A/N: Written for the D/Hr Valentine's Day Fic exchange, for 'Alejandra', under the criteria:
Rating(s) of
the Fic: PG-13 - NC-17
3-5 Things to Include in the Fic:
1. Angst
2. A happy-ish ending
3. Snarky!Draco
4. Lots of sexual tension
What Not to Include in the Fic:
1. A neat, tidy ending
2. Declarations of love
3. Non-con
This version has been edited, since the original contained NC-17 material. That version can be found here:
Warnings: D/Hr, angst, smut, ambiguous ending
Disclaimers: none of the characters involved belong to me, unless you count some of the Hogsmeade miscellany. I am making no money from this
Enjoy!
D minus 7Hermione had her own spot in the library. So much so that one year Ron had labelled it as such, and was now banned from the library. Hermione smiled at the memory, tracing the letters carved into the old oak desk with one lazy finger. No one had managed to restore the desk to its former glory, and a secret part of her was pleased she be immortalised in this way. The not so secret part of her had had a go at Ron for despoiling school property, of course.
A pale hand slammed on to the table in front of her, making her jump. Pale, slender, manicured nails, soft skin and expensive rings.
"Hello, Malfoy," Hermione sighed.
Her diary thumped onto the desk in front of her as well, but as her hand shot out to grab it the diary was whisked away almost immediately. Her fingers brushed the rough cover for a split second.
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You have my attention," she said softly.
"You're not even going to ask how I got it?" Malfoy smirked, sliding into the seat opposite her. It had been Ron's seat, when he was still allowed in the library, and the thought of Malfoy there made Hermione's lip curl in disgust.
"Blackmail is despicable," she said bluntly. "I'd been expecting it of you for years."
Malfoy shrugged the slur away. "I need a favour," he said.
"A favour that you think you need to blackmail me for?" Hermione laughed softly. "What a way to make certain I wouldn't do it, though you could have offered me roses and I'd still have spat at you."
"Oh, keep talking to me that way, darling," Malfoy rolled his eyes. "The diary is to make sure you don't talk. Repeat what I'm going to tell you and I'll stand on the staff table at supper and read out the most delectable extracts from this scandalous piece of literature."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What, that I spent days feeling guilty because I accidentally saw one of the answer on Harry's paper in the Charms quiz, and felt like I'd cheated, even though he'd got it wrong?"
Draco shrugged. "You're quite the little dullard," he acknowledged, "but I can forge what I need. Tell me, which would be more shameful: a long standing crush on Ginny or an illicit affair with Snape?"
"Are you going to ask me this favour?" Hermione sighed heavily.
Malfoy opened his mouth and shut it again. Hermione watched him curiously. He was definitely embarrassed about what he had to say. Well, it had to be something big, for him to come to her. He sat there, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish for a few seconds, glancing around the library and frowning at the desk. Eventually he leant in and started to whisper to Hermione out of the corner of his mouth.
"You know I'm with Pansy Parkinson," he began.
Hermione snorted, and Malfoy immediately shut up. "You look like a weasel," Hermione explained candidly, "but even you could do better than that pug-like girl."
"When did you get so bitchy?" Malfoy's eyebrows knitted.
"There are two people here I really don't like: you and her," Hermione explained sweetly. "It's so fitting you should end up together. Our children will probably loathe each other as well."
Malfoy flushed red, to Hermione's surprise. "There's no hope for that if you don't help me now," he said. "You're the second best at potions in this school."
"Second?"
"Well, naturally, I'm the first," he gave her a superior look.
"So why do you need my help?"
"Because you've got experience breaking into Snape's closet of doom, and I haven't."
"Closet of Doom?" Hermione giggled despite herself. Malfoy gave her a knowing look. "So what is it so desperate that you can't go to Snape?"
"The other day. Potions. Shrinking Solution. Robes," Malfoy managed in short stutters.
Hermione's eyes widened as the truth dawned. Her shoulders shook with silent laughter.
"Stop, or it'll be Hagrid you're secret crush is on," he said coldly.
"And it's Valentine's Day next week, isn't it?" Hermione spluttered. "Oh, Malfoy."
"Apparently engorgement charms will just get me into real trouble," he growled. "I can't find anything in this section of the library that can help. You're head girl. You go and get me the books I need, find the potion I want, bring me the ingredients and-"
"I'm sorry, I hadn't realised I was your personal slave," Hermione told him.
The diary dangled in front of her face for a split second. She made a half-hearted swipe for it and watched it disappear back into Malfoy's lap. Well, she thought, amused at herself, there's a lot more space for it there now.
"Look, we've got one week. We're the best potion students in the school. Between the two of us we ought to be able to solve this," Malfoy said, a touch of desperation in his voice. "You're better at the rule-breaking thing than I am. I wouldn't know where to start. I'm an informer."
"A snitch," Hermione said absently.
"What's Quidditch got to do with this?" Malfoy frowned. Hermione shook her head. "Don't make me beg, Granger."
"You called it a favour," Hermione pointed out. "You'll owe me one."
"You think I don't know that?" Malfoy snapped. "You think I want to be beholden to you?"
"That's right, say my name like it's filth, that's really going to make me agree," Hermione said sarcastically.
Malfoy sighed. Hermione watched him as he forced his shoulder back, wiped the scowl carefully from his face, unclenched his fists and looked her levelly in the eye. Impressive.
"You're the only one who can help me. You'll have this to hold over my head. Is that enough?"
"No."
"What?" Draco's eyes widened. "Look, Granger, what do you want? Anything. Money, chocolate, clothes, jewellery, what?"
"A 'please' would be a nice start," Hermione sighed and sat back. "I'll tell you what I want, Malfoy. I want you to leave me alone after this. Leave me, and Harry, and Ron and Neville too, and Ginny, of course, and, well, most of the Gryffindors, I want you to leave us alone. No more jokes about Mudbloods or the boy who lived, or money, or purity, or anything."
"You don't think people will notice a complete personality change?"
"You don't think Pansy will notice a complete physical change?"
"She wouldn't know any better," Draco said without thinking.
Hermione laughed. Malfoy didn't even flinch this time. "I've got nothing to be ashamed of. It's a Muggle thing, sex before marriage."
"But being a teenaged boy..."
"But being such," Malfoy acknowledged with a wave of his hand. "Okay, desperate situations call for desperate measures. I can't comply completely, not all at once. Compromise?"
Hermione nodded tersely.
"I hate Potter. He hates me. He put my father in prison. You think of it as some schoolboy grudge, but it's personal. I can't leave myself open to attack from him. I'll avoid him, if you want, but if we meet I won't hold myself back any more than I have done."
"You vowed to kill him," Hermione pointed out coldly.
"And I meant it," Malfoy said in the same tone. "As I said, this is serious. Of course, I wouldn't hurt him here. It's bad enough with one Malfoy in prison. You don't have to worry about that for a long time to come."
"Oh great, you want me to make a pact with someone who's just vowed to kill my best friend 'one day'?" Hermione snorted incredulously.
"Should the opportunity arise. Granger, you know me. I'm a law-abiding citizen. As I said, you're the rule-breaker." Malfoy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Total honesty? I haven't got guts. Too squeamish. Father wanted me to follow in his footsteps and I couldn't even kill a house elf. Great death eater I'd make."
"You're too cowardly to be evil. I'm so very comforted. I'll definitely sleep easier for it," Hermione spat bitterly.
Draco looked amused. "You know you will, as well. Don't forget, I've read this thing," he waved the diary again. Hermione didn't even bother reach for it. "Look, I'll avoid him, okay? Best I can offer there. I can't stop hating him any more than you can me. As for Weasley, and the rest of that brood, fine, I'll lay off. It's been seven years. I'm running out of things to say."
"You ran out within the first week," Hermione pointed out. "Everything you've said since then was either too many kids or too little money. Generally both."
"True, but you'd be surprised how much you can get out of that."
"You know how little kids tell the same joke over and over, until their parents point out it's only funny the first time? You're parents never said that to you, did they?"
"If it was only funny the first time, why can I still get a laugh out of my house now?" Malfoy smirked.
"You want me to list the reasons?"
Malfoy sighed. "Fine, fine. Shall we keep this simple? Compromise: I avoid the Gryffindors as much as possible. I stop making jokes about your housemates I've made before. Should someone slip up, no force on earth will stop me from laughing, and even repeating the story. But nothing old."
Hermione opened her mouth and stopped. This really would be the best she could get out of Malfoy. Not only that, it was a good deal. She couldn't imagine anything that could happen in these last few months that could give him new fodder for jokes. And even if it weren't long, a brief respite would still be welcomed.
"Agreed."
Malfoy almost fell out of his chair.
"And should you break that promise, I will reveal all," Hermione smiled wickedly.
"Agreed," Malfoy nodded. "Shake on it?"
They shook on it.
History was made.
NightHermione's head swam. She couldn't sleep, and she knew precisely why. Well, who. Seven years ago, would she have thought this could happen? Could a rat-faced boy do this to her?
Well, he wasn't quite so rat faced, not any more. He was beginning to look more like his mother, like there was a permanently bad smell under his nose. An aristocratic countenance. Still, turning his nose up at everything had helped his posture a bit, and while he was never going to be a basketball player, he was too big to be a jockey. Not that any sport other than Quidditch would appeal to him.
Hermione blinked firmly at the darkness. The scarlet patterns on the inside of her eyelids mirrored those on the drapes over the bed. Gryffindor. The lion. Loyal. Proud. Strong.
Of course, lions weren't really like that. They were scavengers, just as much as any fabled hyena, and the males so rarely hunted. Hermione wanted to pick the mane from the best above her head. Lioness. She could be proud of that.
Serpents were very Freudian.
Hermione decided she didn't like the inside of her head. In the morning she'd laugh at the symbolism, and maybe even share it with Malfoy to wind him up. The problem with all this secrecy and shame was the way he sat so close to her, the way he lowered his voice so it sounded so intimate and the way his breath brushed her cheek as he whispered in his ear. He wasn't even that attractive, not really, not in a modern way. Maybe the woman who had stitched that lion, centuries ago, would have seen past the outside to the wealth and status and loved him for it.
Hermione sighed and shut up, pressing her eyelids with the heels of her palms. Back then it had made sense to marry someone like Draco. It was what girls like Hermione had done, being practical girls. But what did practical girls do these days, when it wasn't acceptable to marry for money only? They couldn't wait for love, they were too practical for that kind of feeling, and they knew physical attraction was fleeting.
Hermione stared into the darkness.
"Of course."
No wonder she was bothered. Pansy Parkinson had what she was scared she'd never have. Pansy loved. No matter what, Pansy would get married and have kids and probably be happy, as long as her husband didn't hit her. She wasn't bright enough to be unhappy.
"Too smart for your own good," Hermione muttered under her breath. "Jealous twit."
She got up, found some scissors, and stood on the bed, unpicking that pale blond mane. And she lay down lonely and stared at the lioness.