Chapter Sixteen: Crime and Punishment

..

"Good morning, Draco! Slept well, I hope?"

I choked on my tea and wiped my face with a napkin. "What do you want, Pucey? The next match isn't until January and I'd rather we not speak until that time!"

Adrian Pucey, a skinny seventh year with a hollow face and a disturbingly wide mouth, plopped down in front of me and emptied what was left of the bacon onto his plate. "Draco, I'm astonished at your lack of team spirit as of late. As you should very well know, it is December the twenty first! That's less than three weeks before our match! And besides, I don't just care about our match! I care about the fate of Slytherin! Because as you should very well know, I'll be graduating this year! And as you—"I lipped the words along with him—"should very well know, I want you to be my replacement Captain!"

"Ooh, Draco! Think of how popular we'll be if you become Captain!" squealed Pansy, squeezing my neck. Apparently she was on speaking terms with me again. Oh goodie.

"Pucey, for the millionth time, I told you to find someone else. Or no one at all. Quidditch just isn't going to be important next year, and I might not even be around for… well… reasons."

Pucey waved me away with his long, thin fingers and stuck ten pieces of bacon in his mouth. "You're so modest, Draco. But I just can't take no for an answer!"

"Pucey, you ignorant twat! I'm telling you—I think you need to make other plans!"

"If you keep insinuating you won't be around, I'm going to report you to Nurse Pomphrey. I'm half-afraid you're going to toss yourself off the AstronomyTower with the way you've been acting." He made a concerned face. "And then, who would become Quidditch captain? I'm looking out for Slytherin, Draco!"

"How considerate," I glared, and spooned sugar into my oatmeal. I was being very careful not to look at the Gryffindor table today. One glance as I'd entered the Great Hall had shown me all I wanted to see, as Granger was sitting by herself and McLaggen was all the way on the other end, looking hung over. Blaise's news had made me considerably more cheerful.

"Anyway, my point is that I'm calling an emergency Quidditch meeting and you absolutely need to be there and at your best playing ability because as I always say Draco, you're the secret weapon—"

"Are you completely mad?" I shouted dramatically. "It's so cold outside that two of my toes were stuck together when I woke up! If I play Quidditch in the snow, I'll catch a chill! It's all mud and sleet by now, anyway! Why, just yesterday I nearly tripped whilst walking back from the east wing! I just pressed my Quidditch robes! There is no way in hell you'll catch me at a Quidditch meeting today!"

"Quidditch meeting?" inquired Potter briskly, suddenly popping up from behind Pansy, who shrieked. As much as he was obsessed with any mention of Lord Voldemort, Potter was also quite infatuated with Quidditch and was constantly convinced that Slytherins were all cheaters and spies (well, generally we were—so this was something that Potter wasn't just being delusional about). "Why would you lot need a Quidditch meeting so early?"

Pucey whipped around, a few pieces of bacon dropping out of his mouth. "Potter, don't start! You're always lurking around, trying to take our secret plays—"

"Yes, Potter, you—" I immediately ceased in talking and instead pretended I'd developed a bad cough. That could have been bad. I'd come very close to insulting him. Millicent pounded me on the back.

"Did you have something you wanted to say, Malfoy?" Potter asked tersely, narrowing his eyes behind his stupid glasses.

I faked another bout of coughing, shaking my head. "Nice morning—"I paused to hack loudly, "—isn't it, Potter?"

Pucey crossed his willowy arms and gave Potter a lofty expression. "If you're so concerned, feel free to bring your little ragtag group to the pitch this afternoon. Then you'll see. We're just going to be warming up for Ravenclaw."

Potter looked a bit surprised at Pucey's comment but frowned as he turned to walk away. He turned back again to continue frowning. I made sure to put on a very genial smile for him. He bumped into Longbottom, fell back into his seat at the Gryffindor table and still continued gawking at us.

Pucey leaned into me. "I told him to bring his team to throw him off the scent. I hope that my reverse psychology works and they stay away, or else we'll have to hold another meeting this week to make up for it, as I'm actually quite excited to work out some very nasty plays—"

"I told you, I'm not going," I snapped.

"Oh, Draco, wizard up. And eat some protein. I need to you in top health if you're going to be my replacement."

I sighed loudly. "Fine. Don't listen to me. No one does."

"What?" asked Pansy. "I didn't hear you."

"I hate you all," I said to no one in particular.

…

"Alright, mates—Draco, stop sighing—I want you to look at this configuration. I think we can easily take Ravenclaw but we're going to have to pull out all the stops as they've been quite good so far—Draco—STOP SIGHING." Pucey unraveled a large sheet of parchment upon which he'd sketched horrendous stick figures and a very bad representation of the Quidditch field.

"Am I supposed to in any way understand this?" I asked in a snide voice. "It looks like something my house elf drew, and she's missing six of her fingers." My teammates chortled.

Pucey bristled. "Draco, come on. Don't use your foul attitude against me, use it for the team! That's part of the plan. You were brilliant against Gryffindor. I loved when you flew alongside Weasley and asked if he knows exactly who his sister's been blowing lately—you really made him lose concentration. Do you think you can pull out that kind of animosity for the next match?"

"Ravenclaw's a bit harder to antagonize as they're all a bunch of egghead hipsters with no social lives, but I'm sure I can write down some good one-liners over the break," I said begrudgingly. "Now can I be excused? I think I have icicles forming inside my nose-"

He ignored me, and was now informing Vassier that the Ravenclaw keeper was ultra sensitive about her large ears and it would be a good idea to try humiliating her during breakfast before the match to throw her off. And of course, mentioning Cedric Diggory's name was always a good way to make Chang lose her concentration.

I was bored as hell by the time he wanted us to practice a new formation, one that included lots of punching, kicking and secretly shooting spells at the opposing team. This was absolutely nothing new, but rather than warm me up, getting on my broom and riding around in the chill air was quickly turning my skin to frost. Quidditch just wasn't on the forefront of my mind anymore, and my time would be much better spent working on my plan to off Dumbledore or trying to fuck Granger.

"IMPOSTERS ON THE FIELD!" shouted Pucey, and then to make it even more obvious we were up to no good, he shouted, "ACT NORMAL!"

I stuffed my wand back in my robes with my free hand, ceasing in my attempt to confund Bletchley, who had his back turned. I threw a glance downward, and as I suspected, there was Potter and Weasley and—Granger. I stared, my jaw slack. She stared right back up at me.

"ON YOUR RIGHT, MALFOY!" shouted Slipfoot as he careened toward me. The stupid oaf crashed into me and I tumbled off my broom and fell six feet down into the mud, sleet and snow that I had so cautiously and kindly warned everyone else about.

I landed facedown and groaned loudly, my ears immediately filling with the sound of Weasley's guttural laughter.

Slipfoot descended to the ground and hopped off his broom. "Shit, Malfoy, are you alright? A bit slow on the uptake today, are you?"

"Piss off," I growled, my ears burning red. I pulled myself up and tried to avoid any eye contact with Granger.

"Is he okay?" shouted Pucey from the sky. "As you should very well know, he's my replacement—"

"He's fine!" Slipfoot called. "Once he sits in front of a fire, he'll defrost straight away."

Potter snorted. "I'll pass on to Ravenclaw that they have nothing to worry about."

I stood up and sneered at him, wiping a huge glob of muck off the front of my robes. I was sopping wet. "Oh really, Potter? Well, I'll pass onto Chang that…" I stopped talking immediately and finally made eye contact with Granger, who was looking very fit in a snug jumper that showcased her amazing tits. She cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows at me.

"That what, Malfoy?" Potter asked.

I shrugged. "That uh… you… are…" I stared at him for a moment. "Wearing a very nice red jumper today. And now…er… I need to go shower." I turned on my heel and headed toward the lockers.

"Malfoy, get back here! You're my secret weapon!"

"Some secret weapon," laughed Weasley from behind me.

As I couldn't even curse him or make a foul remark, I simply screamed "GAAAAH!" and stomped away.

…

Steam rose through the chill air as I adjusted the shower water from hot to scalding and hopped in. I hardly ever showered in the lockers, like a simple person who cared nothing for his appearance. But today it sounded like a good plan to have some alone time during which I could reflect upon how shitty my luck had been.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" I shouted, feeling extremely stupid and tragic. I'd almost insulted Potter twice today and I'd toppled off my broom in front of the girl I very badly wanted to get off with again. The odds were, as usual, stacked against me. And last night, bursting into the party… I was really on a roll. And Granger had looked so disturbed both times, so utterly bewildered. I suppose I didn't blame her. I was supposed to be Draco Malfoy, unrivaled sex god of Slytherin and instead I was behaving like a little arse who did things like shouted nonsense and fell off my broom.

I lathered some soap onto myself and ducked my head under the faucet. Thank Salazar break was soon. At least then I'd be away from this awful school and instead around my mother, which I was certain would be depressing enough that it would kill any type of horniness that might transpire.

Was I being punished for my attraction to a Mudblood? This was all Pansy's fault, anyway. If she'd never given me those pants, I'd have never acted on my animalistic urges. But it was all done with now, and I was a broken man. I sighed loudly. Those pants, though. That smell was forever embedded in my mind. Not to mention the images of naked Granger riding me, her curls bouncing, her supple lips wrapped around my cock… Inadvertently, I moaned, sucking in air. And now she'd seen me act like an idiot. Like a complete fool, falling all over myself. I had the fleeting thought that perhaps Granger would laugh in my face if I tried to initiate sex with her again, even if I refrained from insulting her friends forever.

I saw her in my mind's eye crossing her arms and staring at me judgmentally, telling me hotly to go fuck myself. I could imagine her walking away from the Quidditch pitch with Weasley and Potter, making fun of the way I'd fallen right in front of her eyes. All of a sudden, I was feeling strangely turned-on. I quickly brought my hand down to my dick and started vigorously rubbing myself. 'You're a child', I imagined her saying, her eyes full of fire, 'you're a nasty, awful bastard and you deserve to be punished'. I moaned loudly. 'What are you going to do to me?' I imagined myself sputtering, glaring at her in utmost hate. 'Nothing you do to me matters. You don't matter. You're a Mudblood.'

'Really?' I heard her say in her bossy voice. 'Really, Malfoy? What about this? Does this matter?' I thought about her gripping me by my shirt and smacking me full-force on the behind. I closed my eyes tightly and grunted, stoking myself harder and faster. 'God, Granger—you really know how to punish me.'

BANG! I heard the sound of a locker slamming shut. "Who the hell is here?" I burst out, immediately taking my hands off myself, my face hot. Hopefully whoever it was couldn't read minds because I'd be very upset if word got out I'd nearly come from imagining something as pitiful as a Mudblood girl spanking me. I wasn't really sure where that fantasy even came from, and I decided right then and there I was very quickly going to bury it and try to forget it like so many other things that crossed my mind.

No one replied, but I heard footsteps on the pavement as someone ran out of the locker room. No doubt it was some pervert trying to spot me in the nude. I wrapped myself in a towel and, shivering, worked my way back to my locker. The locker that, in my haste to wash off all the grime, I hadn't actually locked. The locker that was hanging open.

I raced over and immediately noticed that my clothing had been rifled through. I grabbed the pile and sorted through it. My pants were missing. Tucked into the pocket of my trousers, however, was a sheet of parchment. I lifted it out and began to read, instantly recognizing the obnoxiously perfect penmanship.

Dear Malfoy,

Writing poetry isn't really my style, so you'll have to forgive my straight-forwardness. It's been pathetic, though somewhat satisfying, to see you suffer but I'm afraid if you go through anymore hardship you'll do a lot more than fall off your broom. I'd like to talk to you, and today would be perfect for me as I have all of my homework done for the weekend. If you aren't suffering from a concussion or off stealing bras or busy getting a sloppily executed hand job underneath the dining room table, you should meet me at Madame Puddifoot's in Hogsmede today at four o'clock.

I have your pants. Consider this a ransom note. Or a pantsom note? (My failed attempt at humour, I'm afraid.)

-Hermione Granger

I looked around just to be sure, but I knew Granger had departed several minutes ago. I was instantly filled with the anticipation of seeing her up close and personal though a tea shop was really not the place I had in mind. Particularly Puddifoot's, which was a place I'd blatantly refused to take Pansy time after time despite her incessant whining. As far as I knew, Puddifoot's was a place people went to for dates. I did not stoop so low as to go on dates as I did not stand for girls wanting to spend my inheritance. I shagged who I pleased and took pretty girls on my arm, but I did not go out in public and date them. Yuck!I didn't go on a date with Pansy, nor did I go on any dates with Tracey and I was definitely not going to go on a date with that wretched Mudblood Granger!

Still, I smirked with unadulterated ecstasy, as it seemed Granger wanted to go on a date with ME. I was highly amused with this new development. That is until I remembered I'd have to walk back to the castle wearing nothing under my trousers.

All right, Granger, I thought huffily, my cold trouser buttons rubbing against my poor uncovered snake, this had better be worth it. But beneath my icy, brooding exterior, my heart sang and I hoped my bad week was changing course.

…

I was ready to meet up well before three, after deciding on an outfit that would not give the impression that I was trying too hard (I ran it by Blaise first, and his reaction was, "That blazer? Those shoes? Oh Draco, you are just so naïve."). I arrived in Hogsmede around three thirty but I was determined not to look desperate so I killed time in the apothecary looking at poison and pondering hypothetically which would be the ideal one to off the people I hated in my life. Finally, it was five after four (I have a long list—okay?!).

When I stepped into the cafe`, I was instantly hit with a feeling of extreme claustrophobia. The tables were smashed together, it was busy, and the colors were puke-inducing. Pale pinks and purples screamed from the walls, and couples snogged out in plain sight. No wonder Pansy cherished this place! As I was trying to get hold of my bearings, a rolled up piece of parchment flew from the back of the room and smacked me in the forehead. I looked around.

"Pst!"

Straining my eyes to see, I noticed a mountain of frizzy brown hair in the very far corner. Granger was peering out at me from behind a half-wall, and beckoning me over. I shoved my hands in my pockets, put on my best I-do-not-give-a-shit frown, and crossed the busy tea shop.

"Quick! Get back here before someone notices you!" Granger whispered harshly once I'd made my way back. It was a lot more private in this section of the café, with a divider that reached nearly the full span of a plush crimson booth. A pot of tea and two cups sat steaming on the table, and I noticed Granger had laid out several textbooks and her quill set. She ducked back into the corner as I crawled into the seat across from her.

"I'll have you know—" I began, but Granger shushed me. I gave her a strange expression and went on in a voice a bit quieter: "I SAID, I'll have you know I chaffed pretty badly without my pants. It's a bit different, wearing trousers and having to walk around in the blasted cold with no underwear. Besides, you took my most expensive and silkiest pair, the ones that make my sac feel impeccable—"

"That is way too much information for me, Malfoy," Granger said delicately, and pressed herself even farther against the back wall. She was still wearing that thin sweater that pulled against her tits in the most perfect way and her curls were halfway pulled up in a barrette. "I'm sure you want to know why I met you here of all places," she said, and cleared her throat.

I smirked at her and settled back in the booth, propping myself against the wall and lounging with one leg over the other. "It's obvious, isn't it? I know girls love parading blokes around at this place. So, admit it, Granger: You've got it bad for me. Just so you know, I don't return those feelings but I'll gladly shag you to put you out of your misery."

Granger broke up laughing, and hid her head in her hands. "Malfoy, you're so out of touch!" she managed to get out. "I picked this place because people are so busy snogging each other here that no one would notice us together in a million years. Besides, these back areas are very private and the service is so terrible, we won't even be helped if we stay in this booth. Trust me, I know the best places in Hogsmede to study, and amazingly, this is one of them if you can secure a good booth—"

"So this isn't a date?" I questioned her, flustered.

She snickered and I prickled. She covered her mouth. "I'm sorry for laughing at you, but no. Did you want it to be a date?"

"NO," I responded quickly. "I don't go on dates, not even with people I actually fancy. And especially not jumped-up bossyboot bitches like you!"

"Good, because I don't have time to go on dates, especially not with spoilt, hideous ex-ferrets," said Granger coolly. "Would you like some tea?"

I glared at her. "Yes, please," I said flatly. I watched as Granger poured me a cup, her nicely shaped lips curled into an expression I couldn't quite decipher. I couldn't stand it anymore. "Okay, Granger—what's this all about? Last I spoke to you, you were hell-bent on keeping me waiting and now you're inviting me to a non-date in a very cozy teashop. What's your angle?" I narrowed my eyes and sipped my tea politely.

"Angle? Not all of us are plotting behind your back, Malfoy," Granger retorted, but I saw that the flush was back in her cheeks just like when I'd cornered her after Potions. "I've simply been thinking about our bet and I've decided I'm going to let you off the hook. After all, you have done better than I ever expected, even if it's only been a week—"

"A week and half a day," I cut in.

"Right," Granger said crisply. "As I was saying, I'm calling off the bet. It's funny to see you bumbling all over yourself but I'm not one to watch people suffer. Besides, Harry and Ron are beginning to get suspicious of your behavior. It's getting quite obnoxious hearing them discuss you every second of every day and I suspect it's going to get to a very negative point if we keep it up. Without the ability to insult people, you're a sitting duck, Malfoy—"

"Don't use your foreign Muggle mixed metaphors on me, Granger!" I snapped. "So this is it? You're calling it off, as you said?" I was beginning to realize that my dick was not going to be anywhere near the Muggle-born anytime soon. "Give me my pants, then. Like I said, they're my most expensive pair—"

"Malfoy, could you stop chattering for five seconds and just listen to me?" Granger wailed, and it was suddenly apparent to me that she had a terse sort of waver in her voice.

I put on my most serious face and fluttered my eyelashes. "I am listening," I said slowly, in the neutral voice my father very much approved of whilst he ranted to me madly about how fucked up society was. I missed him so much I would have listened to anything he said now! Anything.

"What I want from you is…" She swallowed and then shook her head at me. "Ugh, that expression is perhaps more annoying than your smirk! I'm just going to look down so I can concentrate on what I'm trying to tell you," she huffed, wringing her hands, and flipped open her tattered copy of Intermediate Transfigurations. "I don't like you, Malfoy. As I told you when we…er…-"

"Shagged mercilessly in my bedroom?" I offered, sticking up an eyebrow.

Granger reddened but did not look up. "Well, yes… As I told you—er—then, I didn't want seeing you in an intimate fashion to change our very detached relationship. And it hasn't. I dislike you in an extreme way, perhaps even more now. I find you completely deplorable, from your outbursts to your rude remarks to your very black wardrobe, to your horrible friends—I may actually find everything about you utterly revolting, which is hard for me to admit because generally I try to see the good in people—"

I groaned loudly in a juvenile fashion. "Can you hand me my pants? I didn't ask to be scolded, Granger—"

"MALFOY! BE QUIET!" Granger cried out, and pounded the table. "Ooh, this is what I'm talking about! You frustrate me so much! What I'm TRYING to say is that it makes you perfect."

The wide sneer I'd been sporting dropped off my face. "I'm… what?"

Granger began to talk in a hurried, high tone of voice while doodling noncommittally in the margin of her notes. "What I'm attempting to say is that I don't have time for a romantic life and to be honest, I really don't want one right now. I've attempted holding down a boyfriend but it always ends in an odd mess that I'm really not willing to deal with. I don't care to date, or go out, or whatever socially forward girls like Lavender or Parvati call it—"

"I think Parvati calls it rug-munching—"

Granger paused, her brows furrowed. "What was that?"

"Nothing. Please do go on."

"Anyway, I don't want a proper boyfriend because I'm much too consumed with school and impending doom. As you likely don't know because you don't see past your own nose-"

"I know more about impending doom than you could ever imagine!" I shot back.

She cleared her throat and continued. "I'm in extra classes and I've signed up for more homework in four of my courses so that I can learn even more. I do not have time for drama, nor do I want to be tied down at the moment. I've been looking for someone that I hate just enough but also find attractive enough to get off with. Someone who actually can shag and knows his way around the female anatomy, for whatever scary reason that may be, in your case. So what I'm getting to is, I want to see you in a non-serious way. I want to see you when I want to see you. When all of my homework is done, and when I'm in the mood for it. I don't want us to pretend to like each other and I don't want to discuss why we…" she lowered her voice.

"Shagged mercilessly in my bedroom?" I offered again.

She blushed, nodding rapidly. "And, you know, I'd rather not think about it. But I have to admit to you, Malfoy. You aren't half-bad. In fact, you're quite good which was more than I was expecting, even with your odd fetish for being smacked and your attempts to verbally humiliate me. I don't want to like you, and perhaps that makes me a horrible person in some way, but I kind of like that I don't like you, if that makes sense—"

"I don't have a fetish for being smacked!" I bleated. No one could ever know!

"Ugh, forget it," she said crossly, and drew a jagged line down the parchment.

And then everything suddenly registered in my brain. I leaned over the table and lowered my voice to a low whisper. "Wait. Are you asking me to be your hatesex fuck buddy, Granger?"