To Muddy a Malfoy
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned

Rated: M, sexual content and coarse language. You've been warned.

I'm sick and tired of being overlooked as the good one, the smart one, the sensible one, thought Hermione finding herself alone again in the room since Harry's departure at spotting Ginny in the corridor. Hermione forlornly glanced about the now abandoned room.

No one's ever going to want to kiss me, she thought miserably. I could be the last female on earth and...

Hermione had just about had enough of herself crying over the horrifying image replaying in her head of Ron Weasley wetly snogging that slag, Lavender Brown. She tried calming herself by reciting the Kubler-Ross model of the five stages of grief, urging herself to move to, and stay at, the stage where she's just fighting mad.

Stop skipping over the anger, that's the second step! she scolded herself. Don't just jump to sadness, yet, she pleaded. In an attempt to aid her efforts, she relived the memory of launching her enchanted canaries at that obnoxious, red-headed weasel's head.

She smiled.

Even so, a renegade, tell-tale tear, slid down her cheek.

* * *

Unbeknownst to her, another set of eyes watched her from the shadows.

Draco Malfoy had been keeping an eye on Hermione since she stormed out of Gryffindor tower, crying and sniveling. He'd been on his way to the Room of Requirement to complete his tireless task for the Dark Lord, but was side-tracked by the humor of seeing the bushy-haired form, bowed in some sort of despair. Curious, he covertly followed her to an empty area of the castle, and settled in the shadows to await whatever further drama would unfold. He was hoping for an even more hurtful opening through which he could pounce and make her feel far worse than she already did.

About to step out of the hidden alcove to just cause her further irritation, Draco stopped short of the shadows as she performed some surprisingly delightful magic with some conjured canaries. The innocence of the charm mesmerized him. Draco followed their flitting and flying with an uncharacteristic half-smile before realizing he'd strayed from his original intent with Granger. In only a few short moments, he'd manage to recover himself and his cocky demeanor, ready to proceed with his plan to kick her while she was down. But just as he was going to make himself known, Potter stepped into the room.

Draco frowned as he watched his rival, this tall, bespectacled, brown-haired boy sit beside the Mudblood. He watched as Potter let her lean into him as he crooned words of comfort. All the while, the canaries continued to flit and chirp about them. Draco witnessed Granger desperately grab at the boy's robes, burying her bushy head against him. He was confused why Potter didn't take advantage of this heroic role since the scene was classic damsel in distress. And wouldn't it be beneficial to both? So far as he could tell, Granger couldn't seem to decide which of her Gryffindor bodyguards she fancied more.

It was somewhat intriguing to be audience to The-One-Who-Will-Not-Die petting the sobbing Mudblood, all the while looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else but there. Curiously, Draco took a closer look at Granger, who raised her head to discover Potter preoccupied. He noticed her little frown when the idiot beside her moved aside, nearly allowing her to topple to the floor. The sadness in Granger's face was absolutely revolting to watch. Draco was used to seeing her face screwed up in fervent anger, not anything so weak and pathetic as anguish. He was of the mind to tell her so when he was greeted with a new and different twist to this delightful drama.

As he pulled his foot back into the darkness, Draco observed Weasel, holding hands with that Brown girl, stroll into the room whispering and giggling madly.

Ah, so that was it! Granger was in a jealous snit. How droll!

The couple ground to a halt at realizing Potter and Granger were in the room. Draco was confident that Granger would now pull Potter into a passionate snog to retaliate, but instead, there were only a few heated words exchanged, mostly from Granger. Weasel looked completely flummoxed. This seemed to incense Granger who then sent her enchanted canaries on a full-flight attack of that ginger-haired blood traitor.

It was all Draco could do to stop himself from guffawing aloud. She might be Muggle-born, but she was always a clever one with her wand. After Weasel beat a hasty retreat, it appeared that Potter had had enough of comforting the Mudblood. Draco noticed Scarface had since spotted the young, female Weasel in the hall. In Draco's eyes, Potty's unceremonious dumping of his best friend could not have been timed more perfectly, since it presented him with the opportunity to taunt the already downtrodden girl.

The glistening tear on her face prompted him forward.

The room had turned quiet now without the sounds of the happy chirping canaries. Hermione was a little sad at their absence, but there was some comfort in the solitude. Unfortunately, she wasn't alone for very long. The sound of soft leather against the cobblestone floor told her senses exactly who had the audacity to approach her now.

"Well, well, if it isn't Granger," came an indolent drawl from above her.

Hermione glowered at the silhouetted figure, despising the intrusion of this Slytherin.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I wanted to see what all that incessant wailing was about," he sneered malevolently, "I'm a bit perturbed that I wasn't the cause of it. So, I came here to remedy the situation."

Hermione stared at his mocking, silver eyes and something inside her snapped. This bleach-blond arsehole was just like all the bullies at home, and she'd had her fair share of them. Tonight, she was determined to get the upper hand once and for all. She grabbed onto her wand and stalked right up to him. He seemed quite startled, even a bit fearful, of her approach.

As any bully, Hermione knew that a full frontal confrontation would be enough to send him slithering away into his hole, exactly like the loathsome snake that he was. She knew first hand that bullies couldn't take what they themselves dished out. Malfoy chose the wrong night to pick on this witch. She was in the right frame of mind for this verbal duel, too. This time, she had all her infuriated wits about her and she was going to make sure that it wouldn't come to blows... or hexes. She wanted him humiliated in the most Muggle way possible.

"I see. Well, I can assure you there's absolutely nothing you can do, Malfoy, to make it any worse," she calmly replied, though beneath this placid demeanor, she seethed.

She halted her approach only when her body was so close that her robes brushed against his. She hadn't realized she'd raised her wand and that he was, surprisingly, still unarmed. She watched his gaze go wide at her threatening stance. His nostrils flared as she shot him a most venomous look. A flicker of dread glinted back at her in his steely gaze. She wanted desperately to cackle at him.

The whole infuriating evening had brought her to this, and she could now revel in the dark power of having someone cowering because of her. It was precisely the thing to have Malfoy doing the cowering for once. Never mind that he was a full head taller. She was smarter and a more powerful witch than this sorry excuse of a pureblood, biggoted wizard. She was tired of being the victim and now, right now, she could do something about it. For once, her soft heart did not get in the way of her wrath. She'd had enough!

Hermione's rage had the tip of her wand sparking. Her hair was wild as ever, and he saw this recklessness reflected in her unrelenting examination of him. The coiled tension in his gut wouldn't leave him, the danger she represented, her nearness, made him taut, ready to take flight or fight. His instincts for self preservation kept him silent and motionless.

In her fury, Hermione continued her quiet stalking of him, forcing him back against the wall as she pushed her body up against his. She found his repugnant scowl further inflamed her temper. Yet, he seemed shocked, as though she'd stupified him. She wanted desperately to hex that insufferable mouth right off his smug, pointy face.

While Draco had had his share of Hogwarts females and then some, he had never been this close to this Mudblood before and the taboo proximity was more than unnerving. Even when she'd slapped him when they were younger, he'd never felt her heated breath against his cheek, or felt her heaving pent-up frustration bumping up against him at every turn as he did now. Already hypersensitive, the feel of her put Draco on sensory overload. He reeled at the touch of her every curve and softness against him, it drove him to the brink of madness. She rubbed herself against him again, and Draco wondered idly if she had the slightest idea what she was doing to him. Merlin, if she knew.

He gulped.

The air was thick around them and she could feel his ragged breathing ruffle the hair at the top of her head. She had the sudden realization she'd never been this close to a boy, even a Gryffindor boy, in her whole entire life. More shocking was the discovery that the feeling of being against a boy, eventhis boy, wasn't altogether unpleasant.

"What else do you want, Malfoy?" she sneered contemptuously, poking her wand at his acuminous chin.

His eyes unfocused, Draco didn't respond. In an attempt to shock him into speech, she managed to surprise even herself with her hint of indecency.

"Oh, I see, Malfoy. So, you've come to play in the mud?"

Her sultry voice washed over him. Draco's mind went blank at her words. Never, could he have imagined that this insipid bibliophile would speak so raunchily. He watched Granger cock her head at him in question, her brown eyes, ablaze with detestation, mocking him. She rubbed up against him again and to his mortification, he heard a strangled sound come from his own throat.

Hermione watched him close his eyes, but not before she saw a flash of something else.

Interesting...

"No? Cat got your tongue, Malfoy?"

Hermione couldn't fully comprehend the lack of verbal comebacks from Malfoy, but she found it amusing that he was so tongue-tied. This gave her a shot of courage, while his clear confusion at her Muggle idiom about the cat and tongue added more tinder to the flames of hatred she had for this boy - well, a man now, just like her own two wretched friends.

The thought of those two snogging other girls at this moment pushed Hermione over the very edge of her sanity, allowing her to continue mercilessly torturing the cockroach at the end of her wand. Combined with the harsh sound of Malfoy's breathing and the feel of his chest rising and falling against her, Hermione was loosing her grip.

"What do you want?!" she shouted, the blast of her breath from her body loosened some of his blond locks, which fell onto his forehead.

Still nothing, but his heavily aroused breathing, a tightening of the muscles at his jaw, and an audible gasp anytime she shifted against him.

She felt empowered by the sounds coming from Malfoy. They all added up in her very intelligent Muggle-born brain to a sum that equalled her having some possession of feminine powers - the very ones that she'd thought only moments ago completely lost to her. Half to herself, she murmured, "Well, let me see if I can make it out for myself, then."

She needed to prove something to herself and she needed someone precisely like Malfoy, renowned Slytherin Sex God, to do it.

With brash intent, she brushed her chest against Draco's arm and was delighted to feel his whole body stiffen. Hermione smiled and lowered her wand. Draco still didn't move, he was reciting something that had his lips moving very quickly. She couldn't quite hear them.

Names, perhaps, of the players on the Slytherin Quidditch team? Strange. Certainly not a spell, though, Hermione decided. She continued to note that his eyes, half-closed, were warily trained on her.

She increased her body contact with Malfoy, daring him to push her off, or to truly open his eyes and look at her. Her next words shocked even herself.

"I bet you like it dirty," she whispered huskily, nipping at the lower part of his earlobe with her teeth.

His response was a gurgle at the back of his throat.

Pleasure or pain?

Unsure, but desirous to know, Hermione went against any good judgement she previously possessed before seeing Ron snog Lavender, and purposely placed her hand on his robes, between her sworn enemy's legs.

Her eyes widened at feeling him tighten and grow impossibly large beneath her palm. She looked at Malfoy's face, twisted in exquisite agony while a soft growl of pleasure escaped him. Something akin to triumphant glee burst within her. It was addictive, this immensely satisfying feeling of power to be able to bring him to his knees this way.

At this moment, she felt like a very, very wicked witch.

"Accio, Malfoy's wand," she purred in his ear, knowing her tone would summon a very different kind of hardness to her hand. Malfoy's barely stifled moan did delicious things to her insides.

This was unconscionable, perverted, even.

Draco, couldn't take his eyes off of the witch who was doing licentious things to his body. He even silently admired her for what looked like a malicious, though sensual, smile playing at her lips while she felt his traitorous body react to her sinful words.

Unthinkable.

"And look at that, I didn't have to cast either the Duro or the Engorgio charms to do it," said her saucy voice against his ear. Her wanton words nearly unleashed Malfoy's barely banked, impassioned fury at being so played. The wet heat of her breath teased his most sensitive spot on the side of his neck, however, keeping him in check to her charms. He kept very still. Unsure of himself.

She laughed softly at his frustration, rubbing his arousal a bit more with her hand, watching his eyes glaze over. She thrilled at his reaction, relishing how his eyes rolled upward, elated to hear a groan escape his foul mouth.

"So are you going to do anything about this, Malfoy?" She challenged tartly, increasing her pressure, hinting at gripping him. But these ministrations from Hogwarts' Golden Gryffindor Girl, legendary bookworm, left Draco struck dumb, as though hexed with both the Silencing and the Body-Bind Curses.

At last, she released him, shrugging, sliding her hand against the front of his robe with a sad, disappointed sigh. Stepping to the beat of his harsh intakes of breath, she moved to the door's archway. Hermione turned once to face him before departing.

"Such a shame, Malfoy, I thought you, out of the lot of them, would be up to the task." Her eyes flashed hungrily at the yearning, but hesitant look thrown at her by the silver-eyed Slytherin. "It's disappointing to yet again find another Hogwarts man who doesn't know what to do when it's all but staring him straight in the face."

The last he saw of Granger was the swish of her robe against the empty arch of the door.