tresses of chocolate curls in the curve of her shoulder. He could just die right now and be forever content.
Her room, her bed, the school…everything faded away. There was only Draco and Hermione engulfed in pure bliss. Hermione's hands slowly rose and clung on to the heavy fabric of Draco's robes around his waist. She melted deeper into his chest. Draco's right hand slid down to Hermione's lower back, still circling…massaging…he gently pressed his lips onto the bare skin on her shoulder. She trembled. Now both of Draco's hands lay on Hermione's waist. His left hand was moving lower and lower down her body, while his other hand began pulling up her towel. His movements were slow and subtle, but she caught onto everything through her delirium. A part of her ached to be touched, another part longed to break away, and she wasn't sure which part she wanted to listen to. Her hands clutched his robes tighter, giving him the right to choose.
Someone knocked on the door.
Hermione felt Draco tense. His muscles constricted. His hands froze. He lifted his head up from her shoulder. The room, the bed, and the door – it all came back into focus.
"Hermione?" It was Ginny's voice, muffled by the door. "Hermione, are you alright?"
Hermione frowned, at a lost of what was going on. Then she looked up and saw Draco's face. She felt his hand on her.
Her eyes widened at the memory of what had just transpired. This was Draco Malfoy she's embracing…the Draco Malfoy!
Her hands dropped to her sides. Tears rained down her face and she began to cry.
The sound of Hermione's sobs brought Draco back to reality. He let go of her supple body. He could not believe the effect she had on him. He had forgotten about his meeting with Snape, his mission…he had forgotten who he was.
He spun around wildly, looking for an escape route. He saw the widow to his left and ran towards it. Stopping at the sill he looked back at his dear Head Girl. She had collapsed onto the carpeted floor, sobbing broken-heartedly. Draco's stomach twisted into a painful knot. Guilt stabbed him like a knife.
More pounding sounded at the door. "Hermione? Hermione!"
Draco knew he had to go. Without thinking, he opened the window, jumped onto the windowsill and leapt down into the night.
Lying sobbing on the floor, Hermione missed the warmth of his body already.
---
A/N:
Not all chapters will be this long. I am planning approximately twelve chapters in total - but plans may change, so don't count on it.
Please give me feedback and review. Thank you very much.