Pirate Shenanigans
As promised, a third and slightly (less silly instalment in my series, which I have now decided to call "How do you know if you're a pirate....you just ARRRRR" (because nothing is awesomer than a pun)
Cross posted in dracoxhermione, hp_fanfiction,and dramione
Title: Pirate Shenanigans
Author: imogen_penn
Rating: PG 13
Summary: "Draco was fairly certain that good girls shouldn’t kiss like this. In fact, he was pretty sure that good girls couldn’t kiss like this. Which meant that Hermione Granger was not as good as she was made out to be. Interesting."
She stood breathlessly before him, her hair blowing wildly in the rough winds, her torn blouse fluttering over her shoulders, her corset pushing her heaving bosoms high on her chest.
Draco, without moving his rapt attention from said heaving objects, reached down and pinched his arm violently. Nothing changed. Winds were still blowing, blouses were still fluttering, bosoms were still heaving.
“What are you doing here,” said Hermione sharply, crossing her arms over her ample chest and taking the words right out of his mouth.
Draco pulled himself together enough to project something like his typical scorn. “It’s hot inside.” He said, “I needed some air.” To be fair, the Halloween ball was, as always, well attended and the great hall was not very well ventilated.
Hermione smirked. “I’m not surprised, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of breathing room in those pants.” She stared rather pointedly in the direction of his leather-bound posterior.
Draco found that he was indeed having a little difficulty breathing. He didn’t think it had much to do with the pants though. He was pretty sure it was Hermione’s devastating smirk. No wonder the ladies found him irresistible, what with all the smirking he did.
“Not a lot of breathing room in that corset either, is there Granger.” Draco was quite pleased that he had managed to pull together a come back…even if it was a terribly obvious one.
Hermione gave him a withering glare. “Well clearly that is why I am out here, isn’t it?” Yep, really obvious.
There was an awkward pause.
“So,” Draco felt that, as the Slytherin of the two, he ought to throw in the next cutting remark, “What made you choose wench?” Well, not precisely cutting…but at least he was saying something and not mindlessly staring at her breasts…which is what he would really rather be doing.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. She wondered if Malfoy had any idea exactly how thin the ice he was treading on was.
“Probably the same thing that made you choose pirate.” She didn’t consider the fact that she was implicating herself at the same time as she was accusing him until after the words had come out of her mouth.
Draco took a moment to consider his response. It was patently obvious that both of them were thinking of Hermione’s muggle romance novel that had caused considerable discomfort for both of them. If it had been anyone other than Hermione Granger, Draco would have sworn she was flirting with him. As it was Hermione Granger, Draco decided to stick with sarcasm.
“What, that I look fantastic when I am tightly bound?” Hold on a second…in retrospect, Draco thought, that was mildly flirtatious. He glared angrily at the empty glass of spiked punch in his hand… “traitor,” he muttered.
If Hermione found this remark odd, she didn’t let on. Instead she asked “You think I look fantastic when I’m tightly bound?’ She had meant it to be witheringly embarrassing for him. Unfortunately, it had come out sounding rather shy and ever so slightly hopeful.
“Oh come off it Granger, no girl, however bookish, can look at that” He gestured towards her emphatically, “in the mirror and not be aware that half of the schools population is going to be drooling over it.” Well, the tone of voice was right, but Draco had a sneaking suspicion that he had just paid Hermione Granger a compliment.
Fortunately, she seemed not to know what to do about it any more than he did. So, she simply said, “well…” in the tone of voice he would expect her to use if she was called upon for a question she did not know the answer to (not that such a thing had ever occurred), turned on her heel, and marched back into the great hall.
Draco let out a tortured groan. This was really really no good. Damn Granger and her filthy novel. Damn Granger and her incredible figure that she’d been hiding all these years…and her wit…and her devastating smirk. Draco yelled at no one in particular and then kicked a nearby stone bench. He then cursed and sat down holding his injured foot. This was very undignified. Something would have to be done.
********************************
Hermione moved with purpose towards the refreshment table, telling herself firmly that she had not run away from Draco Malfoy, she was simply very thirsty.
After a ghost, Zorro, and a goblin had each very persistently tried to press drinks into her hand, she decided that she was going to have to take Draco’s point. The outfit did seem to be attracting a lot of attention. That, of course, had been the intention. Hermione just hadn’t expected it to work quite so well. She had also expected to enjoy any ogling glances that were cast her way. Instead, she found herself feeling rather ill.
Across the hall, she caught sight of Draco limping back into the hall. Well, the limping bit was interesting. Also interesting: as she caught him staring at her, a feeling like a warm and tingly butterfly uncurling itself fluttered up in her stomach. She turned to her right, where Marcus Flint was staring directly at her breasts without so much as a hint of prevarication. Naseau. Draco, butterfly. Flint, nausea. Butterfly. Naseau. Butterfly…
Several thoughts were beginning to come to her. First, she was beginning to get a crick in her neck. Second, maybe she should have stopped a few drinks ago. Third, she may be developing a crush on Draco Malfoy. She looked over in his direction again. As if being able to read her mind, a slow lazy grin spread across his face. The butterfly attempted to jump out of her throat.
*******************************
As Draco walked back into the hall, he had come to two conclusions. One: he was attracted to Hermione Granger (a level of self honestly that he only reached when truly liquored up) and two: there was nothing to be done about it except avoid the sight of her in that blasted amazing corset.
However, as he walked into the hall, he saw her looking at him across the costumed crowd. He couldn’t be sure at that distance, but he thought she had a sort of dreamy look on her face. She turned her head sharply towards Marcus Flint who (like the blunt lummox he was) was staring at her breasts. Draco had half a mind to bash his face in. But she looked vaguely ill, so Draco supposed she couldn’t be enjoying it. Then she looked back at him. Dreamy face. Flint, nausea. Him, dreamy, Flint, nausea.
He watched her do this for several moments before the implications reached his brain. Hermione granger LIKED it when he looked at her.
Draco came to two brand new conclusions. One: he was interested in Hermione Granger. Two: he was bloody well going to do something about it.
He moved towards her with single minded determination usually reserved for the snitch. This thought struck Draco, along with a very inappropriate pun. He grinned.
**************************************
Hermione took a few moments to process the fact that Draco was effectively stalking her across the great hall. It might as well have been the African savannah, because he was reminding Hermione distinctly of a jungle cat moving in for the kill and she was fervently wishing that she had gazelle like speed. His mad grin wasn’t doing much to help.
However, with nowhere to run, Hermione couldn’t do anything other than watch helplessly as he approached. She looked around frantically for Harry and Ron. Ron was over on the other side of the hall, talking animatedly to a very bored looking Parvati. Harry was nowhere to be seen, likely in some dark corner with Ginny.
Draco stopped directly in front of her, looking at her with an intensity that made her simultaneously want to run away and melt into a puddle of goo. Without a word, he grabbed her by the upper arm and began pulling her towards the door that lead into the dungeons.
“Malfoy, what do you think you’re doing!” she exclaimed, struggling rather half heartedly.
"Kidnapping you.” He said succinctly.
Hermione’s sensible side told her to knee him in the ballocks and get back to the party. However, another, larger and more audible part of her was saying ‘Oh well, that’s alright then.”
Once they were far enough away from the party that the noise was beginning to fade, Draco stopped. He took a breath that Hermione couldn’t interpret. Before she had a chance to say
anything, he pushed her up against the wall, trapping her between his arms.
Up until this point, this had all seemed like a bit of a saturnalian lark. Malfoy was undeniably attractive. And she had also undeniably had some pirate-themed fantasies about him. Halloween was about playing out fantasies, being someone else for a day. She had figured that they were playing. Sniping back and forth to expel a bit of inappropriate sexual tension, and then everything would go back to normal. Suddenly, with his face about three inches away from hers, it was very very real and Hermione was afraid.
Draco was getting carried away with this whole pirate thing. He thought he could blame the pants and the liquor for acting rather rashly. But he knew he was only going to have himself to blame the minute he saw fear in Hermione’s eyes. With a muttered “shite” he back away from her and sat down with a soft thud, leaning his head back against the wall.
“Sorry, Granger.”
“Hmphh” said Hermione eloquently, crossing her arms in front of her.
Draco knew that he was drunk. He also knew that discretion, in this instance, would probably be the better part of valor. If he simply shut his mouth and walked away, they could probably forget the whole thing ever happened, or at least chalk it up to the deadly cocktail of liquor, binding clothes, and teenaged hormones. But Draco, as always, simply had to get the last word.
“It’s your fault you know.”
Hermione looked at him incredulously. “In what way is this my fault? How exactly did I force you to manhandle me away from the ball?”
“It was you and your filthy book!” Draco exclaimed triumphantly, quickly warming to the subject. “You probably meant for me to take it from you. It was your plan all along to make me fantasize about you! In fact, you probably even charmed the book! You chest is clearly charmed to stay up like that. This is all part of some plot to get me expelled, isn’t it? Once you’ve seduced me with your magically enhanced feminine wiles you’re going to leave me lying unconscious in a hallway with some contraband! Well you have underestimated me! Bet you never thought I’d figure you out, did you!”
Draco looked half crazed. Hermione wondered just exactly how much he had had to drink. She gave him a piercing glare.
“My magically enhanced feminine wiles?” she questioned in an icy voice, “that is the stupidest…wait…you’ve been fantasizing about me?” Hermione wasn’t quite sure where that question had come from. Oh well, too late to take it back now. The butterfly in her stomach had made a reappearance and was going absolutely mad.
“Uhhh…yes?” Draco had the good grace to look vaguely embarrassed. “But you made me…” he tried lamely.
“I didn’t make you.” Said Hermione, looking at him with curiosity. “What kind of fantasies?” Hermione’s logical and rational side was telling her to shut the hell up and walk away, that this was impossible and could only lead to badness. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who you ask) her rational side seemed to have taken a vacation.
Draco looked at her sharply. Did Hermione Granger just ask him to describe his fantasies about her? Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who you ask) his rational side gave a sleepy murmle and told him to deal with this himself. It was very difficult for him to think clearly with that much ivory skin on display right in front of him and the deep, intelligent brown eyes looking at him with interest and maybe just a hint of lust.
He let the whole situation percolate for a good long moment. He was undeniably attracted to Hermione Granger. Wouldn’t have been his first choice, but one didn’t get to choose these things, did they? All evidence pointed to the fact that she was attracted to him too. They were both clearly intoxicated and thus couldn’t really be blamed for their actions, right? Right.
Draco stood up rather unsteadily from the floor. “My favorite one is where I’m that captain of a ship.” He took a step towards her. “You are the daughter of my greatest enemy.” He took another step. Hermione gave a little shiver. Draco was fairly certain she wasn’t cold. He grinned. “I kidnap you intending to hold you ransom, but you are just so bloody gorgeous that I can’t help myself.” He reached out and ran his fingers down the side of her face. She let out a low noise that completely wiped away any thought of stopping this that Draco may have had. “You’re my enemy because of your family, but it doesn’t matter because of your beauty.” He kissed her exposed shoulder “You’re spirit” he kissed her temple. “And your truly remarkable breasts.” He grinned devilishly. With a rather undignified snort of something between amusement and scorn Hermione wrapped a hand around his neck and closed the remaining distance between them, crushing her lips against his.
Hermione wasn’t quite sure what possessed her, but she had been completely incapable of stopping herself from kissing Draco Malfoy. Even now, as one hand was pulling at the hair on the nape of his neck and one was working its way under his shirt, she was telling herself that this wasn’t a very good idea and she should stop; but to no avail. Then Draco did something with his tongue that nearly caused her knees to buckle, and she told herself very firmly that this was a perfectly good idea and that she should butt out and let herself enjoy it.
Draco was fairly certain that good girls shouldn’t kiss like this. In fact, he was pretty sure that good girls couldn’t kiss like this. Which meant that Hermione Granger was not as good as she was made out to be. Interesting.
He tested his theory by moving his hand from where it rested in the small of her back over the curve of her rear. She made a breathy little noise against his mouth. He gave her a gentle squeeze. She moaned. Draco stumbled. They ended up pressed against the wall, and a particular piece of Draco’s anatomy was pressing up rather uncomfortably against his trousers.
Hermione’s brain was off. Nothing was telling her that this was a bad idea or that she should stop anymore. All she knew was that nothing that felt this good could be bad. She felt him pressing up against her, his heat in stark contrast to the cold stone wall pressing up against her back. Instead of shying away, or making some move to stop him (which she might have done in other circumstances) she hiked one leg up around his waist and pulled him closer.
Draco couldn’t remember ever feeling quite like this before. Like it was imperative that he feel her skin against his. Necessary like breathing. He began tugging at her blouse, but it was held securely under her corset. He began tugging ineffectually at the strings. He broke contact to try and get a better angle, but to no avail.
“Bloody buggering shite.” He muttered in frustration.
Hermione laughed. Draco didn’t think he’d ever heard her laugh like that before. At least, not directed at him. Usually she was laughing rather cruelly at him or because of him. This was different, and he found that he liked it a lot more. He stopped what he was doing and looked at her.
Her face was flushed, her hair unruly. He expected her to look embarrassed, awkward, but she looked…happy, and hazy. He let out a breath and forced himself to move away from her.
Now Hermione did look awkward and embarrassed. “Did…did I do something wrong?”
Lord help him, he found her insecurity endearing.
“No. Really really no. It’s just…you’re drunk.”
Hermione smiled. Draco Malfoy was being chivalrous. To her. “So are you,” she pointed out serenely.
“Yes.” He agreed, “which is why this isn’t a good idea.”
“Oh?”
“Look, we have been enemies for years.” He said, moving a little farther away from her. It made it easier to think. “Now, because of a stupid muggle book, some Halloween costumes, and a significant amount of alcohol we’re going at it in a hallway. Don’t you think we should stop and think about this?”
Hermione looked at him quite seriously. “You’re right.” She said. She paused for a moment, gathering herself together. “Of course you’re right. This is insane. We hate each other.”
“Right.” Draco agreed without much conviction.
“And the only reason we’re making out in a hallway is because of alcohol and a book.”
“Right…” Draco agreed with even less conviction.
“So, the obvious answer is we just walk away and forget that this ever happened.”
“Err…sure…” Draco was pretty sure that forgetting wasn’t going to happen without a good old fashioned obliviate…which he was also pretty sure he didn’t want.
“Well then,” said Hermione, sticking out a hand to him.
“Right.” Draco took her hand, intending to give it a brisk shake, but once his skin touched hers, he didn’t want to let go. They stood there for a long moment.
Hermione coughed awkwardly. “Well, right. I’m just going to…” she trailed off awkwardly before turning abruptly and walking away in the direction of Gryffindor tower.
Draco ran a hand through his hair, watching her go. “Well that was downright odd.” He muttered to himself, heading back to his own dorm.
*******************************
The next day, Draco was not the only bleary face stumbling in to breakfast late. Hermione, rather annoyingly, looked fresh and alert and had already finished her breakfast. She was sitting reading a book as Harry and Ron complained about their headaches. She looked up as she saw him walk in the hall. Draco though he saw the ghost of a smile cross her face, but he shook it off, must be his imagination. As he sat down, a flock of owls flew in overhead. Draco winced at the noise. He looked up, surprised as a school owl came to a hopping stop in front of him. He took the package, plainly wrapped in brown paper. It was a book. Draco hastily shoved it out of sight under the table.
This may have seemed odd to anyone paying attention. However, Draco assumed they would find it much odder if they had seen the title: “A Pirate and his Wench.” Attempting subtlety, he peeked inside the front cover. There was a note.
“Draco,
Upon further consideration, I think that, if nothing else, last night proved that we don’t really know each other all that well. I can think of at least three things you may not know about me.
1. As I am writing this, I am sober.
2. I still don’t hate you.
3. I like to take long walks near the sound side of the lake at precisely 8:00 pm.
Hermione.”
The sun was setting when Draco reached the south end of the lake. For a moment, he couldn’t see her against the glare. Then he caught sight of her, silhouetted against the glowing sky, her hair flying about a bit madly in the wind. He smiled, took a deep breath, and a few steps forward.
“Hallo wench.”
The End.