A/N: Hello, again, everybody! If some of you recognize me from the Gilmore world, that's just fantastic. However, if none of you do, there is no time like the present to get acquainted. So, I hope you enjoy none the less! Cheers!
Disclaimer: If I was J.K. Rowling, I'd change my last name. Rowling. Half of the general population can't even say it right...Bleedin' English.
Summary: Draco and Hermione find themselves in a very strange broom closet...So this takes place (roughly) around sixth year. I want them to be old enough to not fear cooties but at the same time not have all of Draco's naiveté gone :O
Rating: I'd debated over this for quite a long time. The rating under the link says that this is "T" but there quite a heap load of language in here. The two of them arguing and then locked in a closet? Personally, I'd swear up a storm, myself, but if any of you find this to be OOC or want me to up the rating don't hesitate in flaming my story :) Haha, this may be a tad too sexual, as well, but nothing too horrible.
"Oh, knock off it, Granger, you're giving me a headache."
"Only if you stop prancing about like your father after he sacks some old man from his Ministry job!"
"So, it's my fault that I'm better than you?"
"If you don't mind me saying, you are in no way at all 'better than me', you ignorant prat!"
"Shut your bloody trap, you're creating a scene."
"Aye, might as well let the whole school know about what a suck up you are, eh?"
"You're just jealous!"
"Of being up Snape's nose and having high enough marks to blow the behind off of a giraffe?"
"What in the fat hell is a giraffe?"
"Go back to grammar school, Malfoy!"
"Granger, you're such a first year."
"Well, at least I'm old enough to know that you've never gotten a good lay seeing as your face is always scrunched up in that annoying expression!"
"Yeah, like Weasley's any better!"
"WHAT in the name of MERLIN is going on?!"
Both Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy sit in Filch's grimy, dirty office trying to explain themselves. Frankly, Filch isn't paying the slightest bit of attention to either of their frantic arm waving motions and mocking of voices because he is watching his ever faithful cat, Mrs. Norris, walk about the room. The cat arches her back and hisses, baring many rows of white sharp teeth as she stealthily crawls under his desk to weave herself through Filch's legs.
"The little Mudblood is just pissed off because I got a higher grade than her in class," He hears the smirking blond boy say, an air of prestige in his tone.
"A grade that he didn't deserve..."
Filch leers, watching Mrs. Norris make her way to the closet in the back of the room. "What class?"
"Pot--Defense Against the Dark Arts," they both say simultaneously, neither of which is used to Snape abandoning Potions and finally getting the job that he's been hounding over for years.
He blinks. Filch may not be the most pointy knitting needle in the basket, but he know quite well that the Malfoys are notorious of dabbling in the Dark Arts. That doesn't make much sense at all. "Henrietta, has Draco ever gotten higher marks than yourself in this class before?"
"Hermoine," she automatically, irking him. "And, no. He hasn't ever until Professor Snape has taken over the post."
"Interesting..." He watches his cat sit herself in front of the broom closet door. "Brilliant, Mrs. Norris...brilliant."
The blond boy's lip curls, "What's brilliant?"
"I have to speak with Snape," Filch says, scratching the matted beard on his knobby chin as he watches the girl fidget, "about this matter. In the mean time..." His eyes flick towards the room in the back. "The two of you can get comfortable in there."
Malfoy's brow narrows, "You want me to get in closet with Granger?"
"Shut the fuck up, you prude," Hermione mutters under her breath.
"Well, you see," the caretaker elaborates, "I'm going to be gone for a while and I don't trust you around my possessions." He notices that the two of them have no idea that he's making all of this up as he goes.
"I'm not getting in the flaming closet."
"Neither am I."
Filch exhales the breath in his lungs, trying to make it sound like a sigh. "I can give you Saturday and Sunday detention from now until the end of ruddy year, I you pref--"
He's interrupted by the sound of the teenagers' chairs scraping back and thier pushing and shoving in order to get to the broom closet first.
Draco waits with his arms folded across his chest and he taps his polished shoe clad foot on the stone floor underneath him, waiting for Filch's footsteps to disappear. Hermione watches this and cannot resist the urge to ask, "What're you doing?"
His blue eyes nearly impale her as he looks over, "Waiting for the Squib to leave."
In all good time, Filch does leave and Malfoy reaches forward towards the handle of the door. At first, nothing happens, so he continues to jiggle it, his face a grimace. Still, the handle stays firm. She assumes that he thinks it's jammed because he starts to bang his fist on the door and turning the knob at the same time. "Move," she commands, shoving him out of the way. "Dumbass."
Hermione pulls her wand out of her cloak and points it at the lock. "He locked it, stupid."
"Then open it."
"Alohamora," she mutters.
"Great. God job," he says when nothing happens.
"Christ, he's got something stronger on here."
"You going to do something about it?"
She can feel him hovering over her shoulder and her skin starts to itch underneath her uniform. "Bombarda!" she shouts, causing him to jump a few feet in the air. The locked door simply stares back at her when it's supposed to be in several unrecognizable pieces on the dusty floor.
"You aiming to scare the shit out of me?" Draco asks, infuriated.
She furrows her brow, "This is extremely odd."
"Lovely, really, but do something else."
"Whaddaya mean, you can't?" His eyes look like they're bulging out of their sockets.
She sighs. "I've read about these rooms. They're scattered all over the castle..."
"Oh?" He asks, uninterested as he shoves past her to have another go at the door.
"Yes. In Hogwarts: A History, there is a chapter about the rooms in Hogwarts. When this place was built, each of the founders but a non-magical room in a place of their choosing and in the style of which they choose." Hermione watches Malfoy's face blanch as he takes the time and effort to look over at her. "I've already discovered that one is the fourth floor girls' bathroom."
"Noted," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
"And, apparently, Filch has gotten his hands on one."
He shakes his head. "But you've only done two spells."
"What?" she asks. "Do you need further proof?"
Nodding, she says, "Okay..." She sets her wand on an overturned mop bucket and takes off her cloak, hanging it up on a hook the corner of the small room. Roughly five by seven feet, it doesn't leave that much room to flail your arms about. Hermione undoes the top few buttons of her shirt ("I can't move if I can't breathe," she tells Malfoy when he clears his throat.) and rolls up her sleeves. "Step back," she tells him, retrieving her wand.
"Just do it."
"Lumos..." she mumbles, watching out of the corner of her eye, seeing him scoff.
"That's it? That's what you have to show me? This bullshit?" He runs his fingers through his hair. "You're a lunatic, Granger."
Malfoy jerks back, his body slamming into a wooden shelf behind him, bottles and nails flying everywhere. She hears a thump and a groan as he slides down to the floor, a stream of blood running down his temple, "A-am I dead?" he croaks.
"No," she says flatly, kicking his leg.
"What the fuck did you--?"
"I just yelled, you pansy."
"I-I--" Draco stumbles to his feet, his eyes wild and his hair askew. "You're going to get expelled..."
She laughs, "I don't think so."
"You said an Unforgivea--"
"I can say it all I want as long as nothing actually happens."
"I told you," Hermione straightens her pleated skirt. "This room is magic proof."
He stares at her, "You belong in a looney bin," he says, touching at the blood on his head, wincing when his sees it on his fingers. "Seriously."
Remember seeing a box of rags underneath one of the shelves, she tosses a torn cloth at him, "Here," she says.
For the next hour, they sit there in silence. Neither of them speak seeing as how they have nothing to say to each other. Draco sits there on a wooden crate, the cut on the side of his head gradually starting to congeal. Hermione watches him as he does this from her spot on an upsidown mop bucket next to an industrial sized broom on the other side of the closet. She leans forward and puts her elbows on her stockinged knees, her fingers knitted together underneath her chin, just watching Malfoy worry about his physical appearance. She finds it amusing.
He polishes his already shined shoes with the hem of his cloak, which he'd taken off a few minutes ago, examines his reflection in the shoe, musses up his hair and loosens his tie in order to make it look as though he'd just gotten in a fight. Hermione thinks that it adds to the whole sex appeal thing about him. However, Malfoy oozes sex appeal by simply walking down the corridor.
"You look stupid..." she says.
Draco glances up. "You look like a two bit whore," he growls.
"Ah, gee, five bits at least," she says, running her thumb under her bottom lip to fix her lip gloss.
He grins and then says, "I'm bored."
"What should we do?"
"It's been almost two hours."
"Wait some more."
"But I'm bored." She rolls her eyes and sits back, his attitude starting to get to her. Why did she have to start with him earlier? "Why'd you have to start with me earlier?" he asks, almost on cue.
"It honestly can't take Filch this long to find Snape..." she grumbles, trying to change the subject instead.
"You know, he didn't do me any favors...I got that grade by myself."
She can't stifle the laugh. "Liar."
His face goes stony. "I'm telling the truth."
"I refuse to argue with you anymore...it's not getting me anywhere," she says throwing her hands up in the air. "It's so messed up, Draco." He pays attention upon the use of his first name. "I find it so difficult to believe a single solitary word that comes out of your mouth."
"Why?" he asks, standing up. "Why don't you believe me?"
"You're an asshole."
"Wow, Granger, thanks."
"Well, it's true."
Malfoy reaches forward, grabs the collar of her shirt and tugs her up off of the bucket, "What makes me an asshole?" he asks her, his face dangerously close.
"Get away from me," Hermione says between clenched teeth, shoving him back.
He lets go of her. "You going to at least tell my why you're so hooked up on Weasley?"
"I'm not 'hooked up' on Ron."
"You follow him around everywhere!"
"He's my friend!" She says, her voice starting to crack.
"It must suck to know that he doesn't exactly fancy you."
She gives him a disgusted look and she feels the blood start to rush through her veins. Lord, Ron's been chasing after her for years. He'd even asked her to the Yule ball (granted, last minute, but still...) and looked extremely crushed when she'd shown up with Viktor. "Keep your damn mouth shut about things you haven't really got a clue about."
"Ditto," he shoots back, "And at least I come from a respectable family, you know."
"How did this conversation suddenly switch to you, Malfoy?"
"I'm just saying..." he says, taking off his tie, finding it to be squeezing the air out of his body.
Hermione jabs her finger into his chest. "Just for the record," she says, eye level with his chin. "Your family is not respectable."
"Any family that follows Voldemort," her voice sticks in her throat, "is weaker a Muggle family."
His face darkens and he squeezes her shoulder with his hand, "Take that back..."
"No." Hermione keeps her eyes locked with his as she rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, her fingers grazing his skin.
He jerks back away from her. "Stop it," he says roughly, pulling his sleeve down.
The gears in the girl's brain turn. She's got him now... "You hiding something?" she asks.
"Nope," he says.
"Let me see."
Draco laughs, "I think not."
She pushes him back to the stained cement wall. "You're gonna grow up to be exactly like your daddy, eh?" Hermione challenges, ripping up the sleeve of his shirt. She wraps her hand around his wrist. "A nice 'ole Dark Mark right here, huh, Malfoy?" Tightening her grasp, she feels her palm start to burn and a slight movement under her touch. "Oh, too late."
"Stop it..." he whispers.
She presses up against him, her breath hot on his neck. "One condition," she breathes, watching him swallow.
"Kiss me back."
Malfoy doesn't even let her do it first.
Her mouth is crushed by his, but she just dives right into it, releasing his arm and kissing him so damn hard, she can feel their teeth clash. Draco starts at her hips; her skin feels like he's lighting it on fire as his fingers wander underneath the waistband of her skirt, pull out the tails of her top and his hands support her back underneath her school uniform. Her own hands, quite sure of themselves even though they've never done it before, undo the buttons of his shirt and soon they're wandering down his chest until they meet the beltbuckle of his pants.
"We don't have to--" He gasps as she kisses down his neck, barely having ever kissed anyone in her life.
She's shocked by how warm his body is; for some reason, she always expected him to be cold to the touch.
"I want to," Hermoine manages to get out. Her breathing is heavy and ragged, her lips red. She slows it down, one hand trying to finagle with his belt, the other tangling itself in his blond hair. When their tongues meet, her hands completely forget what they're doing because all she can concentrate fully on is the hot taste of the butterbeer he drank earlier that day. "You taste good..." she mumbles, feeling the Dark Mark on inside of his wrist scorch her skin as it lies on her stomach. Malfoy pauses for half a moment in order to take off his shirt properly and she uses this time to do away with hers as well. Hermione's barely even comprehending what she's doing when he reaches behind her to unclasp her bra. However, he can't even do it, his fingers are trembling so bad. "Later..."
Nodding, he pulls his belt of the loops in his black pants. "Are you sur--?" She interrupts him with her mouth, which melts into his. The same hand with the Dark Mark edges it's way up her thigh and into her skirt and Malfoy lifts her left leg up to his waistline, Hermione's fingers fumbling with the button and zipper on his pants. Holy Christ... he groans inwards. Holy fucking Christ.
The sound of a key scratching into a lock makes the blood in their veins instantly turn to ice.
"Oi!" Filch yells, watching Draco and Hermione scramble around for thier clothes, pride and blood pressure. "What're you two doin' in my broom closet?" Both of them can't find the words to speak, but instead grab randomly at the garments on the floor, not even paying attention to who's whose. He watches them bolt out of his office, jamming shirts and cloaks over thier heads. "I reckon I should've warned them that dinner just go out, eh, Mrs. Norris?" he mumbles to his cat before closing the closet door.
Draco swears. People are flooding out of the Great Hall, clearly having just finished dinner. Several beings stare at him as he pulls on his cloak, stuffs his tie in his pocket and flattens down his hair, buttoning up his shirt at the same time. then he meets up with Crabbe and Goyle in front of the common room with chocolate stains around their mouths. "I missed the cake?" he asks, pissed.
"Yup," one of the them grunts. He can never keep track of which one is which.
"Nice shirt," the other one says. Now Draco is aware of the fact that he buttoned it up crooked and the sleeves are squeezing his arms.
Hermione blows a lock of hair out of her eyes, keeping a watch out for either Harry or Ron.
Ooh, Ginny, perfect.
"Hey," she says brightly, walking up to her.
"You're sixteen, Hermione," Ginny says flatly, smirking as she glances over the other girl's attire.
She fakes a laugh. "And?"
"And isn't it a little early to be wearing another guy's shirt?"
A/N: You like? Yes, no, maybe so?