Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. No profit is being made.
Summary: Hermione Granger was fucked.
Hermione Granger was fucked. In every sense of the word she truly was: royally screwed, hopeless, fruitless, doomed to failure, up shit's creek without a paddle. However you wanted to put it, the fact remained the same. She was fucked. She didn't need her extensive collection of textbooks or her exquisite Egyptian quills to come to that conclusion. However, she could do without having those aforementioned quills and books (or in a more casual tone, her life) sink to the depths of the lake as the result of a cruel joke. And because irony was as unflinchingly opposed to relenting as a scornful ex-lover, the rest of the contents within her favorite leather book bag just so happened to be going along for the journey.
And that is precisely how, if you happened to be taking an early evening stroll around the school's grounds, you would find Hermione Granger. Standing waist-deep in the soggy employ of one of the murkier lakes of the whole countryside (though, surely, if you had asked Hermione's opinion, she would have informed you that it was the murkiest in the whole world, but her opinions are strongly biased, and will be disregarded without hesitation).
However, it's quite obvious to the innocent bystander that there is nothing more Hermione Granger would rather not be doing than standing in said lake. This could easily be deciphered by either her stance: arms folded across chest and her face set in a severe frown, the kind in which is usually reserved for petulant children not getting their way, or the rather colorful slew of curse words which she happened to be hissing under her breath with enough venom to challenge that of an anaconda's. And if you had bothered to ask, she would have told you that her doing so was entirely not her fault (because Hermione is a lady, and if she knows only one thing, she knows it's not polite for a lady to swear), and could have been avoided, had the wizarding world enforced a simple rule outlawing marrying within the family and the like.
But you're not here to ask Hermione Granger questions. For this is not your story. This is, without a doubt, my story. And though that is a moot point, I am here to relay to you one message, and one message alone: that Hermione Granger was fucked. And as charming and amiable as this introduction surely has been, there is still a story that needs to be told. And tell it I shall.
Hermione Granger loved to follow the rules; a true lady of the law, you could call her. Though she had a particularly large blind spot concerning tender subjects (tender subjects being Ron Weasley and Harry Potter), she was still a firm believer that rules were invented with intent to be followed. She was all about abiding rules. She was a rules sandwich with extra-creamy rule sauce. Which, in Hermione Granger's opinion, was the true recipe for fun.
So when the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry learned of the Giant Squid's current state of severe illness, Hermione was appalled upon hearing that a handful students had planned to take a trip down to the lake, even after instructed to stay away to better allow the Squid a quick and full recovery. And she was even more so appalled upon being physically dragged out of the library, barely being able to gather her books in time, by her two tender subjects, both of whom eager to defy the concrete law set by their Headmistress. But being Head Girl, Hermione felt it pivotal to her duties to the school to put an end to this blasphemous treachery of the rules. Even when it, no, especially when it concerned her tender subjects.
At this point of near desperation, Hermione, who felt rather righteous and revolutionary (so much so that her aura of authority alone would be enough to inspire Rosa Parks to remain seated), did the only thing in her nature she knew to do, and grabbed handfuls of the tender subjects' sweater vests. And gave a hefty tug. They nearly flew backwards, both eliciting startled grunts at the same time. Hermione stood before them then, hands on her hips, irritation rolling off of her in waves, clearly as frightening as a mouse to an elephant.
"What do you two think you're doing?" she had asked them desperately, less in the sense of caring about their well-being, and more so in the tone of 'you're making me look bad'.
They halted immediately, both donning the look of innocent children, as if they previously planned to do so. But Hermione Granger knew better than to be hoodwinked by two teenaged ne'er-do-wells. Hermione Granger had game (although she'd never admit that to a soul, for it would appear pompous and self-absorbed).
What she then said was, "You were told to keep away from the lake, were you not?" but her tone and her vehement glare alone suggested what she meant to say was something not as kosher for the ears of innocent passerby-ers. Harry had cast a longing glance over his shoulder, watching as the entire student body managed to slip out of the castle as covertly as possible. Hermione's attention had remained attached to the tender subjects before her, not seeing nor caring about the other students. For, as the old adage states, you are only as good as the company you keep. You reap what you sow. And Hermione Granger only sows golden deeds, and already her company could use vast improvement. She was in no position to downgrade.
Ron had then puffed up his chest, a gleam shone in his eye as he began, "She's right, Harry. Lets just go –-."
"Shut it, Ronald," Hermione interceded with a glare. His mouth hung open with hurt while something else inspired a second attempt.
"But I was saying -- ." It had been motivation, the poor lad. But Hermione shut him down without a vaguest notion of caring.
"Shut. It."
He stared downcast at the floor for the remainder of the argument, which wasn't long, considering Harry had decided to take action; and by that, he quite literally hauled ass towards the Entrance Hall. And as right as rainwater, there was a livid, shrieking Hermione Granger (and a love struck Ronald Weasley) on his tail (which was precisely his plan (sans the Ronald), but Hermione had a blind spot not only for tender subject number one, but also for cunning and spontaneous attacks from the rear).
So without realizing, Hermione was putting herself in quite the precarious position: blatantly breaking the rules – and without realizing it as an added bonus. Which brings me to the main part of my argument. Although she didn't know it at the time, Hermione Granger was fucked.
Like, stepped-on-a-nail, underwear-stuck-in-skirt, forgot-to-write-four-foot-long-potions-scroll, cheated-on-your-wife-on-anniversary, and performing-fellatio-in-your-parents-bed-and-getting-caught; fucked. But we need not get too far off target, for there is still plenty more story to be told.
Upon arriving at the lake's edge (with a fairly angered stitch on one side, and a highly annoying Weasley at the other – offering his masseuse services, much to her dismay), Hermione was disgusted to see the swarm of students standing along excitedly. Hermione Granger liked things to be in order. Prim and proper, she said, and there was no other way around it. Order certainly did not involve a vast majority of the students to be loudly encouraging a small group of students (later identified at Slytherins – or right prats, Hermione would say) to do something, and in turn cheering them on.
She physically forced herself through a break in the gap and stared, quite stunned, really, at the spectacle unfolding before her eyes. Standing along the shoreline were two large brutes (Crabbe and Goyle, or perhaps Millicent had cut her hair?), who both appeared to be aiming what looked like to be hexes at the already ill-fated Giant Squid. Also in company were Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, although Hermione couldn't decide which of the two was examining their fingernails more thoroughly.
Just as Hermione was about to voice her opinions on that matter (which was against her better judgement, really) she recognized a gut-wrenching drawl telling Goyle to aim more to the left. Hermione's brain short-circuited. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire, and she was absolutely positive that she couldn't work the muscles needed to speak because they were currently occupied with allowing her jaw to drop to the floor (which was really quite the pity, considering she looks far less attractive as a gaping fool than as a studious social leaper).
Removing the cobwebs, Hermione stared at Draco Malfoy like he was the butt of a bad joke (or of a mule, whichever came first (or was more willing), really). She glared into his eyes for a short while, as if trying to transmit a message to him. Apparently there were no lights on inside that particular Malfoy Manor, so she decided to break the treaty she made with herself (only when dealing with dregs of humanity like the unfortunate soul, Draco Malfoy) and decided to be the first to initiate conversation.
"Malfoy!" Hermione said in a low, accusatory tone. It sounded more like a puppy's growl than an angry female, but she couldn't be bothered with it when her inner authoritarian (and outer, really, considering she had her Head Girl pin pressed and polished on her chest) was being repeatedly slapped in the face.
And in the shortest of seconds, a whirlwind of insanity forced itself upon the situation. Miraculously (though, not for the Squid) Crabbe was able to physically hit the Giant Squid with a hex, eliciting a groan from it. The crowd behind them actually erupted in cheers, while simultaneously Blaise Zabini asked Pansy if his complexion was oily and Draco Malfoy's smirk deepened, as if the sheer sarcasm it emitted could pummel Hermione into the ground.
"Malfoy! You're Head Boy; do something!" she exclaimed, agitation crackling through her being like wildfire.
He feigned a look of helplessness (or perhaps he was just mocking her) before saying, "But Granger, what ever could I do?"
She slid her bag off her shoulder and dropped it by her feet, and after doing so she put her hands on her hips and threw a look of irritation his way, before gesturing to his friends by the shore. "That's what you could do, for a start. I don't care what you do or how you do it, just dosomething. You're the Head Boy, it's your responsibility to the school to set an example to the younger, hey, Malfoy, what are you –," Hermione trailed off as Malfoy approached her, and he looked a little too at ease.
What happened next, well, it took everyone in the vicinity by surprise, because really, it happened so fast, that it was a blur and then, bam!, back to reality they went. Hermione Granger's reflexes were, for lack of a fancy adjective, absolutely terrible. Her wandwork was nothing short of precise, but where she excelled in that, she lacked in hand-eye-coordination and sharp reflexes. Which is why she didn't start yelling protests until Draco Malfoy already held her bag over her head. Until he began swinging it quickly over both of their heads and until he released her bag, and it went sailing through the sky, in slow-motion no less, and until it broke the surface of the lake and started to sink, the only signs of it existing were little air-bubbles here and there.
All sound had been muted during the event and all actions had been halted. The entire world was at a standstill, which suited Hermione just fine. It gave her time to dwell on the tiny violin playing above her shoulder, which was completely necessary for the situation.
It was necessary because Hermione Granger was fucked.
She rounded on Draco Malfoy, stared him down for a few moments, silently trying to convey that that was not what she meant by 'do something'. Her heart was thumping angrily in her chest with an overwhelming wave of emotions. The Slytherins had congregated, and were now all congratulating Malfoy on his job well done. Pansy Parkinson had taken notice of the look on Hermione's face (which surely couldn't have been too appealing) and began wailing madly with laughter.
Hermione was just focused on how badly she was fucked. Her books. Her quills. Her scrolls. Her homework. Her essays. Her ink. Absolutely everything. Sinking. Mere weeks before finals. She could not believe her luck. So what's a girl to do?
She had first tried to grope in her back pocket for her wand, buttocks be damned, but came up empty. Her mind raced in a complete frenzy for a fraction of a second before she realized where her wand was: currently brushing up on its synchronized swimming skills in the sodding lake with merpeople and flocks of Grindylows. And all of this just a few short weeks before exams. Fan fucking tastic.
After she realized she was hopeless and without a wand (which was not something Hermione had a fair amount of experience dealing with), she maniacally rounded on the small group of Slytherins (or naturally inebriated fools, as Hermione had decided they were on that very moment) and mentally calculated the time and effort it would take for her feeble left-hook to completely silence the lot. Judging by the way Pansy Parkinson (right cow) was quite literally rolling about the ground shrieking in highly unattractive bouts of laughter, it wouldn't take her very long. So she weighed her options. She could either pummel the non-suspecting wrongdoers, or she could take a swan dive into the lake (which would probably grant more laughter at her expense) and salvage the remains of her possessions.
Deciding against the former (mostly because she was desperate to save her schoolwork), she kissed the last ounce of dignity she could scrape together goodbye and removed her light sweater and braced herself for the murky water she knew was awaiting her presence. Just as she was about to waddle out into the lake (and doing so quite apprehensively), a heavy hand grabbed a handful of her uniform oxford, thus completely halting her actions.
She turned with suspicion, fully expecting to find the first victim of her brutal Tae-Kwan-Doe worthy smack down, but instead was presented with Ron Weasley (tender subject number two): awkwardly (and unsuccessfully) attempting to peel his shirt over his head. It looked as though his head and his arm were not adhering to this new plan of his, and fully wished his shirt to remain one with his body. Which, to Hermione, looked like he was performing an odd new-agey dance that hadn't yet caught on in 99.997 of the globe (the other .003 owing mostly to the delightful young chaps, much like Ronald, trying in vain to enrapture the hearts of wisely ignorant lady friends).
"Ron?" Hermione asked in a bored (why must you embarrass me so?) voice, trying to gain his attention. Yet his arms still flailed over his head and he still seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that his ministrations had gained the attentions of more than just Hermione. The group of Slytherins, headed by Draco Malfoy (because what was a group of circus monkeys without their ring-leader?), had begun to slow down on their knee-slapping laugh-fest at his request, and had now started to unanimously pay apt attention to the gangly redhead making a right arse of himself.
So rather than staying and making herself a spectacle by association, she kicked off her loafers and took the first step into the black water of the lake. Despite the warm weather of mid-spring, the lake's temperature left very little to be desired.
Which brings us to precisely where we left off. Hermione Granger the sitting duck, fucked, and stranded in freezing cold water, courtesy of the Murky Lake Extraordinaire. It the most casual of terms, she absolutely hated her life. She was completely and utterly ridiculous.
Her knees were knocking, and not from anything noble or brave like, oh say, the water being cold. No, Hermione Granger's knees were knocking because she was crying. Sobbing would actually be a word to describe was she was doing more expressly. Wailing.
She couldn't hear herself over the laughter and jeers from the other students. Her back was facing them; giving them a better view of her back as it was shaken with the force of her sobs. She was crying (wailing) so loudly, in fact, that she was completely (unfortunately) unable to recognize the startled gasps of her peers.
"Blimey, it's McGonagall!"
"Run away, you daft cow!"
"Bloody hell, we should disapparate!" (Hermione's ears would have bled upon hearing that, for having to remind the students once more that there were anti-apparation wards placed on the span of the school grounds would surely drive her straight up a wall)
"I don't know, Pans. I still think my nose is a spot crooked."
"Did Flitwick assign homework?"
"Don't eat that chocolate frog!"
"Don't you dare touch me there! Don't even think about it, you randy git."
"Ms. Granger!" And you had better bet your best chickens, your prized hens even, that Hermione Granger heard that one. "Never in my years of teaching have I seen such blatant disrespect; and from a star pupil at that!"
If Hermione wasn't crying before, she certainly was now. She spotted Draco Malfoy standing to the left of their Headmistress's shoulder. He was smirking something fierce. Hermione was about to throw the petulant child card and point at Malfoy, tattle on him and say it was all his fault, when of nature's own will Headmistress McGonagall turned to him.
"Andyou, Mister Malfoy. You should know better than to allow such acts as these! Have you learned nothing? Have you no idea the influence you two have on these students?" She swiveled madly between the two now, Hermione would have found it amusing, the way her professor was moving about like a slippery eel, had it not been for the present situation at hand.
And as if the fates were prompting the words out of the professor's mouth, for they would be the ones to know the one thing Hermione would hate to hear, Professor McGonagall gave them both detentions.
"Tonight! After dinner! No wands."
And she left. She stormed away, and as if on second thought, whipped back around to yell, "AND GET OUT OF THAT LAKE, MISS GRANGER!"
So where on earth do we find Hermione Granger now? Hours and hours after the lake incident, still not properly dry (for even though her clothes were no longer saturated, she couldn't help the tears that were draining from her eyes), and fucked.
She was lying atop her bed, constant flow of salty tears from her eyes, wandless, bookless (that was a lie, but when one of hundreds are missing from a collection like Hermione's, it felt like more) and emotionally haggard. All the energy she had been exerting from crying herself into a soggy stupor resulted in her body heat raising several thousand degrees (or perhaps she was being slightly exaggerative), thus resulting in her having to borrow a strapped nighty, a lacy get-up that did little for the purpose of covering a body. She shuddered to think of what had happened when Ginny (the naughty piece of lace's owner) wore this piece for Harry, or rather, how long the piece stayed on when worn before Harry.
She should have boiled the garment before accepting to wear it.
Hermione Granger was fucked.
She was fucked and she hated her life. And she decided to do something extremely stupid, because when people are emotional they tend not to think logically, because then they would be faced with the fact that they're emotional, and they'd wallow even more. So Hermione's brain was practically turned off, and she was acting crazy.
Fuzzy slippers on feet, burly plaid bathrobe on body, hair a frizzy, knotted mess, Hermione Granger stole out of her dormitory. She assumed she'd be lucky enough to scrape past the Common Room unharmed. How unlucky she truly was.
"Hermione?"
As if Hermione's night could possibly get any worse. Well, ladies and gentlemen (or rather, gentleman, because surely little men read such lengths of female woe), any worse now has a name and it is Ronald Weasley.
"I'm going to use the Prefect's Bathroom, Ron," Hermione said dryly. She was sour all right; if it hadn't been for him and her favorite (and only remaining) tender subject (Harry, was the name) wanting to break the rules so vehemently, she surely would not be in her current mess, and she would be doing her essays on her nice crisp scrolls and would have available use to her wand.
"I'll go with you, then!" Ron offered excitedly. Hermione narrowed her eyes with annoyance.
"To the bathroom?"
"I could keep you company," he suggested.
"In the bathroom, Ron?"
"Well, to the bathroom, perhaps."
"Go to sleep, Ron."
"But - ,"
"No. Absolutely not. I'm leaving. You best not follow. Bathroom business needs no company."
Hermione left the Common Room with Common Ron standing there, the whole gangly height of him shrinking as he sunk into the loneliest loveseat in the whole castle.
The entire walk to the lake was absolutely the most terrifying moment of Hermione's entire life. Facing dark wizards at the age of fifteen? Gone with the fucking wind. Sneaking out of the castle at eighteen? The most idiotic and frightening twenty minutes of her entire short but strict life.
Assuming from her earlier reaction, one could assume that the last thing Hermione would willingly do would be to go into the lake once more; and this time at night. She wasn't quite sure how she expected to find her things at this hour, especially with no light source, but as mentioned earlier, she was emotional and she was crazy. Therefore she hadn't given it much thought.
Removing her bathrobe and slippers she found yet another flaw in her plan. Ginny's nightdress. Hadn't Ginny specifically asked Hermione not to ruin it in any way? Hermione eyed the murky lake. Taking a late evening, post-detention dip would certainly constitute as ruining. Hermione's heart began to pound madly in her chest.
She peered around the area, making damn well sure that nobody was around before she did the unthinkable. She removed the tiny lace nightdress. This was unthinkable for one reason, and one reason that could clearly be seen. Hermione chose not to wear undergarments to sleep, so now her body was on display for all looking. Which was mostly limited to Fang, Hagrid's surly dog, but she didn't want to even risk that.
She held her bosom tightly with her arms (not that there was much to hold, sadly, but so that she wouldn't squander her last bit of modesty) as she waddled out into the water. She had reached mid-chest-level depths of water, and started paddling also with her arms. Here looked like the correct home of her books. Just as she was about to dive into the water, a figure broke surface right before her. Right before her and her extremely exposed bosom.
Hermione Granger was fucked. So fucked, in fact, that she had no time at all to react to what was happening. Her arms were in no way covering her chest as they had been before, and the figure before her had gained a good ten seconds to stare completely at her chest uninterrupted.
"Granger?!?" the nameless figure asked with shock and surprise. Not so nameless anymore, Hermione realized, upon recognizing the voice. She hollered a quick "OH MY GOD!" before frantically whipping her arms around herself.
"Malfoy?"
She simply could not believe her luck.
"Granger, are you naked?" She let out another yelp to the lord and Draco Malfoy swayed forward and began laughing ridiculously jubilantly.
As this all happened, something long and hard grazed her thigh. And Hermione, having sexual education classes forced upon her in her Muggle schoolings knew enough to know that what she felt was something she certainly did not want to be feeling at that precise moment. Especially when it was Draco Malfoy standing before her in the murky lake.
"Malfoy, was that…?" She looked to his face for conformation, and apparently he felt the grazing incident as well, because his eyes were as wide as saucers. Which was enough conformation for Hermione. Draco Malfoy was starkers. Hermione Granger was also starkers. They were starkers together.
Bloody hell, they were technically skinny-dipping.
And she had felt his penis. His erect penis, she had to remind herself. Hermione had to force herself to not think about how and why his penis had been the way it was.
"What are you doing here?!" Hermione asked in an accusatory tone.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm getting my things, Malfoy. Incase you hadn't remembered, they're here because of you."
"As delighted as I am to hear the recap, I was leaning more towards, why are you in here? Naked?"
"Why are you? Are you the only one allowed to be naked in this lake?"
"If so, Granger, then I say we must alert the merpeople."
"You're charming, really. Why?"
"Why? Well, I was raised right, you know, Granger. Mummy always told me -,"
"Not that," Hermione spat. "Why are you in here? Why are you naked?"
"I couldn't possibly soil silk boxers, now could I?"
"Malfoy. Tell me or I'm reporting you to McGonagall."
"You'd have to explain to her why you were in the water, as well. And I'm sure she'd be curious to know why you were naked."
"Malfoy!" Her angered yell echoed off the surface of the lake and rebounded into the trees of the Scottish terrain around them. Malfoy flinched.
"I was getting your bag, Granger. Are you pleased with yourself?"
"You, what?"
"I got your bloody bag, Granger."
She glared at him.
"Why didn't you just use your wand?"
"Summoning spells don't work too charmingly when what you're trying to summon is under water, Granger. Surely you should know that."
"Not a great time to be cheeky now, Malfoy. Why did you get my bag for me?"
He didn't respond; he just splashed water lamely with the tips of his fingers.
"Aren't you afraid that your little friends will find you out? Tease you something dreadful?"
"I could care less, Granger."
"I hardly believe that."
"Don't."
"I won't."
"You're off your rocker."
"You felt guilty."
"Absolutely not."
"Oh, you did. You felt terrible."
"I feel terrible that I'm in a breeding pool of germs with you, Granger."
"Blimey, Malfoy. You care."
Before he could snap that he didn't care, Hermione's insane emotional self launched herself across the water, creating a small wave in her wake, and kissed him.
Hermione Granger had completely lost her mind. She was completely naked, completely insane, and completely snogging a completely naked Draco Malfoy. Who, if I have any say in the matter, was also completely insane. Her insane hands roamed across his naked back, his insane hands squeezed her very naked breasts.
And at this point, readers, it would appear that we've come full circle. Once again, we find Hermione Granger waist-deep in the soggy employ of the lake. And I shall declare, once more, (in literal and figurative terms this time) that Hermione Granger was fucked.
El fin.