by Jennifer-Oksana

The part where it was hormones made it embarrassing but at least comprehensible. They were fifteen, after all. The part where it was about showing everyone that she could be just as capricious as anyone else, that she wasn't boring, safe Hermione, that made it humiliating. And utterly worth it.

She was not safe, she was not predictable, and she was much more than good grades, the best witchcraft of her school, and the third musketeer of the Harry/Ron/Hermione triangle.

And she was not alone.

"Well, hello, Granger," Draco Malfoy drawled from the shadows of a classroom doorway, catching her by the arm. "Shouldn't you be in bed like all good little schoolgirls?"

Hermione sneered, pulling out her very polished prefect's badge and flashing it at him like a weapon. "I'm making sure no one's out in the hall who shouldn't be," she replied primly and without even a hint of friendliness. "Then I'm to report to McGonagall."

"Oh," he said with faintly patronizing amusement. "Aren't you the perfect prefect? How long should this check take?"

Her lips tugged themselves into a slight, wicked smile that matched the one on his mouth that she couldn't see. "Twenty minutes or so," she said. "After all, I have to be very thorough."

"Thorough," he said, reaching out and pulling her toward himself without the slightest resistance on Hermione's part. "I like thorough."

His lips found hers, fumbling and hot and wet. She kissed back, as hard as she could manage, tugging his lower lip into her mouth and nipping it with her teeth before throwing her arms around his neck and sliding her mouth to his ear.

"I like that you like thorough," Hermione murmured, pushing her hips against him. "I'm looking for thorough."

His arms wrapped around her waist. "I know," he said. "Come on, we'll be seen."

"Can't be seen with a Mudblood?" she asked sharply.

"There's that," he taunted. "But you of everyone know it's not the best idea to be caught in the halls at night. Or do you?"

Hermione snorted, but she didn't pull away and even let him drape his arm over her shoulder as they walked down the hall shamelessly. Her heart was beating too fast and her brain seemed like it had been drugged with something. It wasn't thinking right. It wasn't telling her to get away from Draco. It wasn't even mentioning (much) that he was a total asshole who still called her Mudblood on a regular basis.

Her brain seemed to be getting messages from her spine and her skin and they both said to go anywhere Draco wanted. Besides which, something in her stomach told her she'd absolutely die without a few more of those kisses and his arm was very nice--

"You're in a mood," he said out of nowhere. "I like it."

"Where are we going?" she asked, thinking about putting her head on his shoulder. He winked at her.

"Dungeons," he said laconically. "No one's down there but Snape and he's terribly distracted of late, what with the war and all--you're not afraid, are you, Granger?"

"Terrified," she replied, sliding her arm into his robes and around his waist so she could stroke his back. "Mortified, horrified, and we ought to walk a little faster, shouldn't we?"

"Yes," he said, the words caught in his throat. "Very much yes."

They practically ran the rest of the way to the dungeons, which resulted in a half-skipping, half-jogging motion that would have been comical had anyone other than the portraits been watching. Hermione couldn't stop swallowing and licking her lips in between the swallows. Something seemed to be very wrong with her mouth and really, she had gone mad, because the dungeons?

The dungeons? So very much not romantic. Or even comfortable, but definitely private. And safe.

Draco pointed to a door. "That's the one," he said, pulling away from her long enough to open the lock. "The lock is broken. Slytherin secret."

"Ah," Hermione said. Actually, the Marauder's Map--but she wasn't going to mention the Marauder's Map. Or think about it. Or the very large mistake she was making, walking into a dungeon with Malfoy.

His name means bad faith, her ever-faithful brain told her as she grabbed him and starting up with the kissing again, frantic, big kisses that seemed like she was trying to swallow him whole. She didn't know what to do with her hands. They didn't belong around his neck, or his back, or his waist. Not for too long. Hermione was almost afraid he was going to laugh at her, but for some reason, Draco seemed almost as uncoordinated and ridiculous as she was.

His lips were burning on her neck, his hips were rocking back and forth against hers and she was very glad they both wore clothes under their robes. Not a lot of clothes, but to be naked in the dungeons without a bed would be wrong.

There could be a bed, though, Hermione's fevered little brain informed her. You have your wand. There can be a big fluffy bed right there--where the table is. With pillows. And laying down. Together.

Hermione decided that her brain had a point.

"Draco," she gasped. "Just--just a second."

Draco gaped at her as she pulled away, tugged out her wand, and focused on the desk, muttering "cubilo" under her breath and hoping that Ron wasn't right about all the spells in the castle being tracked at the moment.

"What the bloody--oh," Draco said as Hermione put her wand down to turn around and smile at him. "Bed."

"Bed," she agreed, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward it.

She almost let him push her down, but the same helpful little voice giving all the suggestions about getting kissed and making a bed seemed to think it would be much more fun if she was the one doing the pushing and the sitting on top.

And yes. Yes, that seemed to be about right.

"Daft woman," Draco growled, tilting his head to capture Hermione's lips with his while she found herself unable to stop rocking into him, rubbing as hard as she could against his body. His tongue pushed her mouth open, wrapping around hers for a moment before moving down her jawline.

Daft, probably. But this was very--very--very nice.

"Ohhhh," said Hermione as his hand reached under her sweater and started adventuring.

"Like that?" he asked, pushing up under her. "Oh, yeah, you do."

"Ob-ob-obviously," she said, breathing harder. "And you don't?"

"But you like it a lot," he said, cupping her breast and squeezing. "Admit it."

"I like it," she said, trying to kiss him so he would shut up. They couldn't think about this. If she thought, she'd be doing a very bad thing, straddling Malfoy on a transfigured bed with his hand up her sweater. Doing things. "Ohhhh."

"Good," he said before aggressively shoving his tongue down his throat. On a regular day, Hermione would have been annoyed, but she was far too busy doing a thorough examination of Draco's molars while shoving her body against his as hard and fast as she could. Her hands were busy anyway, trying to get rid of the damn sweater. It was in the way and the way his eyes glowed was almost flattering when she pulled away to throw it aside.

"Better?" she asked.

"I like it," he growled, his hands suddenly on her hips, forcing her into a rhythm of his choosing. "Come on, Granger."

"You should call me Hermione," she said waspishly. "I--"

Oh. Ohhhhhh.

"Yes?" he asked lazily, watching words fail Hermione with a feline grin on his lips. "You were saying?"

"I--" she gasped. "Oooh."

"That's what I thought you said," he said, putting his hand behind her head and pulling her in for another, somewhat distracted kiss.

Bastard, she thought even though she still rather enjoyed the way he was kissing her and rubbing her back. But there was something about being called Granger at the height of that she was not going to stand for.

"You misheard," she said, pulling away abruptly and getting off the bed to find her sweater, wand, and robes. Draco blinked.

"What are you doing, Hermione?" he asked. "Get over here!"

She ignored him, keeping her back to him as she put her sweater and robes on with just a bit of a shimmy. Her body was screaming bloody murder at her, but her brain was promising that this would pay off in the end. Finally, when she'd picked up her wand, she turned around and smiled at Draco.

"Eat death, Draco," she whispered, sidling over and leaning down to give him another kiss. Her lips were cool and dry now, and she was as passionless as she could bear. "Eat death and come see me sometime when you've gotten some manners."

Before he could think of something to say or do, Hermione'd left the dungeon, shivering quite a bit but with a smile on her face as she headed for McGonagall's office. He'd be back around, of course, but there was no doubt in her mind who was in control.

Meanwhile, Draco lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He didn't know what had just happened. But he wasn't going to let it stand. He was a Malfoy and she was a Mudblood! Girls like her didn't just leave him hanging!

But she could, and she had. And now he couldn't stop thinking about her--dangerous, wicked Hermione. At least she was no longer predictable.


Silverlake: Authors / Mediums / Titles / Links / List / About / Plain Style / Fancy Style