Greenhouse 3 - Draco/Hermione
This'll eventually get posted at Hawthorn & Vine, but I figured the unbeta'd version can be put up. It'll also eventually make it's way across my beta's red pen, so for now, any mistakes are mine :)
It's probably a little improbable with the way I wrote Professor Sprout, but it was fun to write nonetheless.
Greenhouse 3
Series: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,021
Summary:
He’d backed them into the far corner where the afternoon shadows were the deepest, and with only a cursory glance back to check that the door was closed, picked her up by the hips and pressed his lips to hers. Any sounds she couldn't suppress were lost in the tangle of tongues, the dulcet notes slipping seamlessly from her mouth to his. He'd long since taught her the importance of keeping quiet; they were never truly alone during the day.
His fingers tightened their grip after he swallowed a particularly loud whimper and Draco paused infinitesimally as the shuffle of feet went by. Five of them, he absently noted. Cradled between her thighs, he felt himself harden even more as the faceless group passed, their voices loud and silhouettes painting themselves against the foggy glass and his eyelids. An uncontrolled roll of his hips and he felt her shudder in response. Maybe she thrived on that very real danger of discovery?
He knew he did.
He pulled back just enough to breathe against her lips, smiling faintly has she nipped at his in protest. Strong as his urge was to have her-take her, take her, take her-they both knew there wasn’t time for more. He shook his head when she tried pressing him to herself again and watched her ears almost pull up at the sound of footsteps heading in their direction. They shared a look of quiet disappointment and allowed themselves the final pleasure of her sliding down his front. She was once again on her feet and across the room before the squeak of the door announced a new arrival to Greenhouse 3.
Pomona Sprout pushed the door open with a hip, muttering as the heavy load of clay pots she carried disrupted her view. There was movement to her left before hands appeared and took the box from her startled person.
“Where would you like these, Professor?” She looked up at the Slytherin and slowly nodded her thanks.
“You can put the pots on the centre table, Mr. Malfoy,” she began, watching interestedly as the Malfoy heir did as instructed. There was movement to her right now and Pomona turned to see Hermione Granger returning a trowel to its box. Her brow arched up almost to the flyaway fringe of her hair.
“Just working on your assignment, Professor. It is due in three days.”
“Of course, Ms. Granger,” Pomona replied after the slightest of hesitations. “If I remember correctly, you were studying Mandrakes and their uses in battle.”
“Yes, Professor.” Hermione was brushing dirt from her robes. “It would be a small deterrent and something that would only work once, but we believe that, with proper preparation, the cry of the Mandrakes can be used as an initial line of defence.”
“And if we use the baby Mandrakes instead of fully matured ones, there is the added benefit of the victims still being alive, which allows for interrogation later,” Draco added.
“Yes, very good,” Pomona moved towards the door. She had more supplies to get, but as she touched the door handle, she turned back. Malfoy was now the one brushing dirt from his robes whilst Granger looked expectantly at her. “You may want to look into Shielding Shrubs. They can be a good complement to using Mandrakes. Versatile plants, they are. Good for hiding the distinctive stalk of the Mandrakes and, more importantly, preventing ... unwelcome surprises.”
“Thank you, Professor. We’ll keep that in mind,” Hermione replied brightly.
Draco waited one minute after the door closed behind Sprout before turning back to Hermione.
“Nice one, Granger.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean, is that nothing makes you guiltier than answering a question that wasn’t asked.” He pitched his voice higher, watching as realization, followed closely by panic, played across her face. “’Just working on your assignment, Professor.’”
“Oh no.” Hermione buried her face in her hands. “She knows.”
“Damn straight she knows.” Draco’s voice was wondering as he followed the blurry form of their Herbology professor crossing the yard. He turned back to her, grinning crookedly. “But something tells me she doesn’t mind.”
“Are you off your rocker?” Hermione was doing a frantic half dance, half pacing walk around the greenhouse. “She’s going to report us to Professor McGonagall and Snape-to Professor Dumbledore too!” Her jaw dropped and Draco imagined she could see all her hopes for perfect marks and virginal purity going down the drain. “He’ll expel us, and I’ll end up working at The Hog’s Head for Knuts and the occasional Sickle.”
“You’d get Galleons,” he assured her. Draco reached out a hand. “I’d be your best tipper.”
Hermione slapped his hand away before it got anywhere near her. “I refuse to think any longer that I’ll end up as some barmaid who’ll get extra if she gives extra,” she sniffed. “We’ll just have to explain what we were doing here.”
“Oh yes. I can see that going over very well.” Draco rolled his eyes. He avoided her slapping hands and pulled her against him. “Care to explain why Professor Sprout found you with dirt on your knees, Mr. Malfoy?”
“But you don’t have dirt on your knees.”
“Not yet I don’t.”
“Oh.”
*
An hour later found Professor Sprout once again wending her way through the Hogwarts gardens. The new box of supplies-ear muffs for the first years-had taken surprisingly long to find in the spot beside her desk right where she’d left them, but at least they were found.
A quick look ahead told her that Greenhouse 3 no longer held any visitors; the lights were off and the door was firmly shut. Pomona laughed softly before shaking her head.
Perhaps it was wrong to allow that type of behaviour-in her classroom, no less-but for the young Malfoy heir and the light in his eyes when he looked at Ms. Granger, the same one that she returned, she would let it go.
And besides, for all the grime that had made its home under her nails over the years, Pomona had been young once too.
x-posted to blackestfaery and dramione
It's probably a little improbable with the way I wrote Professor Sprout, but it was fun to write nonetheless.
Greenhouse 3
Series: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,021
Summary:
He’d backed them into the far corner where the afternoon shadows were the deepest, and with only a cursory glance back to check that the door was closed, picked her up by the hips and pressed his lips to hers. Any sounds she couldn't suppress were lost in the tangle of tongues, the dulcet notes slipping seamlessly from her mouth to his. He'd long since taught her the importance of keeping quiet; they were never truly alone during the day.
His fingers tightened their grip after he swallowed a particularly loud whimper and Draco paused infinitesimally as the shuffle of feet went by. Five of them, he absently noted. Cradled between her thighs, he felt himself harden even more as the faceless group passed, their voices loud and silhouettes painting themselves against the foggy glass and his eyelids. An uncontrolled roll of his hips and he felt her shudder in response. Maybe she thrived on that very real danger of discovery?
He knew he did.
He pulled back just enough to breathe against her lips, smiling faintly has she nipped at his in protest. Strong as his urge was to have her-take her, take her, take her-they both knew there wasn’t time for more. He shook his head when she tried pressing him to herself again and watched her ears almost pull up at the sound of footsteps heading in their direction. They shared a look of quiet disappointment and allowed themselves the final pleasure of her sliding down his front. She was once again on her feet and across the room before the squeak of the door announced a new arrival to Greenhouse 3.
Pomona Sprout pushed the door open with a hip, muttering as the heavy load of clay pots she carried disrupted her view. There was movement to her left before hands appeared and took the box from her startled person.
“Where would you like these, Professor?” She looked up at the Slytherin and slowly nodded her thanks.
“You can put the pots on the centre table, Mr. Malfoy,” she began, watching interestedly as the Malfoy heir did as instructed. There was movement to her right now and Pomona turned to see Hermione Granger returning a trowel to its box. Her brow arched up almost to the flyaway fringe of her hair.
“Just working on your assignment, Professor. It is due in three days.”
“Of course, Ms. Granger,” Pomona replied after the slightest of hesitations. “If I remember correctly, you were studying Mandrakes and their uses in battle.”
“Yes, Professor.” Hermione was brushing dirt from her robes. “It would be a small deterrent and something that would only work once, but we believe that, with proper preparation, the cry of the Mandrakes can be used as an initial line of defence.”
“And if we use the baby Mandrakes instead of fully matured ones, there is the added benefit of the victims still being alive, which allows for interrogation later,” Draco added.
“Yes, very good,” Pomona moved towards the door. She had more supplies to get, but as she touched the door handle, she turned back. Malfoy was now the one brushing dirt from his robes whilst Granger looked expectantly at her. “You may want to look into Shielding Shrubs. They can be a good complement to using Mandrakes. Versatile plants, they are. Good for hiding the distinctive stalk of the Mandrakes and, more importantly, preventing ... unwelcome surprises.”
“Thank you, Professor. We’ll keep that in mind,” Hermione replied brightly.
Draco waited one minute after the door closed behind Sprout before turning back to Hermione.
“Nice one, Granger.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean, is that nothing makes you guiltier than answering a question that wasn’t asked.” He pitched his voice higher, watching as realization, followed closely by panic, played across her face. “’Just working on your assignment, Professor.’”
“Oh no.” Hermione buried her face in her hands. “She knows.”
“Damn straight she knows.” Draco’s voice was wondering as he followed the blurry form of their Herbology professor crossing the yard. He turned back to her, grinning crookedly. “But something tells me she doesn’t mind.”
“Are you off your rocker?” Hermione was doing a frantic half dance, half pacing walk around the greenhouse. “She’s going to report us to Professor McGonagall and Snape-to Professor Dumbledore too!” Her jaw dropped and Draco imagined she could see all her hopes for perfect marks and virginal purity going down the drain. “He’ll expel us, and I’ll end up working at The Hog’s Head for Knuts and the occasional Sickle.”
“You’d get Galleons,” he assured her. Draco reached out a hand. “I’d be your best tipper.”
Hermione slapped his hand away before it got anywhere near her. “I refuse to think any longer that I’ll end up as some barmaid who’ll get extra if she gives extra,” she sniffed. “We’ll just have to explain what we were doing here.”
“Oh yes. I can see that going over very well.” Draco rolled his eyes. He avoided her slapping hands and pulled her against him. “Care to explain why Professor Sprout found you with dirt on your knees, Mr. Malfoy?”
“But you don’t have dirt on your knees.”
“Not yet I don’t.”
“Oh.”
*
An hour later found Professor Sprout once again wending her way through the Hogwarts gardens. The new box of supplies-ear muffs for the first years-had taken surprisingly long to find in the spot beside her desk right where she’d left them, but at least they were found.
A quick look ahead told her that Greenhouse 3 no longer held any visitors; the lights were off and the door was firmly shut. Pomona laughed softly before shaking her head.
Perhaps it was wrong to allow that type of behaviour-in her classroom, no less-but for the young Malfoy heir and the light in his eyes when he looked at Ms. Granger, the same one that she returned, she would let it go.
And besides, for all the grime that had made its home under her nails over the years, Pomona had been young once too.
x-posted to blackestfaery and dramione