Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this story. JK Rowling does. I only own the plot.

Author's note: This plot came into my mind while I was cooking our dinner. This is a bit long. But I promise, it is worth reading.


Hermione Jean Granger absently scribbled on her parchment as mentally processed what she just read from the wide open, battered Potions book of Harry Potter from their sixth year. She was acutely aware of Severus Snape's distinct scrawl by the margin and couldn't help but read it for additional knowledge.

'Teasel Banksia grows abundantly in deserts of Australia and grows under ample sunlight and prefers low moisture; this plant had been used in creating draughts of drought which enables people to withstand drought in deserts without water…'

Snape added, "Used by referees thrown into the desert every Quidditch World Cup."

Hermione smirked; of course Severus Snape was right. She also heard those stories about missing referees from Mr. Weasley thus reinforcing Snape's additional information.

She turned to the next line when she felt an elbow bump against her arm. Harry Potter, who seemed not to notice what he did, kept his almond shaped green eyes on his own parchment, right hand dexterously sliding through the parchment as he wrote his essay for Transfiguration ('Why Aurors prefer to use Polyjuice potion than transfiguring themselves'). She mentally sneered at Harry, after all, she was finished with that essay—precisely two weeks ago. Harry released a loud expletive when he knocked his ink bottle over and Hermione chose to ignore. That's what he gets for being such a lazy Mary.

She blocked off Harry's curse words and rants about the essay and let her thoughts drown her.

Lately, (As much as she does not want to admit this) her mind had been going on and off towards Draco Malfoy (She shuddered unconsciously)—yes, my dear Muggles reading this story, Draco Malfoy, the towering, pale-skinned, steel-grey eyed, ash-blonde, Slytherin Prince, atrocious bully who had been tormenting her (and Harry and Ron) day and night, twenty-four-seven, for seven years as if it was the most progressive and satisfying thing to do in the world.

Other than she was annoyed by his existence and angered by his torments, taunts and ridicules, there is another reason why her mind had been drifting on and off towards him, she would not like to disclose this to anyone and is practically rejoicing, for Harry did not master Occlumency nor Legilimency, because no one would be able to know that she, Hermione Granger, had been pining away for the Slytherin Prince slash Sex God to the others.

It happened exactly a month ago when she was patrolling the fourth floor corridor in the west wing. She responsibly checked and double-checked every single classroom to see if people had been fooling around or worse—shagging; until she came face to face with the classroom located at the far end of the corridor, oak doors parted slightly, of course being the head girl she is, she marched towards the door and opened it a bit wider—only to stumble upon Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass's—err—private session, complete with their animalistic grunts (in Draco's positon) and audible moans.

She was completely shocked, petrified even as she watched them and listened to every sound they made and she could not help but think that: 1). Astoria Greengrass is a whore; 2). Rumors about Malfoy being a sex god is true; and 3). Slytherins hold no decency when it comes to their growing needs in that aspect. With her hand clamped tightly on her mouth to prevent a scream at what she is seeing and her eyes as wide as saucers—she fled the scene only to be haunted by Draco Malfoy's image in her head, thrusting relentlessly inside Astoria Greengrass with his grunts and moans of delight.

"Hermione," Harry said, interrupting her from her train of thought, she turned to him with a glare.


"Yesterday—Ron and I went to practice Quidditch in the field together with the team and you would never believe what I managed to do with the Firebolt…"

Once more, Hermione Jean Granger blocked off Harry's little speech about his new technique using his damned broomstick. Honestly, they have been friends for seven years and he still could not get that she dislikes Quidditch (Not the players, if you know what I mean). Hermione sighed, sometimes they really don't pay attention to her—speaking of Quidditch, Draco—Malfoy, she means, had spectacularly shown his skills as a seeker in their last match against Hufflepuffs. (Not that she watched him play throughout the game) True, Malfoy alongside Harry had been getting half of the population of the school's attention—Harry signifies light, whereas Malfoy signifies dark; Harry is the good guy, never broke the rules and the favorite whereas Malfoy was the bad guy, rule breaker and a least favored one; Harry was a sweet, funny and kind whereas Malfoy was rough, rude and obnoxious; Harry is Yin, Malfoy is Yang. A thick line separates them and yet—they are always regarded together—inseparable.

It's not like Hermione is jealous of the attention given to Harry and Malfoy—she just found it well—unusual in her opinion. She half-heartedly hoped that Malfoy would at least look and treat her with respect and not like she's lower than house-elves (bless them) or lower than the ground they stand on. She never wished for him to love her—that was impossible, surreal—Malfoy would never notice her or even spare her a glance, after all, she is the know-it-all mudblood, who tops every single exam in their year, a vile creature inferior to his aristocratic lineage and legacy, someone who deserves not to thread in the Wizarding world and who is ought to be avada-kedavra-ed once the Dark Lord rose to power. She just wished that he would regard her as an equal, a human being in all means possible. Was that too much to ask?

"…and then feeling sweaty and in need of bath, Malfoy and I decided to take a shower together and have sex..."

Malfoy, Harry, shower and sex.


Her head snapped towards Harry, whipping her bushy hair to the side. "You what?"

Harry seemed pleased at her reaction, "Glad to manage to get your attention."

She snorted, "You would get anyone's attention by what you said—you and Malfoy shagging—" she shuddered visibly, "can't you think of something more horrible?"

He chuckled at her.

"Unless—" she dramatically gasped, "you find the thought of shagging Malfoy not as horrible as I think! Harry James Potter—I—you prefer guys over girls? That is so—"

He glared at her and bared his teeth, the last time Harry did that, Ron ended up on the floor of the common room, unconscious of the punch Harry gave him (who wouldn't anyway? Bones are tougher than muscles). Hermione released a fit of giggles and subdued him.

"That's what you get for talking about Quidditch," she made a face.

"Oh," he said sarcastically, "I always forget that."

She was about to retort when she heard footsteps going their way, she paused, craned her neck to look in between the bookshelves and saw a sliver of blonde hair through the spaces. Her breath caught, Draco Malfoy is heading their way. Before she could warn Harry, Draco emerged, steel-grey eyes fixed on her chocolate-brown ones, a sneer clearly evident on his pale face, as he leaned against one of the bookcases, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Sweet Merlin, she could die now.

"Well, well, well," He drawled almost lazily as his gaze flickered from Harry to Hermione, "If it isn't the golden tri—oh, duo. So, you kicked Weasley off because of fidelity issues, Granger? Though I have to agree with him for the first time—I wouldn't dream or even think of shagging a frigid mudblood. At least Weasley has little more brain cells than I thought he did not have."

Hermione's eye twitched at his statement, they did not kick out Ron because of fidelity issues or she was frigid (for she preferred rough sex than Ron's gentle ones), Ron simply wanted to be with Lavender at the moment and they broke up quite peacefully, both declaring that they were just suited to be friends. Just friends, nothing more, nothing less.

"Oh, sod off, Malfoy. Don't you have anything else to do at this moment?"

"Well, Granger," he drawled again, "tormenting you had been my top priority nowadays. You should be glad, girls beg to even converse with me."

"Is that because of your oversized ego and obnoxious remarks?"

"No," he sneered, "it is because I am too preoccupied with other things."

She raised an eyebrow, "which is? I recall you never spend time inside the Head's Common Room, what else would you be busy on?"

"Oh you know," he smirked, eyes twinkling mischievously as he spared Harry a glance, "extracurricular gratification."

She followed his gaze and stared at the poker-faced Harry Potter, "oh," she muttered, "You mean to tell me that you really are having an affair with the boy-who-wouldn't-die-himself-who-you loathe-so-much?"

"Potter?" he scoffed with disgust, "as long as Potter bends on his knees for me, I think that would be fine."

Harry turned red at the moment and glowered at him, "watch it, Malfoy."

"So the rumors were true, probably you kicked Weasley off your team because he did not want to shag you—"

At this point, Harry was already on his feet, the legs of the chair screeched loudly and moved a fair distance away from him. "Shut up you slimly, lame excuse of a fe—"

"—ferret, who kissed the Dark Lord's feet without hesitation—seriously Potter, I know all your lines now. The ferret joke died ages ago, still can't get over it?"

"If you can finally have a dialogue between ourselves then why don't you just sod off and leave us all alone."

He snorted, "And do you a favor? As much as I want not to see your scarhead or Granger's nest of a hair, I would not want that—that would take the fun away."

Hermione sighed, "Well, it's about time that you took notice of my existence. Are the two of you done with your little lovers'—"

"We are not lovers." Both emphasized, eyes hard on hers.

She shrugged, "well you sure are acting one, Malfoy—why are you here? Answer right away before I curse the hell out of you."

"McGonagall sent me to tell you that we'll be having a meeting at nine o' clock with the prefects."

She nodded at him and looked at her parchment, "well if that is it, you may leave."

"I am, I was just thinking of some parting words like—'you bored Potter, Granger seems to find the company of books better than—'" Hermione lifted her wand and aimed at him, "fine, I'll see you later, Granger."

She gingerly held Harry's arm as he frowned at Malfoy, "Really Harry, I didn't know Malfoy is the jealous type of guy."

He scowled at her, "This is no use—I can't concentrate. I'll see you later 'Mione." With that, he dropped a kiss on her cheek and walked away. she caressed her cheek and sighed, wondering why on earth Harry did that.


"You're late," a sneer came from the armchair by the fire. It was Malfoy, leaning against one of the arm rests, eyes fixated at her, lips in a tight line. She shrugged her school bag and went to her desk. A pile of parchment was sitting neatly on the center, Malfoy's distinct angular scrawl staring at her. She met his eyes for a moment, debating whether she'd answer or not.

"I was busy doing something else, I almost forgot the meeting—wait, what do you care? And you, being here, is very, very unusual. You don't stay here." She pointed out to him, chin high in defiance.

He snorted, "McGonagall forced me to be here, after all, her favorite buck-toothed student isn't here at the designated time."

"Wait," she said, "Professor McGonagall already left?"

He rolled his eyes, grabbed one of the books from the bookshelves and started to leaf through it, "do you see McGonagall here, Granger?"

"Fine, she left already, can't you be at least civil with me?"

"In your dreams, Granger."

"I never dream of you." she fired back. "Why was she here anyways?"

"She changed the schedule of patrolling of the Prefects—and well, us. We're stuck together every Wednesday." He cringed at the thought. She pretended to puke.

"I guess I don't have anything to do here then," she muttered, taking her bag, "Goodnight, Malfoy—I hope you die in your sleep."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he stepped in front of her, she raised an eyebrow, "You're going to stay here until you finish that—" he indicated the pile of parchments, "I already did my job. Do yours."

"It can wait—now shove off." She pushed him away and made a grab for the door, only to be held back by Malfoy's grip. She gasped, felt shiver down her spine and hastily turned to face him.

"I saw Potter kiss you a while ago."

"Uh—so?" she asked with confusion.

He narrowed his eyes, "are you together?"

She snorted at him, "we are not—and why do you care? Jealous?"

"Of Potter?" he spat, eyes filled with disdain, "of course not."

"I thought you're jealous of me." She said innocently, trying hard not to laugh at her own joke.

"Are you insinuating that I—Draco Malfoy—am gay?"

"Your words not mine. Who would've known that the Slytherin Prince is nothing but a—" Malfoy pointed his wand at her. steel eyes unforgiving against her innocent caramel ones. She unnerved him, she unnerved Draco Malfoy. She smirked at him, "Oh—touched a nerve didn't I?"

"No, Granger. If you value your life, get out of this room before I Avada Kedavra you."

She needs not to be told twice. Hurriedly she slipped outside, a laugh bubbling from her lips.


Hermione couldn't help but feel delighted as she slid beside Harry during breakfast. She hummed to herself as she reached for some toast and jam, greeted every single person in a meter's radius and beamed at Ron, who was engaged in one of the longest snogs in the school. Ginny and Harry both stared at her as if she had gone mad, which she ignored, "I am glad we don't have Defense against the Dark Arts today. I'd be able to catch up with my reading—professor Vector is already teaching us postulates—I need to be at least five lessons advanced."

Harry and Ginny shrugged together and fell silent. Hermione was happy because of two things. 1). Draco Malfoy touched her and talked to her almost civilly; and 2). She unnerved him.

Harry had been a good friend for a quarter of an hour until he dropped the bomb as loud as he can, they were talking about Lavender and Ron (who seemed not to care about the world as they sucked one another's faces off) and Harry—thinking that it was alright to joke around—said 'Maybe Ron broke up with you because you were frigid, Hermione.' Ginny expected Hermione to hex him until he became unconscious but she thought better.

"Oh well, being frigid really is not a good thing Harry. It's good thing you are not yet. Or else Malfoy would tire of you; wouldn't want Goyle to take up your gummy bear would you? Say did you have other escapades other than in the shower? You two really are adventurous. If you have time, do tell me. I'd love to hear it." she cast him a sweet smile and took their housemate's looks of shock delightfully, Harry's ears turned pink as he glared at her.


"Oh look," she called out loudly as Malfoy neared them, "your lover is here." Malfoy's eyes met hers and she stared back. Once Malfoy sat down, the Gryffindors started to chatter about it and snigger. Harry yanked her arm.

"Serves you right for calling me frigid!" and with that Hermione Jean Granger sauntered off.


The news about Drarry (some fan girls joined their name once rumors started) spread around the school like wild-fire. By lunch-time Harry was already held up by girls just to question his sexuality and preference. He seemed irritated by it and fighting to hex each one of them. The guys guffawed and mercilessly called out after him. She did not stop him from hexing them nor did she give him detention. It was her fault—all her bloody fault. She never expected this to spread. It was only meant for Ginny, Harry and some of the Gryffindors by their side—not for the whole school.

Even though they did not have DADA, Snape managed to cross their path and mumble under his breath that maybe Potter, would like to bend on his knees to get his marks up. It made Harry throw up in the loo and Hermione ghastly pale. It was horrifying and—disgusting even that the two of them became silent the whole Transfiguration class. Fred and George even owled him in the middle of the class, joking that they have some cherry flavored lubricants just in case he needed—and they'd give it for one night. It was supposed to be funny, but in the end, both of them threw up as their imaginations went overboard. She apologized to Harry over and over throughout the day, begging him for forgiveness.

Draco Malfoy on the other hand, got by very well. He hexed, cursed and deducted points whenever they just look at him by accident or talk to him. He was in a foul mood throughout the day, Grey eyes narrowed into slits while promising, to his Slytherin friends, that he would tear up the perpetuator's limbs one by one by his own bare hands until he or she drowns in his or her own blood. His friends made it a point to stay away from him at least ten feet away in order not to taste his wrath. They watched every single victim being thrown against the wall, while others lose consciousness. Not one professor stopped him from his annihilation. Not even Dumbledore (who shares his sentiments to Harry, which no one knows).

Hermione personally feared for her life and begged Harry not to tell Malfoy about what she did. He agreed, avoided Malfoy in any way possible until it was dinner time. Draco sauntered in—eyebrows together, a sneer on his face; his eyes were narrowed at Harry. Both of them straightened out and prayed for it to be over. One stupid Hufflepuff sang mockingly from their table: "Draco and Harry sitting on a tree—" they did not even manage to kiss in the song; the next thing everyone knew was the idiotic boy blasted up to the ceiling by two jets of red light.

Finally getting rid of an obstacle and waited for someone to dare to say something, Draco clenched his jaw and met Harry's olive green eyes. "Potter," he spat out, "I don't care if you're shagging with Weasley or any other male in this hall. All I care about is my reputation. If you like guys, leave me out of this. I do not and would not dream nor think about touching you in any way. It makes bile rise up my throat faster than you can say mudblood. So, Potter. If you're fantasizing about me, keep it to yourself because I don't like being dragged into rumors. Especially unfounded ones. In any case, if you know the perpetuator, do tell me, I'd take the pleasure of torturing her—" Hermione pinched Harry's arm as hard as she could, "or him, until she or he begs for mercy. Do I make myself clear?

"Malfoy, I am not gay—don't insinuate that. And as for the perpetuator—" Hermione kicked him under the table, "I do not know her or him, but I reject your offer. I'd make sure I'd be the one to give him or her hell."

Draco, who seemed to look satisfied, marched to his seat and ate, still having that dark aura around him.


She managed to survive a whole week without Draco finding out about her part in the rumor. Hermione—feeling she owed Harry a lot—offered to do something in order to divert their attention from the latest rumor which hasn't died up to now. So, earlier this day, she proposed to Harry that she'd snog him in the Dining Hall in order to prove that Harry is heterosexual. She managed to convince him, (even though he wasn't that sure) and so they put the plan into action. Ginny made mistletoe appear on the top of their heads. The two of them alongside the whole hall, idly stared at the mistletoe until Hermione cried out in frustration, "Well, let's just get this over with." And the next thing that happened was Hermione's lips were on him, his arms wrapped around her waist as they snogged for several moments—even after the mistletoe popped out.

They'd been the talk of the town after that. And not a single person doubted Harry's sexuality—but they pestered them whether they were together. They ignored them of course and survived the day.

She breathed a sigh of relief once she arrived inside the warmth of the Head's Common Room. It was not a shock anymore that Draco was there, in his usual seat by the fire. She merrily greeted him and went to her desk. He did not grunt as he usually did and Hermione looked at him. He seemed to look pensive. His eyes were cloudy, the page of his book never turned. "You alright Malfoy?" she called out with concern. Realizing she was there, he scornfully snorted at her. "What do you care, Granger?"

"Jeez, no need to be a grouchy Grinch, Malfoy. What's caught your knickers in a twist?"


She rolled her eyes, "another rumor about you?"

"About you, actually." He met her gaze, "you lied to me about Potter and you."

She let out an exasperated sigh; she walked towards him and sat on the armchair opposite his. He leaned on his knees and watched the firelight flicker on her face, "I am not going out with Harry—I'm just trying to divert the attention."

"You let Potter use you? So will you let me use you too?" he jeered, eyes filled with mischief, Hermione stood and walked back to her desk.

"Of course not—I just feel guilty that I caused all of this mayhem—if it wasn't for my—" she shut her mouth and clamped a hand on her mouth. Malfoy, clearly hearing all of what she said took several strides towards her.

"You? You were the one—the reason why I am having a dry spell? The one who started the rumor? It was you, Granger?" he was speaking so low now, and Hermione feared to turn around.

"Li—listen Malfoy, I'd do your homework, essay, potions, anything—everything. J-Just—just spare me. Don't kill me." She squeaked out, she felt him behind her, his breath on the back of her head. She prayed toGod that he would not kill her, heck all she wanted was attention—she did not want death. She heard a few rustling behind her and she hoped that he wasn't thinking of doing something bad.

Draco didn't answer; instead he reached for her arms on her sides. She turned stiff at his touch, "Malfoy, what?"

"I told you I'd make the person pay—and I am going to make you now." his hands held both of her wrists and held it in front of her. She gasped, "Malfoy—if you're thinking of—"

"Shut up," he murmured against her ear, "wouldn't want to make me angry, would you?" he deftly held her wrists in one of his hands and tied her hands using his tie, "don't worry Granger, I have standard, but you'd do."

Her eyes widened, she hastily turned and glared at him, "Malfoy—you are a jerk! Let me go this instant or else—"

"—you'll hex me off?" he groped for her wand and threw it aside, "I'll remove your bonds if you cooperate. Do I make myself clear?"

"Do you think I'd cooperate, Malfoy?" she spat, "fuck—I hate you. I freaking—"

"Continue lying, Granger. I know you watched my whole session with Greengrass ages ago. I saw you, and I saw the way you looked at me, I saw the way you held your breath, your eyes flicker, I heard you, I heard your whimper, your sigh, I know, Granger. I know you're lying." She met his eyes and swallowed hard, "fine. I'll cooperate. Remove my bonds." He complied and discarded the necktie. This is what she wanted—she's already near her goal. Sex with Malfoy. Merlin can kill her now.

Maybe Merlin can kill her later.

The next thing Hermione knew was being on the floor, with Malfoy on top of her. He was holding the back of her head keeping her in place as his mouth assaulted her in a rough kiss, she tensed against him and he coaxed her, his hands cupping her cheek, clearly telling her to respond. This was a sin, she may be condemned later. Might as well as enjoy it as she can. She responded back, her mouth slanting sideways to accommodate him, he groaned in satisfaction as she opened her mouth for him, allowing access into the cavern of her mouth. Her hands wound tightly around his neck bringing him closer.

Draco hooked his hands behind her knees and wrapped them around his waist. He ground against her slowly, rubbing against her in the most sensual way possible. She moaned, clenched her fists in his hair as her tongue caressed his in a passionate way, he let her take the lead at first until he fought for dominance, steering it from a sensual kiss to a rough and desperate one. He sucked on her tongue continuing his rub against her.

She pulled her lips away from him and regained her breath. His lips continued its path to the base of her neck, she whimpered as she felt his tongue trace a path down, "Why do you taste so good, Granger? If you taste so good here? What about down there." he nudged her thighs apart and stroked her through her knickers. She gasped and begged him to stop. "I'm not done yet, princess. We're just starting."

He expertly shoved his hands into her blouse, cupping her breasts through her bra. She moaned in delight, he mentally noted that her breasts fit his hand perfectly, they weren't as large as Pansy's. They were just right. He unbuttoned her blouse as she did the same with his dress-shirt, she was panting, her swollen mouth entrancing him once more to claim her, he unclasped her bra, freeing the mounds and he smirked in satisfaction as he lunged. A loud yelp escaped her lips as he attacked his breasts with both mouth, teeth, hands and fingers.

Taking hold of the waistband of her knickers, he slid it down slowly as he continued to suck on her breast; he threw it away and turned to the other one, letting his fingers touch her folds. She gasped in pleasure as he slid a finger into her, steadily kept a pace as he pumped in and out, watching her emotions flicker, her expressions change in every slight movement. He shoved another and caressed her clit with his thumb. She mewled , hands blindly reaching for his shoulders as she pressed her lips against his, he was loving this, her tightness, her responses, her moans, her whimpers and the way she says his name.

"Mine," he growled on her neck as he bit and sucked sharply where her pulse thudded. She threw her head back, her eyes heavy lidded with lust. "Ma—" he felt her clench around his fingers and felt her essence on his hand. He pulled it out and stared as it glistened as the fire flickered. She was gasping, her hands on his shoulder. He pulled her against him; she reached for his belt buckle and removed it. She unzipped his pants, pulled his boxers down and yanked him out. She did not have time to ogle at him. She desperately wants him inside. In her. NOW.

"Malfoy," she gasped, "Malfoy please." She begged, rubbing herself against him desperately. He claimed her mouth and pushed her down on the floor, his body heavy above her, their eyes locked, her eyes were pleading, his was questioning. She rubbed once more and he knew the answer. This is what she wanted—this is what he wants too.

He surged forward, his eyes shut close as he felt her envelope him with warmth and tightness, he gasped against her cheek, "Granger—damn it, Granger—" there were rumors that she and Weasley had already shagged but he wondered why she was this tight and snug, probably Weasley wasn't enough, wasn't manly enough for her. A smirk found a way into his lips as Hermione whimpered beneath him, her legs wrapping themselves around his waist tightly, urging to go forward. To go deeper.

He grunted in approval, increasing the speed and depth of his stroke and thrust, his cries and moans matching hers as she clawed through his back, her back arching off the floor as he whispered things which she can't her or understand. He braced himself against the floor with his elbows, hips relentlessly thrusting forward, meeting her own rhythmic thrust,

"More," she gasped, and her hands cupping his buttocks pulling him closer. "More," he buried his face against her neck, his eyes clamped shut as he increased the pace, losing his mind into the heated frenzy. He could feel her muscles tense, squeezing him tighter as he moved. He couldn't contain it anymore. He could feel her coming, she was about to and he knows that. He reached in between their locked sweaty bodies and rubbed her clit. She threw her head back, eyes clenched tightly as he commanded,

"come for me, Granger. Come." she complied, spilling her essence all over as she screamed in ecstasy. He increased his pace preparing himself for his own orgasm. She was spent underneath him, gasping and moaning out his name as he thrust in and out, keeping a steady and hard rhythm. He felt her tense around him again and he came, his lips on hers to muffle his scream of ecstasy, his hands on either side of her body as he spilled himself inside her.

He was still on top of her, spent, heaving heavy breaths against her neck, and she could feel the dampness of his forehead, his lips moving incoherently against her skin. She took deep breaths eyes closed as she tried to neutralize everything. She felt his lips move, his hands roam her body, one cupping her breasts the other pushing the hair off her face. She met his eyes, they were warm, unlike the usual cold ones. There wasn't a sneer on his face. It was un-Malfoyish and she likes it. His head came down and he claimed her lips for a slow and sensual kiss, she responded fervently, hands keeping him in place.

A loud gasp from the doorway made them break apart. Hermione turned her head towards the direction of the voice. It was Padma Patil, eyes as wide as saucers as she took in their position, their messy clothing, their ravished and swollen lips, and she took in the sight of the most unlikely people to hook up. Without another word, Padma turned back and wrenched the door open.

"Padma, wait!" as fast as lightning, Hermione shoved Draco off her, straightened her skirt, buttoned her blouse and dashed out of their common room, leaving Draco leaning against his elbows, eyes fixated on the ceiling as he repeatedly said to himself, "fuck, fuck, fuck."


Hermione nervously went downstairs for breakfast. She actually did not want to eat but then her silly stomach grumbled in annoyance. Without a choice, she begrudgingly went downstairs. Fearing Malfoy's appearance and Padma. She trusts Padma not to spill anything, but she still felt uneasy. If the Gryffindors find out that she shagged the Slytherin Prince. Hell will break lose. And she might faint—or die on the spot. She did not regret last night, I mean, who would? Ravished and sated by your dream guy, only a person out of mind would regret it.

She sighed to herself and rubbed her temples. After running away from Malfoy to catch Padma, she returned to her room, tried to get some shut eye, but failed quite miserably for all she could see was him—his heavy lidded grey eyes on her, his muscular arms wound tightly around her, his alluring voice coaxing her, his musky scent, his silky blonde hair, his—she snapped her eyes open, screamed out in frustration and kept awake all night. Fearing that he would haunt even her dreams. She did not relieve herself. It was so—unlike her to do that. Instead, she grabbed 'Hogwarts: A History,' and read it—the whole night.

Several people greeted her and she nodded back, unable to get her voice out. She inwardly smiled looks like there were no rumors. It was bad enough that she was labeled a whore two days ago—and it would be worse if everyone found out that she, Hermione Granger, is a Slytherin's whore.

Daintily pushing the oak doors open, she went inside, head held up high, and ignored the jeers and cat calls coming from the Slytherin table (which was often done since year one). She spotted Harry, who was in a deep conversation with Ginny.

"Good morning." She greeted with a wide smile, Ginny flashed an identical one while Harry offered a small one.

"You alright? You don't seem to look fine." She said, taking a seat beside him.

"Yeah," he answered, "just had nightmares. What about you? You seem to be happy. Did something happen last night?"

She blinked at him and shook his head, "nothing, I couldn't sleep last night, so I read 'Hogwarts, a History.'"

Harry and Ginny did not seem to buy it. "Why? Was there something else I did last night?"

"Er—yeah, there were some rumors."

Her heart stopped, "Rumors? About me again?"

"Yeah. They said—er—umm—er—"

"Oh, come off it," Ginny scowled at Harry, "There were rumors that you slept with Malfoy."

She turned ghastly pale. She could feel every single eye of their housemates on her. She swallowed hard and gave an uneasy laugh. "Where'd you get that? That's just silly."

"Well," Ron interjected, "It doesn't seem to look like it—Malfoy told us himself."

"And you believe Malfoy more than you believe me?" she spat.

"It's not that hard to believe Malfoy, Hermione." Ginny said with a coy smile, "after all he has some proof."


Harry glanced at Malfoy behind his shoulder, "Why don't you see for yourself?"

Hermione, feeling clammy and fearful of what she'll see, turned to look at him.

He was there, grinning like a fox at her, handsome as ever, leaning against their breakfast table. She scanned the table for the proof. She did not see it until he held his right hand up—

It was her emerald green knickers—a gift from Harry for her birthday—lazily twirled around his index finger.

She fought the urge to scream.


Author's note: Dumbledore's gay in this story. Hope it was alright and I have nothing against gay people—I love my gay friends to bits. Regarding Hermione, she ought to have just grabbed her knickers before running out to get Padma. BTW, this is my first time to write a 'Shagging Scene.' So please do give me some pointers for next time (In case I would write another one). Leave a review guys! Hope you enjoyed, Ciao!

Did you know: The clit has 8000 nerve endings. A Fun fact in my program of choice.