WICKED GAME (6/?)
TITLE: Wicked Game
AUTHOR: dracos_damsel
CHAPTER TITLE: Detention and Naked Facts or The Swivel Chair (3/3)
CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 11.124
RATING: NC-17 for later chapters
PAIRING: erm...Draco/Hermione
ERA: Hogwarts
SUMMARY: 1998: After Voldemort's defeat, Hogwarts is rebuilt and students return to finish their education. When a bet amongst the Slytherins backfires, Malfoy seeks revenge - by getting under Granger's skin. Or into her pants.
But isn't it common knowledge that things never go according to plan?
BETA: jenl3227 , before her musthaveseenher - thank you both so much! You rock! ;)
A/N: Just to avoid confusion: The bet mentioned in the summary will make an appearance in chapter 8! But rest asured, it's worth the wait ;)
BANNER:
Hermione yawned, lowering her just recently received copy of the last book in the ‘Jerry Lotter’ series. She had decided to retire to her room and not go to the Poker evening, seeking peace and quiet rather than the company of her friends. She had felt a bit drained after the long day and started on her new book.
The young woman took a look around her bedroom, her gaze brushing the alarm clock on her night stand, her eyes widening instantly. It was already eleven! And she was in for curfew patrol that night!
Hastily, she jumped off her bed, changed her scarlet sweat pants for a pair of black jeans, slid into her shoes and grabbed her black school robe, hurrying for the Common Room to meet Malfoy.
Only he wasn’t there when she came running into their mutual room, struggling into her robe. Frowning, she glanced around when her gaze caught on a massive oak door: the Study. Hermione huffed, then quickly crossed over to the door, pounding her fist against the wood energetically. “Malfoy!”
She glanced at her wrist watch: they were already late! “Malfoy! Get your butt out of there! We’re running late!”
What is he doing in there, anyway?
Finally, the door opened a crack and a shock of sleek blond hair appeared in the gape. Draco’s eyebrows drew together in question. “Why the hell are you banging onto this door like a bloody maniac?” He paused a second.
Because she IS a bloody maniac?
“Or have you considered applying after all? I’m terribly sorry, but I’m completely booked out. Sorry again.” His dark marble eyes sparkled with mischief as she rolled her brown ones in annoyance.
“No, you prat, but it’s shortly past eleven and we’re late for curfew patrol thanks to you!”
Draco’s face morphed into a smile and then a chuckle until he was laughing in earnest, letting go of the door and leaning onto the door frame for support.
“What’s so funny, idiot?” Hermione hissed, once again tempted to slap that laugh off his face. What was that prat doing laughing, when he should get it moving?!
“That you just got something really mixed up,” Draco said with a low chuckle.
“No, I don’t,” Hermione insisted. “It’s Friday night and we’re on patro-”
“Wrong. We swapped this week’s Friday for next week’s Wednesday. I have a party to go to, so I really don’t need patrol tonight.”
“WHAT?” What was going on here? She had not agreed to this, she hadn’t even known about this until now! Was he making decisions that involved them both on his own?! Apparently. “Then who is on patrol? I never ever agreed to this!”
“No, but I did. It’s even on the plan we did at the last prefects meeting, just take a look at it; it’s right over there in the study. And it’s my man Chase and that Patil girl tonight.” He stepped away from the door, turning his bare back on the incredulous witch as he vanished in the back of the room to fetch the piece of parchment.
Wait, bare back? What is he doing in there? Another girl?
Curiosity got the better of her and she gave the door a gentle push, peering around the wood to look into the room. He had apparently pushed aside the furniture, making room for a black boxing bag that hung from the ceiling on a silver chain.
There was a deep green towel over the back of his upholstered study chair and she was sure the music that was now quietly playing from the radio on his desk (some guy singing how he was ‘bad to the bone’) had been louder before, probably why he hadn’t heard her. Or he had tried to ignore her. Whichever. In every case, there was no girl in this room.
That second, the tall young man re-appeared in the now wider gape between door and frame, a sheet of parchment clutched in his right and a triumphant smirk plastered across his features. “See, there it is, ink on parchment; Curfew Patrol on Friday, the twenty-seventh of November 1998: Chase Thurless and Padma Patil. Just like I told you.” He licked his lips.
It was only then, when she followed his finger with her eyes to the line on the list he pointed out, that she noticed that his hands were clad in a kind of black bandage, probably for the same reason why there was a boxing bag in the study, and the thin layer of sweat that covered not only the sinewy stretches of his strong arms that now crossed over his torso, but also the light bundles of muscle that shaped his chest and stomach rather nicely.
He’s right: he’s definitely not that little boy from third year anymore.
Feeling guilty and ashamed for both looking and liking what she saw, the witch averted her gaze, a rosy blush slowly creeping up into her cheeks even as her eyebrows drew together, angry with herself.
Malfoy only grinned. Very smugly. So the Gryffindor Virgin liked his well toned body? Well good, another base for snide remarks. “I saw you stare, no use in denying it.” He leaned his left shoulder against the frame once again, his trademark sneer snapping in place. Hermione chanced a look at his face, then looked away quickly at his expression.
“There’s nothing wrong with looking, really, you see, yet I can’t help but wonder, is it that you blush because you like what you see? Or is it that you blush because you’re ashamed that you seem to like seeing your previous enemy with his shirt off? Or-” Draco stepped out of the frame, invading her personal space for the second time that night, his sweat covered, lean form too close for her liking. “-is it that you’ve never even seen the Weasel shirtless and now can’t cope with the sight and the feelings it conjures up within you. . . .”
Draco’s voice had dropped down to a husky murmur by now as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “It’s a shame, really, a nineteen year old witch, the brightest of her age, and still she hadn’t experienced the rapture, the excitement, the desire and passion, the intense pleasure of-” He let his breath dance across the sensitive skin just below her ear, noticing how she shuddered ever so slightly, making him grin. “-shagging,” he ended his line in his normal tone at normal volume, stepping back into his position in the doorframe with a superior grin.
Hermione looked puzzled, feeling dizzy, then snapped out of her trance-like state as she let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. “So what? I’m not one of your little bimbos. I’m picky when it comes to boyfriends and I haven’t met the right one, yet!” She slapped herself mentally for saying that. Why had she just admitted that to HIM of all people?!
“And you never will, Granger, because you’re way too uptight and already madly in love - with your books.” He sneered again, that damnable, obnoxious sneer she had hated since her first year at Hogwarts. With that, even the last trace of whatever exciting mood that might have been there before dissolved into nothing but thin air.
She glared at his milky white face that still glistened slightly with sweat in the dim light of the crackling fire and hissed, “I thought you had a party to go to, you’re surely going to miss it if you keep on dropping pre-adolescent lines here!”
Draco shook his head sadly. “It’s not a Gryffindork-baby party; it’s a Slytherin birthday party. We are creatures of the night, and old enough to celebrate after sundown without being scared of the dark like you lot. I’ve got plenty of time.”
She couldn’t help but ask, ignoring the swipe at her house as curiosity took control over her tongue, “Whose birthday is it?”
“Why would you care?” His eyebrows shot up once again, challengingly.
“Erm, hello? I’m Head Girl? I need to know what’s going on in the castle.”
“Not in the dungeons, that’s my stomping ground. Anyway, tonight’s party won’t even take place on the grounds, so it’s none of your concern, since your sphere of responsibility is limited to the castle of Hogwarts and its grounds. And I’m terribly sorry again, Princess, but you are not invited. It’s a party for grown-ups, you know. With alcohol and kissing and dirty dancing and making out on the couches and maybe even-no, wait, that’s too naughty for your virgin eyes and ears, I fear.” He shrugged apologetically.
“You’re leaving the grounds? That’s breaking the rules!” Hermione was livid. At first he changed the patrolling schedule without even bothering to ask her if it was alright. In addition to that, he kept on dropping snide remarks and now he was breaking the rules. He was Head Boy, for Merlin’s sake! “You are not having this party, or-”
“Or what? Merlin, Granger, we’ve been there before! I’m the Slytherin: breaking rules, undermining authority, that’s what I do.”
“OR I will report to Dumbledore the second you leave! That is a promise.”
Draco chuckled. “No, you won’t report to the Headmaster, because that would mean you’d have to admit to an authority that you can’t keep me in check. And that again would mean to you, not to anyone else, but to yourself, that you can’t do your job. Besides, since you’re so grown-up, it would be a very childish action to tell on me - your partner. And to sate your undying curiosity: it’s Pansy’s eighteenth birthday. You see, we’ve got plenty of reason to celebrate.”
“Leaving the grounds during term except for Hogsmeade weekends is forbidden,” Hermione insisted, already on the verge of exploding; eyes narrowed and hands at her sides, she planted herself in front of the younger wizard like an avenging angel.
“Oh, please, Granger. We’ve both done things far worse before,” he whispered huskily as he brushed past her and into the Common Room, making sure to touch her waist as he passed.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Malfoy?!”
He didn’t even turn around, shouting the answer back to her over his shoulder once again, “Into my bathroom; getting naked, showered and nice and ready for a very long night of partying, dancing and making out!”
Apparently it was becoming a habit of his to turn his back on her while still talking. Hermione huffed, hearing the portrait of Salazar Slytherin falling shut while she rolled her eyes, and tapped her foot against the wooden floor boards, waiting for the furious anger within her to subside.
When it finally did, she closed the study door, or, rather, she slammed it for good measure and went into her room, not quite getting rid of the mental picture of Mafloy’s naked chest and his dangerously low-riding sweatpants as fast as she would have liked. She fell only asleep after reading almost half-way through her newest five hundred-page book.
AUTHOR: dracos_damsel
CHAPTER TITLE: Detention and Naked Facts or The Swivel Chair (3/3)
CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 11.124
RATING: NC-17 for later chapters
PAIRING: erm...Draco/Hermione
ERA: Hogwarts
SUMMARY: 1998: After Voldemort's defeat, Hogwarts is rebuilt and students return to finish their education. When a bet amongst the Slytherins backfires, Malfoy seeks revenge - by getting under Granger's skin. Or into her pants.
But isn't it common knowledge that things never go according to plan?
BETA: jenl3227 , before her musthaveseenher - thank you both so much! You rock! ;)
A/N: Just to avoid confusion: The bet mentioned in the summary will make an appearance in chapter 8! But rest asured, it's worth the wait ;)
BANNER:
Hermione yawned, lowering her just recently received copy of the last book in the ‘Jerry Lotter’ series. She had decided to retire to her room and not go to the Poker evening, seeking peace and quiet rather than the company of her friends. She had felt a bit drained after the long day and started on her new book.
The young woman took a look around her bedroom, her gaze brushing the alarm clock on her night stand, her eyes widening instantly. It was already eleven! And she was in for curfew patrol that night!
Hastily, she jumped off her bed, changed her scarlet sweat pants for a pair of black jeans, slid into her shoes and grabbed her black school robe, hurrying for the Common Room to meet Malfoy.
Only he wasn’t there when she came running into their mutual room, struggling into her robe. Frowning, she glanced around when her gaze caught on a massive oak door: the Study. Hermione huffed, then quickly crossed over to the door, pounding her fist against the wood energetically. “Malfoy!”
She glanced at her wrist watch: they were already late! “Malfoy! Get your butt out of there! We’re running late!”
What is he doing in there, anyway?
Finally, the door opened a crack and a shock of sleek blond hair appeared in the gape. Draco’s eyebrows drew together in question. “Why the hell are you banging onto this door like a bloody maniac?” He paused a second.
Because she IS a bloody maniac?
“Or have you considered applying after all? I’m terribly sorry, but I’m completely booked out. Sorry again.” His dark marble eyes sparkled with mischief as she rolled her brown ones in annoyance.
“No, you prat, but it’s shortly past eleven and we’re late for curfew patrol thanks to you!”
Draco’s face morphed into a smile and then a chuckle until he was laughing in earnest, letting go of the door and leaning onto the door frame for support.
“What’s so funny, idiot?” Hermione hissed, once again tempted to slap that laugh off his face. What was that prat doing laughing, when he should get it moving?!
“That you just got something really mixed up,” Draco said with a low chuckle.
“No, I don’t,” Hermione insisted. “It’s Friday night and we’re on patro-”
“Wrong. We swapped this week’s Friday for next week’s Wednesday. I have a party to go to, so I really don’t need patrol tonight.”
“WHAT?” What was going on here? She had not agreed to this, she hadn’t even known about this until now! Was he making decisions that involved them both on his own?! Apparently. “Then who is on patrol? I never ever agreed to this!”
“No, but I did. It’s even on the plan we did at the last prefects meeting, just take a look at it; it’s right over there in the study. And it’s my man Chase and that Patil girl tonight.” He stepped away from the door, turning his bare back on the incredulous witch as he vanished in the back of the room to fetch the piece of parchment.
Wait, bare back? What is he doing in there? Another girl?
Curiosity got the better of her and she gave the door a gentle push, peering around the wood to look into the room. He had apparently pushed aside the furniture, making room for a black boxing bag that hung from the ceiling on a silver chain.
There was a deep green towel over the back of his upholstered study chair and she was sure the music that was now quietly playing from the radio on his desk (some guy singing how he was ‘bad to the bone’) had been louder before, probably why he hadn’t heard her. Or he had tried to ignore her. Whichever. In every case, there was no girl in this room.
That second, the tall young man re-appeared in the now wider gape between door and frame, a sheet of parchment clutched in his right and a triumphant smirk plastered across his features. “See, there it is, ink on parchment; Curfew Patrol on Friday, the twenty-seventh of November 1998: Chase Thurless and Padma Patil. Just like I told you.” He licked his lips.
It was only then, when she followed his finger with her eyes to the line on the list he pointed out, that she noticed that his hands were clad in a kind of black bandage, probably for the same reason why there was a boxing bag in the study, and the thin layer of sweat that covered not only the sinewy stretches of his strong arms that now crossed over his torso, but also the light bundles of muscle that shaped his chest and stomach rather nicely.
He’s right: he’s definitely not that little boy from third year anymore.
Feeling guilty and ashamed for both looking and liking what she saw, the witch averted her gaze, a rosy blush slowly creeping up into her cheeks even as her eyebrows drew together, angry with herself.
Malfoy only grinned. Very smugly. So the Gryffindor Virgin liked his well toned body? Well good, another base for snide remarks. “I saw you stare, no use in denying it.” He leaned his left shoulder against the frame once again, his trademark sneer snapping in place. Hermione chanced a look at his face, then looked away quickly at his expression.
“There’s nothing wrong with looking, really, you see, yet I can’t help but wonder, is it that you blush because you like what you see? Or is it that you blush because you’re ashamed that you seem to like seeing your previous enemy with his shirt off? Or-” Draco stepped out of the frame, invading her personal space for the second time that night, his sweat covered, lean form too close for her liking. “-is it that you’ve never even seen the Weasel shirtless and now can’t cope with the sight and the feelings it conjures up within you. . . .”
Draco’s voice had dropped down to a husky murmur by now as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “It’s a shame, really, a nineteen year old witch, the brightest of her age, and still she hadn’t experienced the rapture, the excitement, the desire and passion, the intense pleasure of-” He let his breath dance across the sensitive skin just below her ear, noticing how she shuddered ever so slightly, making him grin. “-shagging,” he ended his line in his normal tone at normal volume, stepping back into his position in the doorframe with a superior grin.
Hermione looked puzzled, feeling dizzy, then snapped out of her trance-like state as she let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. “So what? I’m not one of your little bimbos. I’m picky when it comes to boyfriends and I haven’t met the right one, yet!” She slapped herself mentally for saying that. Why had she just admitted that to HIM of all people?!
“And you never will, Granger, because you’re way too uptight and already madly in love - with your books.” He sneered again, that damnable, obnoxious sneer she had hated since her first year at Hogwarts. With that, even the last trace of whatever exciting mood that might have been there before dissolved into nothing but thin air.
She glared at his milky white face that still glistened slightly with sweat in the dim light of the crackling fire and hissed, “I thought you had a party to go to, you’re surely going to miss it if you keep on dropping pre-adolescent lines here!”
Draco shook his head sadly. “It’s not a Gryffindork-baby party; it’s a Slytherin birthday party. We are creatures of the night, and old enough to celebrate after sundown without being scared of the dark like you lot. I’ve got plenty of time.”
She couldn’t help but ask, ignoring the swipe at her house as curiosity took control over her tongue, “Whose birthday is it?”
“Why would you care?” His eyebrows shot up once again, challengingly.
“Erm, hello? I’m Head Girl? I need to know what’s going on in the castle.”
“Not in the dungeons, that’s my stomping ground. Anyway, tonight’s party won’t even take place on the grounds, so it’s none of your concern, since your sphere of responsibility is limited to the castle of Hogwarts and its grounds. And I’m terribly sorry again, Princess, but you are not invited. It’s a party for grown-ups, you know. With alcohol and kissing and dirty dancing and making out on the couches and maybe even-no, wait, that’s too naughty for your virgin eyes and ears, I fear.” He shrugged apologetically.
“You’re leaving the grounds? That’s breaking the rules!” Hermione was livid. At first he changed the patrolling schedule without even bothering to ask her if it was alright. In addition to that, he kept on dropping snide remarks and now he was breaking the rules. He was Head Boy, for Merlin’s sake! “You are not having this party, or-”
“Or what? Merlin, Granger, we’ve been there before! I’m the Slytherin: breaking rules, undermining authority, that’s what I do.”
“OR I will report to Dumbledore the second you leave! That is a promise.”
Draco chuckled. “No, you won’t report to the Headmaster, because that would mean you’d have to admit to an authority that you can’t keep me in check. And that again would mean to you, not to anyone else, but to yourself, that you can’t do your job. Besides, since you’re so grown-up, it would be a very childish action to tell on me - your partner. And to sate your undying curiosity: it’s Pansy’s eighteenth birthday. You see, we’ve got plenty of reason to celebrate.”
“Leaving the grounds during term except for Hogsmeade weekends is forbidden,” Hermione insisted, already on the verge of exploding; eyes narrowed and hands at her sides, she planted herself in front of the younger wizard like an avenging angel.
“Oh, please, Granger. We’ve both done things far worse before,” he whispered huskily as he brushed past her and into the Common Room, making sure to touch her waist as he passed.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Malfoy?!”
He didn’t even turn around, shouting the answer back to her over his shoulder once again, “Into my bathroom; getting naked, showered and nice and ready for a very long night of partying, dancing and making out!”
Apparently it was becoming a habit of his to turn his back on her while still talking. Hermione huffed, hearing the portrait of Salazar Slytherin falling shut while she rolled her eyes, and tapped her foot against the wooden floor boards, waiting for the furious anger within her to subside.
When it finally did, she closed the study door, or, rather, she slammed it for good measure and went into her room, not quite getting rid of the mental picture of Mafloy’s naked chest and his dangerously low-riding sweatpants as fast as she would have liked. She fell only asleep after reading almost half-way through her newest five hundred-page book.