I wasn't even sure what I was writing anymore, but I was writing. I know that. A quill was in my hand, ink on the tip, scribbling away at parchment with words that must have been mine.

Writing an essay at Hogwarts had never been so hard. But then, there were never so many essays.

It had been like this since the first day of classes at the Magical Academy for Higher Learning, an international institution based in New York City, far away from home. Still, I was getting the work done. I always did, and I'd probably get top marks in all of my classes again, just like it had always been since I showed up at Hogwarts at eleven years old.

I glanced over the page before remembering one more thing. I scrolled my name at the top of the parchment: Hermione Granger.

I sighed, rolling the essay up and putting it away before heading for the kitchen. I opened the cupboard and reached for a bottle of Gilderoy's Finest Rum, a cheap rum that was also surprisingly good. Dangerously so. It was known for matching its flavor to the sensibilities of the drinker. To me, it was light, fruity and went down like juice.

A fact few know: had one little memory charm not been cast by the famous Gilderoy Lockhart, the rum would be known as Diddery Hopkins' Sailor Elixer. Mr. Hopkins was a closeted wizard. While serving as a sailor in the Royal Navy during the… I digress.

I drank the rum right from the bottle, the warmth flowing right down my throat, to my chest, to my stomach. I quickly slipped the bottle away as my new roommate walked in, shoving it behind a few jars of treats I'd likely never open sent by Mrs. Weasley.

My roommate is… eh, still hadn't gotten her name down yet. She had just moved in the day before. She's American though. Southern. Not the "redneck" sort. She speaks smartly, but there's an underlying drawl hiding beneath the surface of every sentence that comes out of her mouth.

"Hey Hermione!" said what's-her-name. "Ugh, long day! Uh, Ryan invited me to a party over at the Petersons' place. Ryan said there should be mostly cool people there tonight; none of the weird anarchist guys from last time, whatever that means."

I chuckled remembering this. They were going to take the whole damn system down… also, those people were pretty cool. I have no idea what Ryan was talking about.

"Anyway, I was wondering if you'd want to come with me," she said. "I'd… well, i'd feel more comfortable I guess. I don't really know these people, ya know?"

I looked at my watch for some reason, then looked at the cellphone I had grudgingly adopted into my life since moving to America. The muggle-tech is a little more integral to wizard-life stateside, which is a good thing. But it's also a giant pain to get used to, even being muggleborn,

Anyways, I was trying hard to pretend that I had something going on, before thinking about some of the guys that Ryan hangs out with. Then I looked at little, innocent virgin what's-her-name (seriously, I couldn't remember for the life of me.) I guess I had to.

"Sure, that sounds like fun," I replied.

I spent a little time getting ready, but not too much. I had learned to dress up a bit since I was younger, but I still keep it simple. I like to look good now; I like people to think I'm pretty, beautiful, even sexy. But it's not worth hours of work. Some women are ridiculous in that way. What's-her-name was a prime example; she started getting ready a half hour before I did and was nowhere near presentable to the world when I left. Time management; I'd much rather work, study, play… make up and clothes are just accessories to those things. Nice clothes for work; comfy sweatpants for study (or Ron's old t-shirt and a pair of panties during those two weeks before what's-her-name showed up); a nice little dress for a night out. What's the point in turning dressing up into a giant task itself? What do you have to gain from that? I've never understood it.

When I showed up to the party, it was about what I expected. Almost everyone was already drunk and acting like idiots. Go figure. I announced my arrival with a series of greetings, ignoring the strange man with the shaved head who was staring at my chest from the moment I entered the room.

After I walked into the kitchen, I found something I was not expecting. A man was sipping at a beer at the kitchen table, talking to some little red-headed girl who seemed far interested in him than he was in her. His blond heir was longer than when we were younger, and his body had filled out in his twenties. Draco Malfoy still had that same handsome face that would be perfect if those lips attached to it weren't constantly spewing out a stream of arrogant bullshit at least fifty percent of the time. But at least he had toned that down a bit. Other things were tned quite a bit too...

Malfoy looked up at me, acknowledging me with a nod before returning to whatever girl he was chatting up tonight. I have to imagine he must get bored with this game; this girl seemed like easy prey. Most of the girls I saw him with were. He'd flirt, put them under his spell, have his way with them, get them to do all the taboo things they all are desperately looking for an excuse to do anyway and then cast them aside after one or two nights.

I know its all a game to him, and I have to wonder what good of a game it could possibly be without a challenge.

After I finish mixing myself a drink, I head back out into the living room and mix with the crowd. I don't care much for anything they're chatting about, but I keep an eye on what's-her-name. After we all have a few drinks, she's already looking rather saucy.

The party goes on; another night. It's basically the same as most of them around here. Fun? A little. I guess it is fun to see how weird and stupid some people get when they're intoxicated, or how oddly intelligent others get. And it's fun to be sedated, to have that drive for perfection in my brain turn off just for a while, a new one to connect, to explore in its place.

My cell phone rings… is that even the right word anymore for most people? Seriously. Actually, my cell phone played obnoxious music (not really anything resembling a ringing noise in any way) and I looked at the screen to see my fiancé calling.

I picked up, "Ron!"

"Good… evening is it there?"

"Yes!" I responded. "I'm at a party."

We chatted for a bit, caught up on how things had been going at work for him lately. Work at the Ministry had been slow for him, which was probably a good thing.

"Alright, I should probably go socialize. I love you."

We exchanged our goodbyes, then I hung up the phone. The party was at its peak and would soon start to die down. I was still fairly sober. I looked around; the only other person there in the same state of mind as me was… ah, Malfoy. My alcoholic friend.

It's funny how that happened. That boy who used to sling racial slurs at you and wanted to poison your headmaster in grade school somehow becomes something close to a friend years later. What the fuck happened?

He has changed a bit, I reminded myself.

A bit.

I was surprised to see the girl he was chatting up earlier on the other side of the room, not talking to him. He seemed indifferent; bored. She seemed annoyed.

Oh. He wasn't talking to her. Hard to get? Or maybe he really wasn't interested? Either way, she did not seem pleased.

I sat down next to Malfoy as he sipped his craft beer, probably getting a nice taste of bitter, hoppy ass in the process. Yum.

"You look bored," I observed, finishing off the last of whatever weird, bottom-shelf muggle-poison I was drinking.

He shrugged, "You look annoying."

I smirk, rolling my eyes. "Clever comeback."

We chat for a bit like that, stupid words, nothing meaningful, yet somehow having fun. I always have fun talking to Draco. It's weird how he used to be, but at the same time, not. I guess he's the same person. He's at least stopped acting like a combination of a cartoon bully and a comic book pseudo-Nazi, which does help with the whole "being a tolerable person to be around" thing, I guess.

I look over at what's-her-name. Alive. Cool.

It's starting to hit me a little now; not quite slurring, but I'm getting that feeling I get when I'm drunk. Like it's not me. Or it's a different me, the me underneath perfect, workaholic Hermione. Is that the real me? Not really, but I guess it's part of the package, just part of it I can't really process with the rest most of the time.

I chat with my friend Claire, sipping yet another drink against my better judgement as Draco chats with some guy, clearly trying to piss him off. I guess we're Beatles drunk now, and this guy apparently loves Paul McCartney. I can't say I can blame Draco for pushing his buttons on that one.

"There is clearly no God. No God would do that. Lennon and Harrison die too soon, and we're left with what? Maxwell's Silver Hammer and an Octopus' Garden? Wonderful."

"You, f- you don't even-"

I giggle, not paying much attention to Draco's hand resting on my thigh under the table.

My cell phone rings again. Ron's on break… we chat.

"What's going on over there," he asks.

"Oh, just the usual party events. The mindless talking, the drunks."

"Who are you hanging out with?"

I look at Malfoy, pause… "Oh, just people from school. My roommate, uh… she… my roommate is here. The new one."

"Oh yeah. What's her name again?"

"I… Who are you?!" I ask her, intoxicated enough to ask. She doesn't answer, sloppily making out with some guy over in the corner. Classy.

"Sorry, really don't know. Just met her yesterday."

"Got it. Alright, I'll let you get back… to it I guess. Love you."

Draco's hand is running along the bottom of my dress, creeping under… why am I not stopping this?

"I love you too. I'm probably going to fall asleep when I get back to my room, but I'll call you next chance I get tomorrow. Good night."

I'm not paying attention to whatever he says next, and hang up a few seconds later. Draco's fingers are right up against my panties, rubbing through the fabric, right on my clit. I try not to make a scene, not sure how to do that, not sure how to just say "stop." For some reason, I'm not particularly desperate to do that in the first place.

It's much too hot in here! My cheeks are flushing. My panties… am I wet?

I look at Draco, an irritated look in my eye as I mouth, "What are you doing?"

He doesn't stop, slipping his hand under my panties… I look around… his hand is blocked by the table; nobody can really see. Hell, they're all too drunk to notice anyways…

His fingers are rubbing right on my clit. Faster… I'm trying not to breathe any differently. I'm trying not to look any different. Nobody can see this. I shouldn't be letting him do this. My hand moves to his; I need to push it off. It just rests there on his, gently, not even pushing…

Seriously, what is wrong with me?

This is so bad, so wrong. What's-her-face has moved herself away from her little make-out-buddy and is across the table from me, apparently wanting to actually hang out with me now. Now, of course. I'm not paying attention to a word she's saying really, somehow responding automatically, sounding just like me. Hermione is on guard for me while whoever this is, whoever I am right now, runs the show.

All the while, I'm tightening, getting more wet, feeling terrible and yet somehow wonderful. I can't be letting this happen. I'm horrible. I'm being such a slut…

And for some reason, with that thought, I cum, right there, and don't even let it on to anyone. I carry on that conversation without a hitch, through the orgasm, that wonderful, disgusting orgasm, and forward for another few minutes.

"Alright, I'm… mm, tired… need to lay down," what's-her-face slurs out, grabbing her purse. I nod, yes. I need to get the fuck out of here, please. I wish everyone good night and head for the door, reaching in my purse, groaning… no keys, of course.

I walk into the kitchen. Where the hell are they?

Draco walks in. No one else is around.

"Looking for these?" he asks.

"Wh-when… where d-"

"I couldn't let you leave without a proper good night, could I?"

He backs me up against the counter, his toned body pinning me under his weight as his eyes, fiery, pierce mine. He leans in, pressing his lips to mine…

I really do try to push him away. He tugs firmly on my hair, pushing forward harder against me. I feel the huge, hard bulge growing in his trousers.

"Draco," I moan, "St- This can't- please…"

A seriously huge, hard bulge… oh my God…

He grabs my hand and puts it right there, grinning, and I just… I melt. I don't know what happened. I don't move my hand as his lips press back, kissing me harder, more forcefully, taking control of me. He tugs my hair again, sucking, biting at my neck, bruising me. Oh, what if somebody sees this, what if someone were to tell Ron, what if…

"Draco… please…" There's a very different connotation in my words this time, and I know he can hear it...

He pulls away, smiling casually.

"Good night." He hands me my keys.

I leave the room, unable to process what just happened. I keep my cool; nobody knows that anything is off. Nothing is wrong.

But when my roommate and I come home and I get in bed, my hand between my legs, touching myself over and over as I try to sleep, I just can't push it out of my mind. I'm a horrible person… Hermione, what is wrong with you? But that just seems to excite me more as I cum over and over, unable to sleep, unable to stop.

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