Entitled: Unfortunate Circumstances
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Dedication: For dictionary_ink, a very new friend! Smooches and whatnot.
Notes: Writing Harry Potter makes me want to reread the books. Desperately.
Summary: The fifth time they're found in a broom closet together, the best excuse Draco can think of is that he's stealing her lunch money. — DracoHermione


The first time they end up in a closet together is just an accident.

One of those accidents where Draco stalks her for weeks, memorizes her schedule, trips over nothing in the middle of a deserted corridor, and just happens to shove her, and himself, into a conveniently open doorway. He also manages to kick the door closed behind him. Conveniently. This actually takes three tries, but as Hermione is so busy throwing a wide assortment of jinxes at him, she fails to notice.

To her credit, she does apologize about zipping his lips together. Draco just wishes she'd teach him the spell.

What follows is about ten minutes of hysterical screaming (Hermione) and Draco's frantic efforts to shut her up. He tries yelling, mocking, goading, insulting, and even whining. For his efforts, she points her wand at the lower regions of his anatomy and swears solemnly that she knows a very good severing charm.

Draco takes the hint. When Filch later lets the door open, they are both deducted forty points from their respective houses. Both of them make up for the loss within two days. Hermione by writing her essay in ballad form and enchanting the furniture to accompany her as back-up vocals, and Draco by furious brown-nosing.

She also does not speak to him for a week.


The second time is, again, an accident that is really completely intentional. But not, as might be suspected, intentional on Draco's part. Draco, though sneaky and elitist and bullying, possesses the good sense to know when it is time to strategically retreat.

Unfortunately for him, fate does not.

And so comes the day he finds himself blindfolded from behind, then someone leads him rudely to another, foreign place and shoves him forwards. He trips, and registers the sound of a door snapping closed, a lock clinking, before whatever he falls on screeches and bucks him to the floor.

Draco just sort of lies there and wonders how a Malfoy—a Malfoy—could be brought to such shame.

Their captor lets them out after an hour has passed and the two of them have failed to do anything especially entertaining, such as producing offspring or committing murder. To be fair, their ability to do either of these things was severely limited by their forced state of blindness.

As well as Hermione's miraculously well-aimed shot to Draco's manly bits.


The third time is Hermione's fault, because she says, "Draco, can I have a word?" after class, and he says okay, but it comes out more as a, 'well-I-feel-like-indulging-the-human-scum-I'll-catch-up-with-you-later-boys,' and she leads him to—a broom closet. His mind goes all sorts of places.

"It seemed a bit more private," she says, and steps inside. Draco follows, mouth dry, hands slippery. Maybe she'll let him under her bra. Maybe she'll get breathless and silly if he pushes her just right and then she'll let him do whatever he wants. Maybe she'd be okay with never meeting his parents and just sneaking around with him and maybe they'd have terrible, obnoxious little offspring with cold eyes and bad teeth and a multitude of cutting retorts.

The idea makes Draco smile.

"What're you doing?" Hermione catches sight of his face and is alarmed, "Stop that, it's ghastly."

Draco scowls at her, "What is it then, Granger?"

She shifts, arms crossing, something defensive about her practiced, confident poise, "Funding."

Draco's head explodes.

And then she leans in a little and says, "Well, have you heard of S.P.E.W.?"

"Spew?"

Hermione's lips press together, "Just donate money to my club, Malfoy, and I won't press charges for sexual harassment."

"I've never—" Draco begins to defend himself—his honor, really, because a Malfoy would never even look at a Mudblood. This assertion does not, of course, include the many relatives he isn't allowed to speak with.

Hermione slaps him across the face. And then she unbuttons the top bit of her shirt, messes with her already wild hair, and smirks at him.

"Wonder how this will look?" she muses to the mop and its bucket. Draco rubs the side of his face and snarls at her.

"Don't think you can threaten me, Granger," he begins to snap, before Hermione stalks towards him and jabs a finger into his chest and glares.

And Draco leaves the closet many galleons lighter.


The fourth time is revenge.

No really, it is.

It isn't him trying to get her naked at all.

Not one bit.

She probably wears exceedingly unsexy underwear, too. Patchy gray ones that hang too loose around her bum, and—

Draco decides to stop thinking about Hermione Granger's underwear. Or at least to, to hold the thought and revisit it at a later date.

"Draco," Hermione says coolly, "Are you here to gift me with another generous donation?"

Draco wants to make an innuendo.

He want to very badly.

He settles for reaching over her head and letting the door click shut.

"What're you doing?" Hermione demands. She doesn't look afraid, exactly, but perhaps a bit nervous, and that's enough.

"You know, Granger," Malfoy comments, "I don't have to see you in a closet, it being so dark."

It's a lie. He can see her perfectly, and she's breathing very fast, eyes darting around, looking for escape.

"You're not very funny, Malfoy," she says, "Been meaning to tell you that."

"Granger," he says lightly, "That wasn't a complete sentence."

And the thing is he's close, and he knows it, and he hovers until she starts leaning up to meet him, eyes closing, and then Argus Filch opens the door and Draco panics and just punches the other man out.

Hermione is appalled.

They flee the scene of the crime, and Filch wakes up an hour later with a headache and the faintest memory of indecent activity.


The fifth time, they drag each other inside and lock the door, stack various cleaning supplies in front of it, and get to work. Hermione, it turns out, is ticklish. Her hands are perpetually cold and it makes Draco squirm whenever she touches him and when there's a hammering on the door, Draco just snaps, "Do you mind?" and the other person goes away, as they ought to, because Draco has already decided that this closet is now his, and fully intends on making it a historic landmark.

Hermione thinks it would make a rather nice clubhouse.

And thus, to the shock and horror of the wizarding world, Draco Malfoy joins the Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare.

God rest his soul.