A/N As per usual all characters and settings belong to JKR. Thanks for reading.
Hermione slipped out of the Head Girl's room in her favorite plush bathrobe and matching slippers and made her way to the Prefect's Bathroom. After a long evening practicing Arithmantic calculations, she felt she deserved a mini break involving a bubble bath, muggle trash novel, and cold glass of pumpkin juice. She hugged her arms across her chest, concealing the said novel beneath. It wouldn't do to have the "Gryffindor Know-it-all" caught indulging in a guilty pleasure; she'd never hear the end of it from Harry and Ron once the gossip circulated through the castle.
Moving with purpose, she made the final steps through the empty corridor and at last her target was in sight. Quietly, Hermione tucked the novel into her right armpit and removed her wand from the pocket of her robe. She cast a silencing spell on herself and the door, as it was known to make a terrible groaning sound when opened. While she couldn't be sure, Hermione theorized that the noisy door was intentional. The distinctive rumbling baritone groan would alert anyone in the bathroom (who hadn't thought to ward the door) that an intruder was gaining entrance. Alternatively, the sound might also be a signal to Filch or Mrs. Norris that a student was illegally using the room, either after curfew or without privilege to the room.
While Hermione certainly had privilege to use the Prefect's Bathroom, it was considerably later than the curfew hour. She had the ability to leave her room after curfew, provided she had a good reason, with few repercussions. Had she met a teacher or Filch along the way, she most likely could have talked herself out of being sent back to her room sans bath. However, she also didn't particularly like to flaunt her Head Girl status unnecessarily. It was logical not to draw unwanted attention to herself now after her uneventful walk from her room.
Carefully tugging the door open just wide enough to allow her body to slip past, she shuffled into the bathroom. Imagine her surprise when she was enveloped in a dense cloud of steam. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust, and when she took a deep breath she immediately detected the scent of sandalwood and lemon verbena. Slowly, Hermione used her wand to disillusion herself. The bathroom was clearly occupied and although she really wanted a bath, she wasn't about to intrude on someone already using it. That would be awkward, not to mention rude.
She was feeling for the old brass door pull with her left hand, still grasping her wand, when she heard a sigh. Hermione froze. Although she knew she probably couldn't be seen and definitely couldn't be heard, she didn't want to draw attention to herself by opening the door. The water in the swimming pool sized tub splashed against the stone edges and the body immersed within. Again, the contented sigh was repeated when she heard a wet slap directly followed by a cascading sound. Something being plunged into and then lifted from the water?
The sigh had been distinctly masculine. Not terribly deep in pitch, but not approaching female alto range either. It hadn't been breathy but instead rich and thick like melted butterscotch. She turned her head to the left and closed her eyes, focusing on her hearing for more clues as to the mystery man in the bath. She could only hear the faint lapping of the water, probably caused by the slight but regular breathing of the occupant. Opening her eyes, Hermione was resolved to solve the mystery. If it was someone unappealing like Nevile, she could just jam her eyes shut, grope for the handle, and make a quick exit. If it was someone more appealing, perhaps she might take an appreciative peek before making a slightly slower exit.
The steam was conveniently beginning to thin as Hermione formed a quick plan to glimpse the unknown young man. She bent slowly placing her book on the floor so her hands would be unencumbered should she need them. Muttering another quick disillusionment charm, she laid the book outside of the path of the door where it couldn't be stepped on or noticed. If she needed to make a hasty retreat, she could retrieve it later without worry that someone had taken it or worse, ruined it with water damage.
Nearer to the floor the steam was even more dissipated. Here Hermione had her first vantage point of the tub. She could clearly make out a dark green blob covering the face of her mystery. On closer scrutiny, she realized it was a wet flannel; it had probably been the source for some of the splashing she heard just a minute or two before. With his face safely covered, Hermione took in a leisurely scan of the half visible body. Definitely well defined muscles. Probably a six pack hidden beneath the foamy surface of the water. Sculpted, but not overly developed, pecs dotted with dark rose colored nipples. Long arms complete with ropey muscles. The young man was thin, but not excessively so. Hermione compared this upper body to Harry's. He'd taken to changing his shirt in the common room during Quidditch season to impress Ginny and boost his ego. Yup, this body definitely played Quidditch.
Now, were there other defining features that might identify if he played for a house team or just for leisure? Her gaze scanned each section for some idiosyncrasy that would give her the hint she needed to piece the puzzle together. The hands and forearms rested beneath the water so couldn't judge them, and it was difficult to make out height with the foam blocking view of the waist and legs. Finally she let herself scrutinize the mostly covered head of the bather. She had resisted taking in that last bit of information, enjoying the challenge of identifying the young man by body alone.
Although most of the school identified her as the uptight bookworm who was the brains of the Golden Trio, Hermione had privately become a passionate young woman. Of course she devoured her research with abandon, but in the dark of the night after her roommates passed out, Hermione explored her burgeoning sexuality through books, fantasies, and her body. She read everything from The Joy of Sex to The Flame and the Flower. She borrowed everything she could find in Hogwarts's library from wizarding world romance fiction (which unsurprisingly was very similar to muggle romance fiction) to health text books.
She mentally undressed her male classmates, surmising their body shapes and types concealed beneath their unflattering robes and standard school uniforms. She even considered what Professor Snape might look like naked. (Hermione decided he would be very thin, but extremely fit as he had to be able to withstand such horrible physical punishment from Voldemort; he wouldn't be much of a spy if he broke every time he was Crucioed or scourged.) It became quite a game to compare her suppositions when she caught her classmates in flagrante in darkened nooks and corners of the castle. Occasionally she was completely taken by surprise. Terry Boot for example had a stellar ass, which Hermione had caught rhythmically jerking against Susan Bones.
Ron, on the other hand, was not all that she had hoped for. Of course he was fit from playing Quidditch, but he was definitely not a lover. Although she had taken much consideration, Hermione decided she wasn't willing to put in the time to mould Ron into one. He was always up for sneaking into an empty classroom for a snog and quick shag and sometimes that was great, but after several months of uncomfortable groping, fumbling, and premature ejaculation she had had enough. He was too embarrassed to tell people why she had really broken up with him; she was sorely frustrated that she didn't have anyone to rebound shag in hopes that she could get to finish during sex at least once.
So, Hermione spent her nights pleasing herself, learning all of the intricacies of her body. Her body became an instrument that she would pluck and strum to perfection as she sought the ever rising crescendo to completion. There was such satisfaction in knowing she could take care of her own needs sexually until she could engage a suitable partner. She envisioned someone who would respond to her body while she responded in kind to their body. Someone who would fulfill her needs to explore her sexual limits; she was curious about bondage, wax play, and role reversal. Ron would've had bugbears if Hermione had produced a leather flogger or strap-on during one of their excursions to the Room of Requirement.
Staring at the stranger and considering his attractive body, she could feel her temperature rise. While she kept the majority of her mind focused on the situation at hand, a part of it wandered into a fantasy pulled straight from the pages of the darker romance novels. Two people meet in a chance encounter that results in hot, satisfying sex. Sometimes it's just a one time thing, and sometimes the couple ends up together. Whatever happens, that one moment of raw need is pure bliss for those two characters.
Suddenly, Hermione shook herself from those thoughts. Here she was, standing (disillusioned and silenced) in the Prefect's Bathroom, spying on some poor unsuspecting sod who's just trying to have a relaxing bath. "Down, Girl!" she mentally berated herself. Her resolve crumbling, she began to inch her hand for her book to make a retreat, all the while wondering if she was some kind of voyeuristic pervert.
Then the figure in the bathtub shifted. A hand reached up from the water. The long, elegant fingers broke the surface and spread apart as the hand was lifted to remove the washcloth. Before Hermione could leave the room, the flannel was snatched away and the face of Draco Malfoy was revealed. An audible gasp escaped her throat, and she was instantly thankful for the silencing spell. Malfoy! Of all of the people to stumble upon in the bath. She hadn't made the connection despite having all of the clues. Quickly Hermione tallied up the notations she had made. If only she had looked closely at his head to begin with she would've noticed the blonde hair. Although now that it was wet, it was much darker in color slicked close to his head similar to the way he wore it when they were first years.
First year. That was such a long time ago for both of them, and so much had changed. The war had made everyone weary and worn, despite the side they had chosen. Draco had to meet the expectations of his family (mainly his father from what Hermione knew), his Slytherin housemates, and even Voldemort. Was he still an elitist prat? Absolutely. But, Hermione could see beyond that and sometimes even excuse his behavior. While Harry and Ron carried their unwavering prejudice and hatred toward Malfoy, she could understand how he was a product of his environment and without exposure to other ways of thinking, of course he would turn out hating muggleborns and taking the Dark Mark in his father's shadow.
Still, he did hate muggleborns and openly insulted Hermione as a "filthy mudblood" every chance he got. After so many years, the insult lost its sting. In fact in Hermione's mind it was kind of sad that Malfoy couldn't make up anything new or better to taunt her. He was intelligent, that was for sure. Of course his potions grades were padded with nepotism, but he was more than competent. His grades rivaled hers in most of their joint classes (although, she still came out on top by several percentages in every case). To have such intellect and such capacity for logic while still preaching the same hate rhetoric his father spit out without question continued to baffle Hermione. How could someone with so much potential remain so blind?
Straightening from her crouched position, Hermione warred with herself. She felt sympathy that he was so sheltered and that it seemed he never had a chance to think a different way. At the same time she was incensed that he was in fact "the enemy." If things did not change soon, there was the very real possibility they would face off on the battlefield. He was lethal with a wand, but so was she. It would be quite a duel. Hermione considered her skills compared with Malfoy's. He was well versed in Dark Magic as he had access to the famed Malfoy library as well as private tutelage with Professor Snape. He was fast and agile, and he appeared to be fearless. Hermione smirked at her last thought.
"Fearless my ass," she chuckled to herself. Every chance he got, Draco Malfoy ran away from a fight, leaving some other poor shmuck to sort out his mess. However, a snake backed into a corner with no place to go is guaranteed to strike. The survival instinct is strong and when flight isn't an option, fight has to kick in. She had no doubt he would fight when push came to shove. But, he would avoid that fight until the last possible minute.
Hermione on the other hand knew that she would be front and center at the beginning of the battle. She would flank Harry with Ron and stare Voldemort in his pale, scaly face. She would use everything she had at her disposal to ensure she survived and that she helped comrades during the fray. Although she didn't have the same background in Dark Magic, she had vast resources. She also had quite a few original spells that no one else knew about, both offensive and defensive spells designed to protect her and disable (permanently, short of death) an attacker. And, Hermione had an ace up her sleeve. She taught herself silent wandless magic.
It had taken the better part of three years, but little by little she had managed to levitate objects and transfigure things. Now she could cast all manner of spells, hexes, and charms without needing to wave her hands or flick her fingers. She merely thought the spell she wanted to perform and it happened. This skill would be invaluable on the battlefield. She could remain in a concealed position while disorienting and taking out opponents. She wouldn't need to sacrifice positioning by yelling a spell that would disclose where she was. Hermione was quite proud of her self-taught skill.
She wondered briefly is Malfoy could perform wandless magic. It wouldn't be difficult to overtake him in the bath. Immobilize him and make him listen to her side of the war. If he couldn't, he would be at her mercy. If he could, that situation could very quickly escalate into a duel. A duel where Malfoy would be soaking wet and naked. A shiver went down Hermione's spine. While she didn't have to like Malfoy, she could hardly deny that he was an attractive man. He had a serious reputation as being quite a lover, though she wasn't sure how much of it was true. After rooming with Pavarti and Lavender for the last six years, Hermione took those kinds of things with a grain of salt. To hear Lavender talk, you might think she's had sex with every boy at school when in fact she's had sex with two of them. And, she didn't even in enjoy it!
Malfoy dropped the flannel into the bubbly water and reached out with the opposite hand to grab a soap bar that was resting nearby. His Dark Mark was clearly visible. It was so clear and detailed against his ivory skin. It only lasted a few seconds, but the image of the mark brought a flicker of fear in Hermione. She shoved it away and refocused her gaze on Malfoy who was now happily scrubbing his torso with the green cloth. Hermione released a portion of her brain to delve into a quick fantasy of joining him in the bath. She would silently step into the water, and he would be shocked that she was suddenly there. Then, he would flip the switch that turned on the Malfoy charm, and he would glide toward her through the water.
Her breath was coming faster now. "I bet it would be incredible. All these years of pent up aggression. We'd probably go at it like hippogriffs." She couldn't stop the mental fantasy from continuing as she stared at Malfoy bathing. Oh the things she could do to his body. That thought turned something inside of Hermione. "What if I could take him? Just absolutely have my way with his body, take my pleasure, and then leave him longing." The idea was appealing. Her, the Gryffindor Princess, defiling the Slytherin Prince with her mudblood saliva and vagina. He would probably be horrified by the whole scenario, undoubtedly in part because he felt pleasure as a natural response to sex.
Hermione liked the irony of the thought. She felt her body tingle. Yes, she was going to do this. Getting her Gryffindor courage up, she straightened her posture and walked closer to the bath. Just as she was reaching the surrounding slate tile, she cast a modified petrificus totalus on Malfoy. Her spell effectively glued him to the bath. His arms were forced back and spread across the edge of the bath. His facial muscles still worked but he was unable to move his head. "What the fuck is going on?" Malfoy yelled to the seemingly empty bathroom.
The steam swirled near the opposite end of the pool, and a female figure materialized in front of his eyes. It only took him a second to identify the woman as Hermione Granger. She was wearing a soft looking grey robe and slippers. "Granger, what the fuck do you think you're doing? You can't just barge in here…"
She cut him off. "Oh yes I can. Particularly since you weren't careful enough to ward the door. I thought I would have a nice relaxing bath, but finding you here I've suddenly got other ideas besides relaxing."
"Well come on in, Granger," Malfoy taunted her. He thought she was bluffing. He would embarrass the hell out of her and she would run away at the mere thought of actually having sex with him. "The water is just right. Since you've seen fit to stick me here, why don't you come sit on my lap and get comfortable." His voice was laden with sexual allure; his eyes smoldered at her; his lips held a small smirk. He waited for the running away part.
"You know, I think I'll take you up on your suggestion." First, she deftly slipped out of her slippers and nudged them further back from the bath's edge. Then she disrobed, revealing a cream colored tank top and black boyshorts. She hadn't dressed for seduction, but she was glad that she had chosen underwear instead of her kitten print flannel pajamas. The smirk slipped from Malfoy's face. His mouth hung open for a second or two, taking in Hermione's careful robe removal and her body. She was the perfect hourglass shape. Her freckled creamy skin was covered with a light sheen from the steam. She was beautiful. "Who knew this is what Granger was packing under those robes?"
But as he scanned her body standing there, he vigorously reminded himself that she might be hot, but she was in fact a hot mudblood. She was so far beneath him on the food chain that having sex with her would be like fucking a house elf. The thought made him sick. Sticking his dick anywhere near that dirty blood was absolutely out of the question. Any minute now, she would admit her bluff and walk away.
Hermione watched the emotions flicker across his face. This was one of the more genius additions to her modified spell. She had initially created it for interrogation scenarios. With a plain petrificus, the person couldn't talk or move. Her spell allowed for communication, both verbal and non-verbal. In this situation, it was clear the Malfoy was shook up. He thought she was bluffing with his initial engagement. His purposefully lusty eyes and quirked lips said he was attempting to draw her in to push her away, humiliate her. But, when she removed her robe and stood confidently in her underwear, his schooled expression was lost. He looked shocked which quickly turned to desire and then disgust. She could only guess what kind of rubbish he was telling himself about her sudden bodily revelation. She wouldn't have been far from the mark.
Reaching down, she grasped opposite sides of her hem and slowly pulled her tank top over her head. A strangled cough left Malfoy's throat. He immediately closed his eyes and began coughing to try to conceal his surprise in Hermione's actions. It was her turn to smirk. Clearly, Malfoy was mentally trying to rebuild his mental dam. His eyes remained closed while she remained standing tall in just her panties.
"Holy shit! I can't believe she did that!" Malfoy was confused to say the least. He was sure she had been bluffing, but now her shirt was off, and he could virtually feel the smirk on her lips. He had to recover and quickly. What if she really was going to get into the bath with him? He couldn't move. He had been practicing his wandless magic with Severus, but it hadn't been going well. He couldn't even do a simple spoken accio.
He decided he had to go with his initial assessment and hope she would back off. He steeled his mind and opened his eyes. She was now standing with her hands on her hips, chest puffed up like a proud peacock. "Sorry about that, Granger. You gave me a shock there." (Always mask a lie with a solid truth, Severus had told him. Makes an overt lie less likely to be noticed.) "Who knew you had a passible body under there, eh?"
"I did," was her response. She purposefully trailed both hands from her rib cage down the plane of her abs to hook her thumbs into the waist band of her panties. Languorously, she drug them down her legs and tossed them onto the floor by her robe and tank top. She stood for a few seconds so Malfoy could take in her naked form, then very deliberately she reached down for her wand. Hermione pointed the tip at her abdomen and vocally cast a contraceptive charm. Malfoy's face visibly paled.
While he had been admiring her nicely sculpted pubic hair, Malfoy watched Hermione perform the charm he had seen Pansy do each time they were together. (Despite his grand reputation, she was the only woman he had ever had sex with. Not that he was correcting the rumors.) She replaced her wand with her clothes and then gingerly tested the water with the toes of her right foot. Things had gone from bad to really fucking bad. Malfoy was beginning to realize that she was serious. Mentally he was beginning to panic. Was she really going to fuck him? Was she going to touch him all over with her contaminated skin? He just couldn't bring himself to say the word rape. It was humiliating. He was Draco Malfoy: Slytherin Prince, sometimes favored Deatheater, and heir to the Malfoy fortune. If Hermione sodding Granger fucked him here and now, he would take it to his grave. He could never tell a soul that he was, well, abused in such a way.
In the Deatheater world, it was one thing to use a mudblood to fuck and torture and kill for entertainment. It would be totally unforgivable to actually be a victim. There was no love among Deatheaters, and if they found out about this, Malfoy knew they would take his balls. Literally. To be used by a mudblood (especially an incredibly smart, sexy, and talented mudblood like Granger), made him tainted by association. He would be lucky to escape with his life. More likely he would be the entertainment at the next revel, writhing disgustingly on the floor next to the corpse of whoever came before him. At that moment, Draco Malfoy sent out a silent prayer. "Please Gods, don't let anyone find out about this. If this happens, don't let anyone find out."
Satisfied with the water temperature, Hermione sank her foot into the water followed by the other one. She lowered her body into the water fully. Her thick curls wicked the water up toward her scalp, pulling them straighter with the added weight. A contented sigh, not unlike the one that Malfoy had made, escaped through Hermione's lips. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the warm water. "Ah, nothing like a hot bath after a long day, is there?" She slowly opened her eyes and stared at Malfoy. While Hermione slipped into the water, Malfoy composed his face into the picture of nonchalance. Hermione responded with a predatory smile.
Deliberately, she moved through the water and stopped just a foot in front of Malfoy's body. "You know, Malfoy, it's been a long time since I had a good ride. According to the rumor mill, you're relatively gifted. Perhaps you won't mind if I test out the validity of the rumor?"
Inwardly Malfoy rejoiced. He could turn this situation to his advantage in true Slytherin fashion if he could get her to release the spell. He was definitely stronger than her, so overpowering her would be no problem. If he could dominate her, there would be no problem with giving her the ride of a life time. He'd fuck her so hard; she'd wish she was dead. He could absolutely take advantage of her and then discard without a second thought. "This could work." Suddenly, things were looking up.
"Granger," he said in his most seductive tone. The words came out like dripping honey laced with a little bit of arsenic for danger. "I will gladly show you how gifted I am. Come on over here and feel just how gifted." Malfoy knew he couldn't appeal to being let loose straight away. He needed to lure her in and make her feel like he was an active, willing participant in this. Sex worked better with partners who were able to reciprocate with each other. Surely, she knew that. He figured he'd actually need to coax her into coming closer, let alone putting her hand on his cock at first invitation. Of course he was shocked when Hermione drifted through the water to stop just between his knees.
Reaching out with her sure right hand and locking eyes with Malfoy, she gave the length of his penis a firm but gentle caress. Malfoy's eyes closed of their own accord and a hiss forced through his teeth. Although he was nearly fully erect by the time she was naked, he felt like he was as rigid as a steel beam now. All thoughts of humiliation, dirty blood, and rape fled Malfoy's mind. If she continued to touch him like this, with just the right amount of pressure and force, she could have her way with him. He wouldn't even complain. Of course no one could ever know, but it would be worth it if things kept up like that. Hermione broke his reverie.
"Well, I can certainly feel how you might be considered gifted, but my feeling has always been that being truly gifted is more than the size of your cock. I'll need proof." Afterall, Ron had a good sized cock, but he basically spent two minutes pistoning it in and out of her at a frantic, uncoordinated pace before coming and going soft inside of her. A big cock does not a good lover make, ahthankyouverymuch. Hermione continued to stroke Malfoy into the perhaps the hardest erection of his life. "We've spent all these years fighting with each other," she whispered in his ear. "Let's see if we can't put all of the energy to better use." Without any further discussion, she straddled his leg, her bum resting just on his knee. In sync with the rhythm she had set with her hand, she shifted her pelvis back and forth over his leg, lightly stimulating her clit.
Again, Malfoy could hardly believe what was happening. He had no idea that Hermione was so sexy, so take charge. Everytime he thought she would back down, she met his challenge and then some. A few minutes ago she had caught him unaware in the middle of a bath and now she was giving him an incredible handjob while writhing against his legs. He was starting to wonder if he had fallen asleep in the tub and was dreaming. This could not be happening to him. This could not be real.
He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her close to his body. He wanted to feel her hard nipples rub against his chest and stimulate his own. He wanted to return the favor she was doing to him and sink his fingers inside her delicious warmth and watch her become boneless under his ministrations. "Granger," he whispered in a husky voice. The seductive honey replaced by raw need. "Release the spell so I can touch you, too. Let me touch you."
"Not yet," she whispered back. Her voice equally has rough as his at this point. She let her warm breath curl around his ear and then she reached out with the tip of her tongue to caress the shell of it. She was rewarded with a deep moan. Smiling, she drug her nose across his cheek and nuzzled against his nose. Slowly, Malfoy's eyes opened and he found himself falling headlong into deep pools of chocolate flecked with hazelnut. He felt warmth in the pit of his stomach. Hermione pulled her nose away from Malfoy's face and silently asked the question with her eyes: "do you want to do this?"