Fic: "The Homerun Blues" (2/11)
*Author*: Padfoot the Marauder
*Rating*: NC-17
*Summary*: When Draco slips Hermione a potion for a laugh, a potion with a crucial footnote he neglected to read while making it, he must suffer the consequences of his actions...
*Disclaimer*: I’m sad to say if I were to have a drivers licence, it would not say ‘JK Rowling’. Meaning, I do not own anyone and anything in this story except for the plot.
*Thank you*: to Stephanie and kass for being kind enough to Beta-read this. If there are still any mistakes left, they’re probably of my doing. And a thank you to Lune for coming up with the title.
*Note*: This fic was a response to the Quiet Ones Secret Santa Fic Exchange for Elementaldeity.
**********
ChAPTER 2
Draco was pacing around the common room, fuming.
The whole thing was so humiliating!
He was going to have to ‘pleasure’ Granger in a variety of ways while being carefully monitored by the teacher’s staff to insure that he wouldn’t be crossing any boundaries.
Please! As if he would! It was Granger!
If he had any choice in the matter, he would grope her through a sheet.
Fine, Draco supposed she wasn’t all that unattractive, but her annoying personality sure took away any little charm she might possess. Sure, Granger was prettier than Pansy, whom he had bedded numerous times, but there was something about Granger that just screamed, “Don’t touch me!”
Probably because she had more or less said those very words to him before.
It was as if she was trying to be the exact opposite of what she, a girl, was expected to be. She didn’t care about hair, clothes -she never wore high heels either- or make-up; her main aspiration wasn’t to become the skinniest girl in her class, she didn’t even seem very interested in boys, and most of all was she smarter than all of Hogwart’s males, including several teachers.
Granger renounced every asset in which a man could claim he was somewhat superior towards women.
Additionally, she was a Mudblood. If Muggles and Muggleborns denied the knowledge that it was in their best interest to quietly lay down and die, the least they could do was to accentuate their inferiority to Purebloods. It really didn’t help to have a Mudblood strutting around Hogwarts as if she owned the place and getting higher marks than the Purebloods. Draco had made it his person goal to beat Granger’s grades, but that had just seemed to motivate her into studying harder.
And now he was going to have to touch her. Perhaps it was his own blemish for not reading the footnotes, but that knowledge still didn’t help the matter.
Then, when he had kissed Granger, as he had been told to do, he got punched in the face for it.
That was just swell! It seemed he just couldn’t get away with anything anymore! Whatever the hell happened to just plain detention? Did it go out of fashion all of the sudden? He was Head Boy for Merlin’s sake! Doesn’t it count for anything?
Draco was pulled out of his musings when he heard the portrait hole swing open. He turned around and saw a very disgruntled Head Girl entering their shared common room. The way she entered the room made it seem as if she was unaffected by what had happened before, yet something about her body language told Draco she was just putting on a show of strength.
“So... had your fun?” Granger huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Not really,” Draco smirked. “Biology never interested me much.”
“No,” Granger said with an icy glare. “Potions seems more up your alley. It’s a pity you’re too thick-headed to notice the footnotes.”
Draco’s anger flared at that.
“No one insults my intelligence and gets away with it, Granger,” he drawled. “Especially not some silly, little Mudblood.”
“Still on that, are you?” Granger said dryly.
“It hurts, doesn’t it Granger?” Draco sneered. “Knowing that the only way to get a man to touch your bushy-haired, dirty-blooded self is by messing around with lust potions.”
Granger didn’t show any outward signs to indicate that Draco’s words had affected her, but something in her eyes told him he had struck a nerve.
“If I recall correctly, you were the one to mess around with those potions,” Granger retorted. “Was your status of Hogwart’s male-slut beginning to dim and you needed a little pick-me-up? I wouldn’t worry too much Malfoy, because I heard your reputation was still quite safe.”
Draco snorted derisively.
“And you think I would choose you to help my reputation?” Draco said mockingly. “My, my, Granger aren’t we cocky?”
“Don’t give me cheek, Malfoy,” Granger spat.
“If ‘cheek’ is the only thing I’ll have to give you in the coming few days, I think we’ll both be fortunate,” Draco said smugly.
Granger frowned, trying to decipher the innuendo Draco was making.
“Oh, shut up!” she spat, her face suddenly turning red as it sank in on what he had meant.
“Your retorts are getting sloppy, Granger,” Draco said. “What’s the problem? There’s no more blood left in your brain to make you able to engage in a decent session of verbal sparring? Now, now, I wonder where it seeped off to...”
Granger gaped at him in astonishment.
“I can’t believe you... How can you... That’s just-” she stammered indignantly, but soon found her voice again. “Just make sure you’re at my disposal when I need you!”
Draco smirked.
“Granger... so forceful,” he said, clucking his tongue in a suggestive manner. “How kinky. I love it.”
In response, Granger glowered at him with the infamous Granger-glare, then turned around and angrily retreated towards her room.
Draco chuckled as he saw her slamming the door behind her.
It appeared he had finally found a topic that made the Head Girl tongue-tied.
*
Hermione hurriedly slammed the door behind her as she marched into her bedroom. She flopped herself unto her bed and buried her face in her pillow. She would be quite happy to have it taped there so she would never have to show her face in public again. Never in her life had she been so completely and utterly humiliated.
Why?!
Why did this have to happen to her?
WHY?!?!
Hermione just wanted to vomit. Actually, she had done so a several minutes ago, instantly after Malfoy had left the hospital wing, but she could already feel the second round churning around in her stomach.
A lust potion?
Off all the things Malfoy could have done to embarrass her he had to go and take out the big guns, didn’t he? And even worse: half of the teachers’ staff now knew about it. She was Head Girl for god’s sake, she couldn’t afford to look... weak! Even if Madame Pomfrey had been the only one to actually witness her weakness, Hermione was very much aware that it wouldn’t be too difficult for the others to conjure up a mental picture of the state she was in under the potion’s effects.
She just wanted to rip Draco Malfoy’s head off his shoulders.
He had kissed her!
Draco Malfoy had kissed her.
That’s just... Aaargh!
The most disheartening thing of all was that he had been the first boy she had ever kissed. Mind you, she had kissed before; it had just never been a boy. Two years ago, Lavender Brown had spontaneously offered to give her a kissing-lesson, and Hermione hadn’t objected. She had wanted to know how to do it when she would need to do it... which up until today was only to teach Ginny how to do it.
Not only had Malfoy kissed her, he had kissed her while she had been... touching herself. That was just wrong! Hermione was very relieved to note that Madame Pomfrey hadn’t seemed the least bit shocked at all, but she was a trained nurse and probably didn’t get shocked very easily anymore. When Malfoy had walked in the room, Hermione would have done anything to be able to stop what she had been doing. She had really tried to stop. But her need had just been too great. Never before had she felt such complete and total need to be...
Hermione cringed.
Oh gods, she couldn’t even say it.
Whenever the topic of sex would come up, Hermione would refer to it as ‘lovemaking’ or ‘the physical act of love’. She hadn’t exactly done any of it, but she just found words like ‘fucking’ or ‘shagging’ to be offensive. Still, whatever she had wanted earlier that day, ‘lovemaking’ had had nothing to do with it.
No, she had wanted to be fucked senseless until she couldn’t even remember her own name.
Instead she had had to suffice with the help of her own hand, which by itself was something she had only recently discovered she could do. But this time relief just didn’t want to come. It was as if she had been hovering on the edge of orgasm with nothing to push her over it.
Until Malfoy showed up anyway. Him and his lips had propelled her over the edge and got her the release she had been craving for.
Off all people, why did it have to be him to have seen her like that?
Hermione was scared. She was really scared of what Malfoy might say to other people. She knew it was silly and sexist, but she was very much aware that however liberated the western world might be, they still lived in a society where it was plainly unacceptable to hear a woman express the fact that she felt ‘horny’.
Masturbating in public is like shouting the assessment off the roof through a giant bullhorn.
It apparently wasn’t even over yet; Hermione had been briefed about what was in store if Snape wouldn’t come up with an antidote soon.
Malfoy was going to have to... feel her up.
Why did the horrid sod have to use his own blood? Why didn’t he read the footnotes? They’re there for a bloody reason!
Hermione was plainly horrified by it all.
She was horrified by the fact that she had suddenly gotten herself ‘outed’ as a sexual creature.
And she also was horrified by the fact that she felt a little liberated by it.
Hermione sighed and twisted herself around so she was lying on her back, facing the ceiling.
Yes, as gruelling as his whole situation might be, a small part of her felt liberated. Let’s face it, no one had ever seen her as ‘sexual’. Harry and Ron saw her as ‘one of the guys’ and everyone else only saw her as the smart, know-it-all Head Girl with the bushy hair.
Hermione was marked as ‘asexual’ and she knew it.
She had never quite minded that, really. She was only average in appearance and would probably never be regarded as ‘sexy’ or ‘desirable’. She knew she wasn’t unattractive, she was just... plain. Her hair was still as unmanageable as ever, she had a pale, mousy complexion and she rarely wore make-up since she was an absolute klutz when applying it and constantly ended up looking like a hooker. Certain people might find her physically attractive, but she would never appeal to the mainstream. Not that this mattered to her much, since she wasn’t all that interested in the way she looked. As long as she was clean, healthy and smelled nice, she was satisfied. Besides, she really had no use for being seen as ‘sexual’. She was Head Girl now, a position that demanded respect and offered guidance. She had a position of leadership; any sign of weakness could undermine her authority.
But as businesslike and practical as Hermione liked to let people think she was, there still was a part of her that wanted to explore the things one can’t learn in books. A part of her wanted to experiment with her blossoming sexuality, to go out with a guy she fancied and have fun like most of her peers. You only live once, every day should be cherished and you might as well enjoy the time you have.
But until now, dating and sex hadn’t made its way on Hermione’s agenda just yet. Mind you, it wasn’t her duties as Head Girl that stopped Hermione from perusing it. She was dedicated, but not as much as to let it dominating her life.
No, there was something else.
As much of a liberated modern-day woman Hermione liked to perceive herself to be, she was still a bit of a sappy romantic. She was ashamed to admit it, but a part of her wanted that romantic ideal where she would give herself to one man and one man only. A part of her didn’t want to waste any time ‘messing around’ with someone she only liked at a certain time, only to get bored when the initial lovey-dovey phase was over.
Somehow the thought of the knight in shining armour swooping her off her feet had lodged itself into her head and wouldn’t go away.
Hermione was a smart, logical and down to earth person; she knew it was completely juvenile to hold on to silly ideas like that. It was a crazy idea really, since Hermione also found the thought of being chained to one person for the rest of her life confining enough to send her into a fit of hyperventilation. She didn’t know much about relationships from personal experience, but she had read enough about them to know what its weakest links were. She knew that people who entered into a serious relationship with little or no sexual experience apart from their current partner, often ended up feeling as if they had missed out on something, became unhappy and frequently ended up cheating on their spouses. Therefore, she found that it would be unhealthy for her to fall for one guy and to restrict herself to him for the rest of her life.
She knew all that, but her gut instincts wouldn’t listen.
She couldn’t exactly experiment, since she only felt like doing it with someone who she could see herself spending the rest of her life with. This was something that was rather tricky; since thus far she hadn’t even met someone she would want to spend a month with.
It really wasn’t fair!
It was either that the guys she met were physically appealing, but had nothing interesting to say or they were nice to talk to, but Hermione’s stomach remained deprived of fluttering butterflies.
Damn those sappy love stories she had grown up with!
Therefore, to play on the safe side and oblige to both conflicting opinions, she had just kept herself from looking. If she wasn’t looking, there was no risk of sticking with someone because they were available. Therefore, the romantic ideal was still a distant possibility.
But if she wasn’t looking, the chance of running into said knight also was reduced to nihil. Hermione knew you need to kiss a whole bunch of frogs before you stumble upon a prince.
In the end, it was all these conflicting morals and aspirations that would do nothing more than result in her dying a virgin!
And the cherry, Hermione thought with a smirk, one the crappy cake was that everyone seemed to agree with that fact.
Why didn’t anyone see that she could be passionate?
She sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone, since she really didn’t want them to know because it would endanger her credibility as a leadership figure.
Yet, a part of her wanted to ‘gently let it slip’ anyway.
Hermione sighed and realised that this was probably one of the situations that affirmed the notion guys had that girls can’t be understood.
This time she had to agree, since she hardly understood it herself.
Hermione rolled herself off the bed and started to discard herself of her clothing in order to take a shower. The ‘potion’s result’ had left her sweaty and sticky; she definitely needed to get herself cleaned up.
As she threw her dirty clothes in the hamper and stepped into the shower, she continued to muse about her current entanglement. Having to share an intimate act with someone else was horrid and embarrassing, yet also surprisingly liberating.
Why was that?
Shouldn’t she feel violated or harassed? Hermione noted that she was more worried about what people might say or think than what she herself would be undergoing. Shouldn’t she feel anger or regret for having lost a little part of her that she would never be able to get back? If a part of her wanted to ‘save herself’ for this special person, why wasn’t she more upset that someone else was going to be touching her intimately?
As she turned on the tap and the water flow hit her flesh, Hermione suddenly understood why.
She had been forced into this thing.
The potion had been forced upon her without her knowledge and without her consent. No morals would be broken and no dreams would be forfeited because this whole thing hadn’t been her choice.
Hermione thoughtfully chewed on the inside of her cheek as she contemplated on this revelation.
She had always held freedom of choice in high regard, yet she couldn’t deny that having someone else making certain choices for her was much easier. It had taken the responsibility for the consequences out of her hands.
Hermione had been assured that Snape would come up with an antidote before Malfoy would have to go and ‘touch home plate’, so the whole thing really wouldn’t go too far.
Basically, she could undergo the wee bit of basic sexual experimentation that would be thrown at her... and it wouldn’t be her fault. She wouldn’t be crossing any of the lines her conflicting morals and desires had marked for her, because whatever would happen; it would be Malfoy’s fault.
Mind you, she wasn’t keen on the fact that it would be Malfoy on the other end of the equation, but she’d be damned if she would become the ‘Naive Little Gryffindor Who’s Innocence Had Been Stolen By The Nasty Slytherin’. She wouldn’t let Malfoy have the pleasure.
Hermione might be a virgin, but she was far from innocent.
**********
End of Chapter 2
*Rating*: NC-17
*Summary*: When Draco slips Hermione a potion for a laugh, a potion with a crucial footnote he neglected to read while making it, he must suffer the consequences of his actions...
*Disclaimer*: I’m sad to say if I were to have a drivers licence, it would not say ‘JK Rowling’. Meaning, I do not own anyone and anything in this story except for the plot.
*Thank you*: to Stephanie and kass for being kind enough to Beta-read this. If there are still any mistakes left, they’re probably of my doing. And a thank you to Lune for coming up with the title.
*Note*: This fic was a response to the Quiet Ones Secret Santa Fic Exchange for Elementaldeity.
**********
ChAPTER 2
Draco was pacing around the common room, fuming.
The whole thing was so humiliating!
He was going to have to ‘pleasure’ Granger in a variety of ways while being carefully monitored by the teacher’s staff to insure that he wouldn’t be crossing any boundaries.
Please! As if he would! It was Granger!
If he had any choice in the matter, he would grope her through a sheet.
Fine, Draco supposed she wasn’t all that unattractive, but her annoying personality sure took away any little charm she might possess. Sure, Granger was prettier than Pansy, whom he had bedded numerous times, but there was something about Granger that just screamed, “Don’t touch me!”
Probably because she had more or less said those very words to him before.
It was as if she was trying to be the exact opposite of what she, a girl, was expected to be. She didn’t care about hair, clothes -she never wore high heels either- or make-up; her main aspiration wasn’t to become the skinniest girl in her class, she didn’t even seem very interested in boys, and most of all was she smarter than all of Hogwart’s males, including several teachers.
Granger renounced every asset in which a man could claim he was somewhat superior towards women.
Additionally, she was a Mudblood. If Muggles and Muggleborns denied the knowledge that it was in their best interest to quietly lay down and die, the least they could do was to accentuate their inferiority to Purebloods. It really didn’t help to have a Mudblood strutting around Hogwarts as if she owned the place and getting higher marks than the Purebloods. Draco had made it his person goal to beat Granger’s grades, but that had just seemed to motivate her into studying harder.
And now he was going to have to touch her. Perhaps it was his own blemish for not reading the footnotes, but that knowledge still didn’t help the matter.
Then, when he had kissed Granger, as he had been told to do, he got punched in the face for it.
That was just swell! It seemed he just couldn’t get away with anything anymore! Whatever the hell happened to just plain detention? Did it go out of fashion all of the sudden? He was Head Boy for Merlin’s sake! Doesn’t it count for anything?
Draco was pulled out of his musings when he heard the portrait hole swing open. He turned around and saw a very disgruntled Head Girl entering their shared common room. The way she entered the room made it seem as if she was unaffected by what had happened before, yet something about her body language told Draco she was just putting on a show of strength.
“So... had your fun?” Granger huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Not really,” Draco smirked. “Biology never interested me much.”
“No,” Granger said with an icy glare. “Potions seems more up your alley. It’s a pity you’re too thick-headed to notice the footnotes.”
Draco’s anger flared at that.
“No one insults my intelligence and gets away with it, Granger,” he drawled. “Especially not some silly, little Mudblood.”
“Still on that, are you?” Granger said dryly.
“It hurts, doesn’t it Granger?” Draco sneered. “Knowing that the only way to get a man to touch your bushy-haired, dirty-blooded self is by messing around with lust potions.”
Granger didn’t show any outward signs to indicate that Draco’s words had affected her, but something in her eyes told him he had struck a nerve.
“If I recall correctly, you were the one to mess around with those potions,” Granger retorted. “Was your status of Hogwart’s male-slut beginning to dim and you needed a little pick-me-up? I wouldn’t worry too much Malfoy, because I heard your reputation was still quite safe.”
Draco snorted derisively.
“And you think I would choose you to help my reputation?” Draco said mockingly. “My, my, Granger aren’t we cocky?”
“Don’t give me cheek, Malfoy,” Granger spat.
“If ‘cheek’ is the only thing I’ll have to give you in the coming few days, I think we’ll both be fortunate,” Draco said smugly.
Granger frowned, trying to decipher the innuendo Draco was making.
“Oh, shut up!” she spat, her face suddenly turning red as it sank in on what he had meant.
“Your retorts are getting sloppy, Granger,” Draco said. “What’s the problem? There’s no more blood left in your brain to make you able to engage in a decent session of verbal sparring? Now, now, I wonder where it seeped off to...”
Granger gaped at him in astonishment.
“I can’t believe you... How can you... That’s just-” she stammered indignantly, but soon found her voice again. “Just make sure you’re at my disposal when I need you!”
Draco smirked.
“Granger... so forceful,” he said, clucking his tongue in a suggestive manner. “How kinky. I love it.”
In response, Granger glowered at him with the infamous Granger-glare, then turned around and angrily retreated towards her room.
Draco chuckled as he saw her slamming the door behind her.
It appeared he had finally found a topic that made the Head Girl tongue-tied.
*
Hermione hurriedly slammed the door behind her as she marched into her bedroom. She flopped herself unto her bed and buried her face in her pillow. She would be quite happy to have it taped there so she would never have to show her face in public again. Never in her life had she been so completely and utterly humiliated.
Why?!
Why did this have to happen to her?
WHY?!?!
Hermione just wanted to vomit. Actually, she had done so a several minutes ago, instantly after Malfoy had left the hospital wing, but she could already feel the second round churning around in her stomach.
A lust potion?
Off all the things Malfoy could have done to embarrass her he had to go and take out the big guns, didn’t he? And even worse: half of the teachers’ staff now knew about it. She was Head Girl for god’s sake, she couldn’t afford to look... weak! Even if Madame Pomfrey had been the only one to actually witness her weakness, Hermione was very much aware that it wouldn’t be too difficult for the others to conjure up a mental picture of the state she was in under the potion’s effects.
She just wanted to rip Draco Malfoy’s head off his shoulders.
He had kissed her!
Draco Malfoy had kissed her.
That’s just... Aaargh!
The most disheartening thing of all was that he had been the first boy she had ever kissed. Mind you, she had kissed before; it had just never been a boy. Two years ago, Lavender Brown had spontaneously offered to give her a kissing-lesson, and Hermione hadn’t objected. She had wanted to know how to do it when she would need to do it... which up until today was only to teach Ginny how to do it.
Not only had Malfoy kissed her, he had kissed her while she had been... touching herself. That was just wrong! Hermione was very relieved to note that Madame Pomfrey hadn’t seemed the least bit shocked at all, but she was a trained nurse and probably didn’t get shocked very easily anymore. When Malfoy had walked in the room, Hermione would have done anything to be able to stop what she had been doing. She had really tried to stop. But her need had just been too great. Never before had she felt such complete and total need to be...
Hermione cringed.
Oh gods, she couldn’t even say it.
Whenever the topic of sex would come up, Hermione would refer to it as ‘lovemaking’ or ‘the physical act of love’. She hadn’t exactly done any of it, but she just found words like ‘fucking’ or ‘shagging’ to be offensive. Still, whatever she had wanted earlier that day, ‘lovemaking’ had had nothing to do with it.
No, she had wanted to be fucked senseless until she couldn’t even remember her own name.
Instead she had had to suffice with the help of her own hand, which by itself was something she had only recently discovered she could do. But this time relief just didn’t want to come. It was as if she had been hovering on the edge of orgasm with nothing to push her over it.
Until Malfoy showed up anyway. Him and his lips had propelled her over the edge and got her the release she had been craving for.
Off all people, why did it have to be him to have seen her like that?
Hermione was scared. She was really scared of what Malfoy might say to other people. She knew it was silly and sexist, but she was very much aware that however liberated the western world might be, they still lived in a society where it was plainly unacceptable to hear a woman express the fact that she felt ‘horny’.
Masturbating in public is like shouting the assessment off the roof through a giant bullhorn.
It apparently wasn’t even over yet; Hermione had been briefed about what was in store if Snape wouldn’t come up with an antidote soon.
Malfoy was going to have to... feel her up.
Why did the horrid sod have to use his own blood? Why didn’t he read the footnotes? They’re there for a bloody reason!
Hermione was plainly horrified by it all.
She was horrified by the fact that she had suddenly gotten herself ‘outed’ as a sexual creature.
And she also was horrified by the fact that she felt a little liberated by it.
Hermione sighed and twisted herself around so she was lying on her back, facing the ceiling.
Yes, as gruelling as his whole situation might be, a small part of her felt liberated. Let’s face it, no one had ever seen her as ‘sexual’. Harry and Ron saw her as ‘one of the guys’ and everyone else only saw her as the smart, know-it-all Head Girl with the bushy hair.
Hermione was marked as ‘asexual’ and she knew it.
She had never quite minded that, really. She was only average in appearance and would probably never be regarded as ‘sexy’ or ‘desirable’. She knew she wasn’t unattractive, she was just... plain. Her hair was still as unmanageable as ever, she had a pale, mousy complexion and she rarely wore make-up since she was an absolute klutz when applying it and constantly ended up looking like a hooker. Certain people might find her physically attractive, but she would never appeal to the mainstream. Not that this mattered to her much, since she wasn’t all that interested in the way she looked. As long as she was clean, healthy and smelled nice, she was satisfied. Besides, she really had no use for being seen as ‘sexual’. She was Head Girl now, a position that demanded respect and offered guidance. She had a position of leadership; any sign of weakness could undermine her authority.
But as businesslike and practical as Hermione liked to let people think she was, there still was a part of her that wanted to explore the things one can’t learn in books. A part of her wanted to experiment with her blossoming sexuality, to go out with a guy she fancied and have fun like most of her peers. You only live once, every day should be cherished and you might as well enjoy the time you have.
But until now, dating and sex hadn’t made its way on Hermione’s agenda just yet. Mind you, it wasn’t her duties as Head Girl that stopped Hermione from perusing it. She was dedicated, but not as much as to let it dominating her life.
No, there was something else.
As much of a liberated modern-day woman Hermione liked to perceive herself to be, she was still a bit of a sappy romantic. She was ashamed to admit it, but a part of her wanted that romantic ideal where she would give herself to one man and one man only. A part of her didn’t want to waste any time ‘messing around’ with someone she only liked at a certain time, only to get bored when the initial lovey-dovey phase was over.
Somehow the thought of the knight in shining armour swooping her off her feet had lodged itself into her head and wouldn’t go away.
Hermione was a smart, logical and down to earth person; she knew it was completely juvenile to hold on to silly ideas like that. It was a crazy idea really, since Hermione also found the thought of being chained to one person for the rest of her life confining enough to send her into a fit of hyperventilation. She didn’t know much about relationships from personal experience, but she had read enough about them to know what its weakest links were. She knew that people who entered into a serious relationship with little or no sexual experience apart from their current partner, often ended up feeling as if they had missed out on something, became unhappy and frequently ended up cheating on their spouses. Therefore, she found that it would be unhealthy for her to fall for one guy and to restrict herself to him for the rest of her life.
She knew all that, but her gut instincts wouldn’t listen.
She couldn’t exactly experiment, since she only felt like doing it with someone who she could see herself spending the rest of her life with. This was something that was rather tricky; since thus far she hadn’t even met someone she would want to spend a month with.
It really wasn’t fair!
It was either that the guys she met were physically appealing, but had nothing interesting to say or they were nice to talk to, but Hermione’s stomach remained deprived of fluttering butterflies.
Damn those sappy love stories she had grown up with!
Therefore, to play on the safe side and oblige to both conflicting opinions, she had just kept herself from looking. If she wasn’t looking, there was no risk of sticking with someone because they were available. Therefore, the romantic ideal was still a distant possibility.
But if she wasn’t looking, the chance of running into said knight also was reduced to nihil. Hermione knew you need to kiss a whole bunch of frogs before you stumble upon a prince.
In the end, it was all these conflicting morals and aspirations that would do nothing more than result in her dying a virgin!
And the cherry, Hermione thought with a smirk, one the crappy cake was that everyone seemed to agree with that fact.
Why didn’t anyone see that she could be passionate?
She sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone, since she really didn’t want them to know because it would endanger her credibility as a leadership figure.
Yet, a part of her wanted to ‘gently let it slip’ anyway.
Hermione sighed and realised that this was probably one of the situations that affirmed the notion guys had that girls can’t be understood.
This time she had to agree, since she hardly understood it herself.
Hermione rolled herself off the bed and started to discard herself of her clothing in order to take a shower. The ‘potion’s result’ had left her sweaty and sticky; she definitely needed to get herself cleaned up.
As she threw her dirty clothes in the hamper and stepped into the shower, she continued to muse about her current entanglement. Having to share an intimate act with someone else was horrid and embarrassing, yet also surprisingly liberating.
Why was that?
Shouldn’t she feel violated or harassed? Hermione noted that she was more worried about what people might say or think than what she herself would be undergoing. Shouldn’t she feel anger or regret for having lost a little part of her that she would never be able to get back? If a part of her wanted to ‘save herself’ for this special person, why wasn’t she more upset that someone else was going to be touching her intimately?
As she turned on the tap and the water flow hit her flesh, Hermione suddenly understood why.
She had been forced into this thing.
The potion had been forced upon her without her knowledge and without her consent. No morals would be broken and no dreams would be forfeited because this whole thing hadn’t been her choice.
Hermione thoughtfully chewed on the inside of her cheek as she contemplated on this revelation.
She had always held freedom of choice in high regard, yet she couldn’t deny that having someone else making certain choices for her was much easier. It had taken the responsibility for the consequences out of her hands.
Hermione had been assured that Snape would come up with an antidote before Malfoy would have to go and ‘touch home plate’, so the whole thing really wouldn’t go too far.
Basically, she could undergo the wee bit of basic sexual experimentation that would be thrown at her... and it wouldn’t be her fault. She wouldn’t be crossing any of the lines her conflicting morals and desires had marked for her, because whatever would happen; it would be Malfoy’s fault.
Mind you, she wasn’t keen on the fact that it would be Malfoy on the other end of the equation, but she’d be damned if she would become the ‘Naive Little Gryffindor Who’s Innocence Had Been Stolen By The Nasty Slytherin’. She wouldn’t let Malfoy have the pleasure.
Hermione might be a virgin, but she was far from innocent.
**********
End of Chapter 2