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Hermione couldn’t take it any longer. She had to know why Malfoy had lied during the game of “Never have I ever” in the common room last night.
Most of their year had returned to study for their NEWTs since the war had caused exams to be postponed last year. This year, “unity” was the objective, and everyone within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts (teachers and students alike) had been playing their part.
Hermione and Malfoy had struck up a friendship—maybe not friendship but an acquaintanceship. They had been paired together often as the only two eighth year students studying practically all the subjects available.
She sat nibbling the end of her pen trying to work out how to get to the bottom of why he lied. She could feel her curls fizzing like misconnected synapses firing. It’s not like anyone would care either way about his answer? Well now, that’s not strictly true, because evidently she cared. She didn’t care about his answer, per se, just that he lied.
It just didn’t match up with this new and improved Malfoy, the one who had apologised on the first day of term. The one who sat beside her with his perfectly pressed uniform, hair no longer slicked back, instead falling slightly into his titanium eyes. Hands with long delicate fingers wrapped around his quill, his signet ring pressing gently into the parchment.
Wow, okay, enough of that now, Hermione, she chided herself, almost tutting out loud at the absurdity of her runaway thoughts.
She rustled about in her beaded bag to search for her two-way enchanted parchment. She didn't know why but she just couldn’t let this imagined slight go.
Hermione pulled out the parchment and slid one across the desk to Malfoy. He glanced at her, raising his eyebrow, but accepted the parchment with a drag of his pinkie and ring finger across the desk.
Hermione Granger was nothing if not thorough, and she was going to get to the bottom of this riddle as she did with everything else in her life, with persistence.
She didn’t bother with pleasantries; after all, she was sitting right next to him and therefore just dove right in.
HJG: So I know you know I saw you last night…
She watched him shake his head but picked up his quill to respond regardless.
DLM: What are you talking about, Granger?
HJG: Never have I ever?!
She watched as he brought the feather to his lips; for a second, she wondered if they were as soft as they looked before continuing with her inquisition.
HJG: Well, I don’t believe you anyway. If you are gonna lie, at least lie believably.
DLM: OK 1) I don’t know what you are talking about, and 2) I don’t lie. Well, not anymore. New leaf, remember?
HJG: Oh, alright, so you’ve been with half the girls in our year, but you’ve never had a wank before!?
She witnessed in real time his eyes widening as he sucked in his bottom lip.
She tapped her pen on the parchment.
HJG: …Malfoy?
Hermione nearly scoffed aloud as he turned just fractionally away from her in his seat. How dare he? If it wasn’t for Slughorn droning on about a third year potion she would scold him for ignoring her.
HJG: Oh, the silent treatment? How very Slytherin of you!
HJG: Just admit you lied; it’s frying my brain, and I’d like to forget about it sometime today.
He sighed deeply beside her—Hermione watched his whole body move with his breath. Said body was now filled out and manly, with shoulders that made him almost twice as broad as her, and he had grown at least a foot—if not more—since the war.
DLM: Granger. I didn’t lie. Also, I didn’t peg you for one to just instantly believe the rumours you hear.
She huffed at that, muttering a soft liar under her breath.
HJG: Did you forget that I had to witness you and Pansy during prefect rounds?
DLM: Point taken, but that’s a singular witch.
HJG: OK, well, what about the Greengrass sisters rumour?
DLM: I’ll bite… what rumour?
She blushed. Was he really being this obtuse?
HJG: You know the one about both of them and you?
DLM: I’m afraid that I don’t know what you are referring to, Granger. Enlighten me.
Right, well, he’s left her with no option now. Plucking up her Gryffindor courage, she committed the rumour to parchment.
HJG: That you shagged them both in the prefects’ bath?!?
Did he just splutter? Hermione was suddenly enraptured by the soft pink blush rising through his cheeks.
DLM: Merlin.
HJG: What?
DLM: That one is most definitely not true.
She was sure that it was true; according to Padma there were eyewitnesses and everything. Padma had overheard Millicent discussing it with another Slytherin girl.
HJG: No. I heard it from Padma and she’s not known for false gossip.
DLM: Right, well, you have met Daphne and Astoria, correct?
HJG: Well, obviously.
DLM: So you know they are as stuck up as they come.
It was Hermione’s turn to splutter.
DLM: And whilst I have dated both of them, it never went further than kissing. They very much subscribe to their pureblood teachings.
DLM: Just FYI, kissing is perfectly fine with me. I am a gentleman.
DLM: What I am trying to say, ineloquently, is that neither of the Greengrass sisters would have been open to that sort of escapade. Hence, the rumour is a lie.
She looked across at him and he looked back, gently shrugging his shoulders, as if to say trust me and, strangely, she did—even though this whole conversation started because she was convinced he lied last night.
HJG: If the prefect bath is a lie and Pansy was just Pansy. Then, what about Romilda? She was telling everyone about the size of your cock—
Oh shit, it was too late; she had written the words, and they had already made their way onto the matching piece of the parchment set, the one currently in Malfoy’s hands. Hands that flexed as he read the words.
HJG: Malfoy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—
But Malfoy’s reply came across the twinned parchment before she could finish.
DLM: Romilda likes to exaggerate, well, at least about some things.
He sat his quill on the table and leaned back in his seat, stretching his long legs out below the desk. He pulled at the fabric across his large thighs, dangerously close to his crotch, rearranging himself, and Hermione had to catch herself, tearing her gaze away before she started to salivate at the large bulge she’d seen just resting there. What would it look like hard?
Oh Godrics, since when did Malfoy get her all hot and bothered?
She was about to respond when she noticed everyone was starting to pack up their desks; the sounds of wooden chairs screeching across the cobblestone tiles was piercing. Hermione had missed the entire last half of the class, consumed in her little back and forth with Malfoy, who was also packing away his things.
He looked over at her as he rose from her chair, “Fun chatting with you, Granger, see you in Charms, yea?” He turned on his heel, leaving with his signature smirk in place and a wink in her direction.
She could feel the flush all over and double tucked her hair behind her ears as she pulled herself together, collecting her things and making her way out of the classroom.
Hermione left the potions classroom feeling flustered. The next two classes on her timetable required her full attention: Runes and Arithmancy. She would need to get her head on straight at lunch in the Great Hall.
Due to the new focus on unity, the houses no longer sat separately within the Great Hall. Instead of the four long tables, one per house, that had run the room lengthwise, the hall was now split into eight tables that ran horizontally across the room, one for each year. Hermione assumed next year the eighth table would be done away with as there would no longer be a need for it, but she personally preferred the symmetry of the even-numbered rows.
She sat down at the eighth-year table, where Ron and Harry were already seated, talking animatedly with Neville, Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott. A stranger group she couldn't have imagined a few months ago, but they had all bonded over the mandatory return to the school, alongside the addition of perfectly legal consumption of alcohol and the shenanigans and camaraderie born from their competitiveness to win the drinking games. The bond was solidified when they last played Kings and Ron had the final king. The entire common room erupted into “Weasley is Our King,” but not in the mocking manner that song had once been, rather in a true celebration of all things Ronald Weasley.
She was trying to make headway in understanding the ongoing conversation when Malfoy plonked himself down on the bench opposite her, taking a large snapping bite of his green apple.
“Miss me, Granger?”
“Urgh, you wish, Malfoy,” she rushed out. Good one, Hermione. Really cut him to the bone with that comeback—come—and, now she’s thinking about him not wanking again, great, stupendous.
Not knowing her inner turmoil, Malfoy just laughed at her, clapped Theo on the back, and got right into the middle of conversation with the rest of the lads.
Hermione often wished she could have been more like the other girls in her year; it wasn’t that she wasn’t interested in boys or make-up or fashion—it's just that her chosen best friend had needed her to keep him alive for the last seven years, so she had missed out on all the girl bonding and sleepovers.
She felt a kick at her shoe and glanced at the offender. Ron was staring at her as if to say he could see right through her.
“What's wrong, ‘Mione?”
She could hardly tell him about the Malfoy thing so, instead, she said: “I—it's nothing, I was just thinking how it would be nice to be friends with more girls.” She thought the words were going to come out more confident and snarky, but they actually sounded a smidge forlorn.
“Well, make an effort then—” he began to scan around the table before leaning across and shouting, “PARKINSON, COME HERE, WILL YA?”
If looks could kill, Ron would be dead and no one would know which witch to blame, but even though her face was one of disgust, Pansy lifted out from her seat and sashayed over to him.
“What, Ronald?” she huffed out of her perfectly sculpted red lips, filled with an air of annoyance and nonchalance. Hermione thought that if this was a movie, Pansy would have been filing her nails as she spoke—although, to be fair, Pansy was the type of witch to know every single manicure charm already.
“See, you two already sound the same…Ronald,” he mocked with his eyes scrunched together and hands on his hips. “‘Mione here needs a girlfriend, and you are available, right? Since Daphne and Astoria transferred to Beauxbatons.” He gestured between the two female witches as if it was as easy as that.
Exasperated and honestly not willing to continue this horrible playdate set-up with Ron anymore, Hermione slid down the bench further to allow Pansy to sit down beside her.
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t realise he would, well, I genuinely didn't think he would do that,” Hermione said as she plucked at the hem of her skirt.
Pansy—in a move completely unlike the Pansy Hermione thought she knew—rested her perfectly manicured hand on top of Hermione’s, “It’s fine. I’m in class with him and have gotten used to his exuberant outbursts—besides, he’s not wrong.”
Hermione had no clue what Pansy had meant by that until she watched Pansy catalog her from head to toe.
“You could do with a female friend, though, because why are you wearing a skirt three sizes too big for you? And I’m here for the curls, but I think you should know the spell to tame them by now.” Hermione was about to break into a lecture when Pansy raised a french-tipped nail to her lips, “Not the volume, the flyaways. Salazar, Granger, you could take off without a broom with those!”
Pansy tittered at her own little joke, and Hermione decided to lean into the tentative friendship. She had been meaning to research some beauty charms ever since she and Ron had decided to be just friends.
Their one shared kiss had not been what she had expected; there was absolutely no heat in it whatsoever—years of pining for it all to amount to not even a cinder in a fire. She gently explained her feelings to Ron, and he had full belly laughed, picked her up, and swung her around. Apparently, he also felt nothing and was scared it would ruin everything. They essentially picked up right where they left off, as friends only.
As the din in the Great Hall began to disperse and everyone began getting ready for post-lunch classes, Pansy promised to come over to Hermione’s dorm room later that evening to talk about some of the daily charms she used and to help her with some tailoring charms on her clothes.
As they all walked out of the hall to their respective classes, Ron threw his arms over both Pansy and Hermione, “See that wasn’t so bad now, was it, ladies?” Both witches rolled their eyes and shoved him off—leaving him standing stag in the middle of the corridor—before breaking into a beaming smile at each other.
When Hermione finally arrived at Charms class, she was the last to enter the room. Settling into her seat silently beside Malfoy, she could see he had his books, notes, inkpot and quill all neatly arranged, alongside the two-way charmed parchment from earlier. She smiled to herself; he was still willing to answer her.
Hermione rearranged her side of the desk how she liked, but when she opened up their conversation, she proceeded to choke on her saliva. How could she forget their last words were about the size of his appendage? Dear Godric, how did she open up a new line of questioning now?
Luckily for her, the founders must have been smiling down on her today as Malfoy went first.
DLM: Did you and Pansy have a nice lunch gossiping?
So he had noticed they had been chatting? She could use this to her advantage, maybe make him sweat? However, she valued her newly budding friendship with the midnight-haired female and decided she shouldn’t use it to taunt Malfoy. No matter how tempting that thought was.
HJG: We weren’t gossiping. If you must know, she is going to help me with my hair.
DLM: There is nothing wrong with your hair, Granger. Don’t let her loose on it.
She was shocked at his reaction, but even more so at her own response to seeing those words on a page; butterflies had taken roost in her stomach.
HJG: Har-Har, very funny. I know you hate my hair. Besides, it’s only a smoothing charm. Pansy promises the curls are here to stay. Anyway, enough about me, back to why you lied last night?
DLM: I am quite content to continue talking about your hair, Granger, and, contrary to your belief, I do not hate it.
Hermione knew she shouldn't, but she wouldn’t let him get away with that one.
HJG: Every insult you’ve said to me in the past would indicate otherwise, Malfoy.
DLM: Touché, however, that was when I was a brainwashed and idiotic little pureblood reiterating every hateful thing my father had ever said. Do I need to apologise again?
She couldn’t argue with that logic; he had been held tightly under his family's thumb, and he had apologised profusely. It was a low blow on her part, but she enjoyed the thrill of knowing the compliment was genuine. She blinked and another message appeared in front of her.
DLM: Speaking of, pureblood ideals are the reason behind the drink last night.
She set her pen down. Staring at the parchment before her like it might go up in flames. He couldn’t be serious?
Hermione was lost in thought on how she would reply when Professor Flitwick called on her to answer a mundane question about the wrist movement of a translation charm. She spouted off the answer easily before turning back to the parchment.
HJG: Pureblood ideals as in? Do you mean that self pleasure is not allowed?
DLM: Sexual pleasure outside of marriage is often frowned upon in general by pureblood society, Granger.
HJG: But that would mean you are a virgin.
DLM: Virginity is a social construct, you know that.
HJG: Do not evade the question, Malfoy. A simple yes/no answer will suffice. Are you a virgin?
Hermione could not believe what she was seeing unfold in front of her. Surely not, the rumours were that he was some sort of sex god, ploughing through every witch he met.
Flitwick chose this time to call upon Malfoy to explain the different uses of the translation charm. Malfoy, being almost as big of a swot as herself, was able to ream off the uses with ease. The pause did give Hermione time to process their current conversation.
Hermione was no prude; after her failed kiss with Ron, she had a summer fling with a muggle man whilst in Australia restoring her parents’ memories. She also had a very enjoyable one-night stand with Charlie Weasley during a stopover in Romania before coming back to eighth year. It had been her first partnered orgasm and was as life altering as she read it would be, but Charlie was in Romania and she was here, and they were both very clear it was a one-and-done deal.
Malfoy's answer to Flitwick trailed off, and she watched him settle back into his seat, pushing his hair back and out of his eyes before looking over at her. She gave what she thought was a smile of encouragement before turning away and pretending to pay attention to the class far beneath either of their academic skills.
DLM: No.
Well, she did ask for a one word answer. Helena's Hairy tits… how was he not a virgin but didn't wank? It made zero sense!
HJG: Explain.
DLM: Say please.
Hermione would not comment on how that made her feel; she was a free witch and not on trial here—besides two could play at that game.
HJG: Please, oh please, Sir Malfoy, tell me?
DLM: I do love a witch who begs and you can call me Sir anytime, or even Daddy.
Her eyebrows shot through the roof, and when she peeked over at him he broke into a silent laugh and winked for the third time today.
DLM: I am not a virgin. I was perhaps not as well-behaved as my mother and father had once thought. However, the fact remains: I have never had a wank, for other reasons.
DLM: Are you satisfied with this line of questioning yet?
HJG: I don’t understand how you can have had sex but not… you know? You are a teenage boy! Even Harry and Ron couldn't refrain when we shared a tent!
DLM: Well, I guess I don’t know how to—and I can see you lifting your pen to write furiously but wait just let me explain…
DLM: This is harder to explain than I thought.
HJG: Out with it, Malfoy, before I go as grey as Flitwick.
Hermione wouldn't tell anyone—well maybe Pansy because she might be able to help—but she was genuinely worried about going grey prematurely. She wanted to be a strong feminist and not care, but she was still a 19-year-old witch and wanted to retain her youthful looks for a little while longer, but with friends like Harry and Ron, who knew? Life or death situations followed those two boys around, and with them both wanting to become Aurors… did they not care about her health?
DLM: It feels strange—not physically, but mentally. Like it would be wrong to fantasise about a specific witch or woman, right?
Hermione was a little stumped by the question. Was it? She understood consent, and whilst masturbation was a sexual act, it was one of self pleasure—inherently private and independent. If someone was to think of someone else doing it, where was the harm? As long as the sentiment attached was not obsessive or entitled, she was inclined to think it was fine.
She wasn’t here to police people's thoughts, and whilst it might weird her out to know that, for example, Seamus was waxing his wand to thoughts of her… as long as he made no attempts to tell her, she could make her peace with it. Decision made: weird, yes. Wrong, no.
HJG: I don't see anything inherently wrong with it. I just wouldn't go advertising who you are fantasising about… unless maybe it was a girlfriend? She would probably give permission? Or maybe you could do it separately but together? She might be into that. I think I would
Hermione screamed internally. This was not a diary, why could she not stop writing? It was like her hand had a mind of its own. She swallowed down her shame and glanced up from the parchment in his direction. Malfoy had his quill gripped tightly in his hand; he was staring intently at the page. He shifted in his seat, moving from lounging in the chair to sitting upright, focused. Was he biting his bottom lip?
DLM: OK, so you are saying some witches might be into their wizard only needing to think of them to get off?
When did it get so bloody hot in this classroom? Hermione could feel herself getting hot under the collar and cast a cooling charm on herself before responding. Her nipples were hardening under her school shirt and plain white bra and it wasn't solely from the charm.
HJG: I think it would do wonders for the ego… yes.
DLM: I’ll have to take your word for it.
HJG: So, are you gonna take your own virginity tonight then?
She heard him choke beside her and laughed out loud. Professor Flitwick spun around from the chalkboard and glared directly at her, “Is everything alright, Miss Granger?”
Mortified at her outburst, she replied a meek, “Yes, Professor." Godric, this day was just the worst.
DLM: Why are you so interested in knowing if I am? Do you partake in the act every night, Granger?
Before she could form a coherent thought, the class was dismissed. She packed her belongings into her bag without sparing a single glimpse in his direction and sprinted for the door.
Eighth year was all about NEWT preparation, so following the end of Charms class, they had a period of self study instead of class. Hermione continued her brisk pace towards the sacred silent halls of the Library and planted her arse at her favorite desk.
She watched as the studious seventh and eight years trickled into the library to study, knowing full well there were many who would not take advantage of the free study time—her two best friends, for example, who would no doubt be down at the Quidditch pitch.
Hermione did lift her head when she heard a familiar stride and high-heeled strut echo throughout the room; Malfoy, Theo, and Pansy found a table and settled down to study.
She had taken out their charmed parchment earlier, not intending to use it but more because it was in the way of all her other things. The mystery as to why she left it out on the table, no one would ever know.
A half hour or so passed before a new message appeared on the parchment, and her stomach roared to life with excitement. She crossed her legs tighter and ran her eyes over the text.
DLM: Come on, Granger, turnabout is fair play.
HJG: We are in the library, Malfoy. This is not polite discussion.
DLM: Oh, because it was an appropriate discussion in Potions and Charms?
Bugger it, he had her there. She clicked her pen in time with the tapping of her foot against the chair leg. She wasn’t ashamed of her sexual appetite, but she also didn't want it broadcast; although, based on their ongoing conversation and truths shared, she didn't think Malfoy would say anything.
HJG: Not every night. Every week, but depending on where I am in my cycle… potentially every night.
DLM: Intriguing. And what do you think about?
She glared over at him then, only to find him already looking at her with unrestrained interest that unfurled a heat throughout her body that was unmatched in her history. She wanted to play with him. This conversation was the most titillating experience she’d ever had with a boy from school.
HJG: Oh, you know, a little of this, a little of that.
DLM: I bet what you fantasise about is anything but little, but I shall drop it for now if you answer another question?
Hermione knew better than to enter into an agreement with a Slytherin, but really, how much worse could it get?
HJG: Fine, what do you want to know?
She had barely finished her scribble back when the next question appeared.
DLM: Do you only use your hands or are there toys involved?
Hermione gasped and, for some unknown reason, tried to pull her skirt down, as if it would protect her modesty and hide her curiosity at the question. Who the hell taught pureblood non-virginal Malfoy, who doesn't wank, about sex toys?! She was pretty sure there were no Wizarding alternatives—or, at least, she hadn't come across any on her travels—which begged the question, how the hell did he know?
HJG: Who told you about sex toys?
DLM: Parkinson.
She did not want to question her new female friend but, for Salazar’s sake, was nothing sacred? Hermione decided she was unprepared to answer and therefore needed a way to escape that did not look like she was retreating. Gryffindors do not back down—bravery and all that rot. She packed up her things and walked over to the Slytherin table, watching his reaction the entire way, his eyes drawn to her every step in a mixture of concern and delight.
“Hey, Pansy, do you want to have an early dinner with me and then after we can head back to the dorms and work on those charms?”
Pansy tapped her wand against her books, causing them to levitate directly into her bag without any extra effort from the witch. She stood from her chair, grabbed the bag, and linked her arm through Hermione’s to trot off together.
Before they breached the threshold of the library, Hermione flicked her hair over her shoulder and smugly caught his eye. “Good luck with your independent study tonight, Malfoy. If you find a way to release all that pent-up knowledge onto the page, let me know, yea?” She clutched Pansy’s arm tightly to her side, dragging her from the room.
As the double doors shut behind them, Pansy spun around, her eyes trailing up and down Hermione’s form. She flicked a pointed nail at her. “Whatever has gotten into you tonight, it’s a very fucking good look. Confident and sassy, this is a Hermione I can most certainly get onboard with.”
The pair giggled as they continued arm in arm on to the Great Hall.
Hermione saw Draco the following morning at breakfast. He was there before she was, sipping his earl grey and reading the latest edition of ‘The Prophet’. She had hoped that he might have messaged her last night to update her on his homework; she had kept the two-way beside her bed all night. Alas, it was to no avail.
He did not look up from his paper as she entered the room. Not even when she sat down opposite him, pouring her coffee. However, she didn't have to dwell on his demeanour long before the rest of the motley crew arrived.
Ron was the first to notice the few subtle differences in her appearance. “Blimey ‘Mione, what have you done to your hair?”
And with that exclamation from the red-head, Malfoy crumpled the paper in his hands in his haste to see what the fuss was over. He did a double-take of her appearance.
It wasn’t much; Pansy had told her she had good bone structure and a strong brow—she just needed to use a dewy skin potion to show it off and a spell to tame the flyaways that surrounded her curls. Pansy had also tailored every single item of her clothing; she had been right yesterday: her skirt was three sizes too big on purpose to cover her rather sizable arse and thighs, but it left the garment gaping at her waist. Thanks to Pansy’s charm work, everything was fitted to perfection.
Malfoy’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he took her in, and it appeared as though he was about to speak when Theo cut him off, “Looking good, Granger, if only I swung your way.” He waggled his eyebrows in her direction. Pansy swatted him on the shoulder before starting into a break-down of all the charms she knew that would help them all.
Malfoy’s eyes had yet to leave her. He stared openly, not caring for his surroundings. He did not look like a man who had recently indulged in some stress relief. If anything, he seemed more wound up than usual.
“Malfoy, mate, you gonna join us for Quidditch during study period today?” Harry shouted across the table, breaking Malfoy's intense focus, finally breaking his self imposed staring contest with her.
“Sure, Potter, I could do with blowing off some steam—no better way to do that than chasing after a Gryffindor.”
Breakfast continued without any other incident of relevance, and they all departed to their respective classes. First on the class list for Hermione was Herbology, a hands-on class, which meant she wouldn’t be able to pester Malfoy for answers regarding his activities last night.
Herbology was followed by Transfiguration, and whilst she knew she was the best student in Professor McGonagall's eyes, she wanted to ensure she kept it that way, so Hermione wouldn't dare to bring the parchment out in her class.
Lunchtime rolled around, but, as luck would have it, it was her day for lunchtime prefect duty, which essentially involved roaming the restricted halls to ensure no students were up to anything they shouldn't be, kissing in the trophy room and the like. Normally, Hermione performed her tasks dutifully—she respected the need for order—however, today she had yet to speak to Malfoy about his personal pursuits, and it was driving her insane—properly batshit. She was sure that, at this rate, she would even give Bellatrix a run for her money on the crazy scale.
Finally, she was sat beside him in Ancient Ruins, a class that required slightly more effort than Charms to ensure her grades remained at a school record high, but, for one day, she was willing to let it slip just a bit. She could catch up in study period, and—who was she kidding? Hermione was already six weeks ahead of the curriculum currently being taught.
She practically threw herself into her seat beside Malfoy and pulled out the parchment. She swore she saw him chuckle at her impatience.
HJG: Well? Anything to report?
DLM: Eager this afternoon, Granger?
HJG: What will it take for you to tell me?
DLM: Answer my question from yesterday first.
Shit. She had forgotten about her tiny temper tantrum in the library last night, but she was a big girl, and she wanted the answers more than she didn’t want to respond to him.
HJG: Again, it depends. Mostly it's my own hand, but I do have this nifty toy that mimics a sucking motion, which I enjoy.
DLM: Not into vibrators?
HJG: It's not that I’m not into them. I enjoy the stimulation a vibrator brings, but now it's time for you to answer my question.
Hermione finished writing and looked up to watch him read it and then peer out the window, with all the casual nonchalance of the pureblood prince he was. She was about to kick him, hard, under the table when he picked up his quill again.
DLM: No, Granger, I tried, alright? I just couldn't get past the lack of consent involved in fantasizing about someone. And then imagining a faceless witch just didn't do it for me, OK?
She was shocked. Hermione knew he was still tightly wound at the breakfast table this morning, but his strong feelings regarding consent were both respectful and oh so bloody hot.
HJG: Consent is very important to you?
DLM: When you’ve lived with a group of insane men and women who act without impunity—rifling through your bedroom and mind without permission—yes. Consent is very important to me.
Godric, Hermione hadn’t expected him to be so open and vulnerable. Her heart ached for him. She had no idea what he had gone through, but Narcissa’s testimony for his trial had been dark. She had only read snippets of the transcript, but it was enough to make her skin crawl; what they had both gone through under extreme duress was enough for their acquittal, even before taking into account the statements from her, Ron, and Harry.
HJG: I’m sorry for prying. I won’t push you on it anymore.
HJG: How have you been taking notes, by the way, whilst we’ve been absorbed in this quest?
DLM: Thanks, Granger. Maybe I’ll find a witch who’ll be into it, like you said. As for the notes, I use a charm similar to a quick notes quill, although it's much more accurate, notating word for word what is said. It leans into the translation charm from yesterday to account for different accents and languages.
HJG: Are you serious? What is it? Please, please, please tell me.
DLM: You know I can’t refuse you when you beg. It’s “Indictamenum.” The wrist movement is exactly the same as the translation charm, although with a left flick rather than a right.
HJG: Thank you, Malfoy, seriously. This is amazing.
Hermione couldn't decide if she was turned on because, once again, he had mentioned begging or if she was turned on because of his competence—a charm to take accurate notes? She could kiss him, which was what drove her to write another message to him.
HJG: You know, if you were interested, you have my consent. You can think of me, if you want.
He turned his full body towards her, his knee brushing hers below the table. Reaching over and placing a hand on her thigh, he whispered softly, “Are you sure?”
“Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy! No talking back there!” Professor Babbling shouted across the room.
Both grumbled out an unconvincing, “sorry,” before returning to focus on their classwork.
Hermione's chest was pounding. She felt as if her ribcage would bust open with the force of her palpitations. Class ended and the pair hung back as they gathered their things.
Malfoy was the first to break the silence, “Did you mean what you wrote?”
“Yes—” but before she could expand any further on the topic, Ron was shouting into the room.
“Come on, Malfoy, race you to the locker rooms? Last one there has to buy the Firewhiskey for this weekend's party!”
Malfoy looked apologetically at her before breaking off into a sprint out the door. She didn’t know why he was bothering, he hadn’t let anyone else buy a single bottle since the start of term.
After self study, dinner, and another Pansy lesson in charms and spells for permanently smooth legs, under arms, and bikini lines, Hermione happily slipped into her sheets, preparing for sleep. She could argue all the reasons why it was anti-feminist to be hairless, but she did not care, her legs felt like slippery little seals.
She locked her door (blessed to have a private dorm now instead of a shared room) and turned to set her wand down before switching out her bedside light when she noticed the two-way had a message she hadn't seen before.
DLM: Granger, you still awake? I have a question for you.
Instantly, she was wide awake. It felt like she had downed a gallon of coffee.
HJG: I’m here. What's up, Malfoy?
Instead of snuggling down into her pillow, she flipped herself onto her stomach, pulling the parchment with her as she prepared to continue her written conversation.
DLM: Were you serious earlier? About me thinking of you?
Her breath hitched. Her feet were propped up in the air and she rubbed them together. He wanted to think about her? Wait, he hadn't actually said that; he’s just a stickler for the rules and her consent.
HJG: I mean, if you wanted to. You have my consent.
DLM: Salazar, witch, if I want to? Every straight male in our year wants to.
HJG: Well, only you have my written consent, Malfoy.
DLM: Fuck, that’s sexy.
DLM: What would you want me to think about?
Now that was a question. What did she want him to think about? What would she think about? Hermione’s fantasies always started with some kissing and heavy petting, with the wizard pressing kisses into her skin, along her neck, her collar bone, before starting to caress and play with her breasts. When Hermione solo-played, it always featured some nipple play—they always needed a little attention for her to set the scene.
HJG: I think you should think about what you would want me to do to you.
DLM: What do I want you to do to me? What if I want to think about what I want to do to you, instead?
HJG: What do you want to do to me?
The words were on the page before she even thought them through.
DLM: Well, first, I’d want to kiss your plush, pouty lips that drive me to distraction daily. I would weave my hands through the hair at the back of your neck and tilt your face so I could ravish you the way I wanted.
HJG: Keep going.
DLM: I’d push you towards the nearest surface, hands starting to roam your body as I brought my leg between your thighs.
DLM: Are your nipples sensitive?
Oh Godric, did he have a manual for how to turn her on. Her sleep shorts were growing wetter by the minute.
HJG: Yes, extremely.
DLM: Merlin. I would rock my thigh against you, kissing your neck, then I’d find that sensitive spot between your earlobe and jawline and attach my lips to it whilst tracing delicate circles around your nipples. Not giving them direct attention just yet, I'd wait until you were grinding your hips of your own accord before taking one in my mouth, gently plucking the other.
Fuck, she was wet and turned on, and a fine man was talking to her about how he would pleasure her. She needed to know more about him.
HJG: Are you hard?
DLM: Yes.
HJG: Are you touching yourself?
DLM: Are you?
HJG: I’m about to set the charm you taught me earlier so I can use my hands for things other than writing. What happens next?
DLM: Fuck, witch, I’ve set the charm too.
DLM: I’d continue to suck on your nipples, grazing my teeth gently against them until you begged me to touch you. Would you beg?
HJG: Yes, fuck, where would you touch me?
Hermione was practically vibrating with need. She lifted her hips slightly off the bed; she was still lying on her stomach and slid one hand into her shorts while the other traced her hardened nipples.
DLM: First, I would strip you of your clothing, slowly, savouring every inch of skin revealed to me. Then, once you were fully exposed, I’d get on my knees for you.
HJG: Fff—fuck, I wish I could hear your voice.
DLM: Are you touching yourself like a good girl, Granger?
She whimpered—not knowing how that would show on her parchment but not caring.
HJG: Yes, please keep going.
DLM: Are you wet?
HJG: Very.
DLM: Fuck, baby, that’s so hot.
Malfoy was a baby man; that was good to know. Hermione was partial to that particular pet name, along with sweetheart and darling.
DLM: I’d start slow, tasting you, savouring you, before using my fingers to spread you open. Flicking my tongue gently around your clit. I’d watch from between your legs for your reactions. Would you like it soft, hard, slow, fast, circles, side-to-side? And when I found what you liked, I wouldn't stop until you pulled my hair, clenching around nothing, crying out for me.
Hermione forgot all about the charm and was fully immersed in chasing her orgasm, reading his words as they appeared on the page. She felt herself reach her peak and she called out for him.
HJG: Dracoooooo.
DLM: That’s it, say my name when you come, Hermione.
It was like an atomic bomb going off. She was panting and sweaty as she came, seeing that the charm had not only given her away, but he had responded in kind, using her given name. She nearly came again as a fresh wave of arousal crashed through her.
HJG: Draco, are you still touching yourself?
DLM: Yes. Did you come?
HJG: Yes, and now I'd like to return the favour.
She spun around in her bed, pushing herself up against her pillows as she began to describe what she would want to do to him. Her hand remained in her shorts, fingers gliding leisurely through her sex, sweeping her wetness around her clit as she spoke.
HJG: After you made me come on your tongue, I’d drag you up from your knees to kiss you, pulling you with me to a piece of horizontal furniture—a desk, maybe, but preferably a bed. I would reach into your boxers and pull out your cock, taking a moment to admire it before sucking it into my mouth, wrapping my lips around you. I wouldn't be able to not suck you off. After all, turnabout is fair, right, Draco?
DLM: Fuck yes, witch—Hermione, I wish I could see you. What are you wearing, baby?
She hadn’t intended to take their story there, but imagined he just wanted a visual of her, and she was more than happy to oblige.
HJG: I’m in a tank top and a pair of grey satin sleep shorts. They were a silver grey, but they’re kinda darker now thanks to your words, and my nipples are so hard, pushing through the fabric of the tank.
DLM: Oh fuck, I’m close. This is so much hotter than I thought it would be, and you aren't even here.
HJG: I wasn’t supposed to be narrating you through it either, but I’m glad I am. Do you want me to continue, Draco?
She wanted to call him sir, or even stretch to daddy, but she’d never done that before and felt like maybe the impact would be stronger, witnessing his eyes change when he heard her rasp it in his ear.
DLM: Yes, baby, what happens next.
HJG: I would bring you right to the edge with my mouth, having successfully worked myself up again with my hand between my legs as I sucked and swallowed around you.
Grunts and groans appeared on the parchment.
HJG: Then I would stand up and crawl over your body, positioning myself on top of you, sliding my wet pussy over your cock.
DLM: Salazar.
She was enjoying this so much. Her second orgasm was approaching; she had never stopped circling her clit. She started pressing two fingers into herself and was glad her wet sounds hadn’t transferred across the two-way. She wasn’t sure the squelching noise would be as hot on paper.
HJG: Then I’d ask you, no, beg you, to fuck me—
DLM: Yes, Hermione, and that’s when I would switch our positions, flipping us and pulling you beneath me, spreading your thighs and running my fingers against your cunt, checking you were suitably wet enough to take me.
DLM: I’d slide my fingers inside you, once, twice, before lining up my cock with your tight little hole.
HJG: And then you would thrust into me, seated to the hilt in one go. You’d need to wait a second before moving, let me acclimatize to the stretch.
DLM: Hermione, baby, are you close? Please say you are close?
HJG: Yes, Draco, I'm gonna come. Come with me. Please.
DLM: I’m right there. Fff—uck, Hermione!
She shouted her second release, screaming out for him once again, her legs shaking as she slowly came back to reality.
DLM: Fuck, Hermione. That was so fucking hot. Let me clean up for a minute, and I'll be back.
Hermione also took the time to change her pyjamas and clean herself up. She cast a quick freshen up spell around the room before sinking beneath the covers for the second time this evening. She felt so deeply satiated, she could barely keep her eyes open to read the parchment, but she forced them open wide.
DLM: That was fucking amazing, Hermione, can we do it again tomorrow?
He wasn’t wrong, it was insanely hot. But knowing they were both in the same place, separated only by a few hallways, she wanted him with her. In her bed.
HJG: How about we do it in person instead? Put your money where your mouth is.
DLM: Yes. I'll be there with bells on, Granger.
Seeing her surname back on the page did something funny to her insides; it was a calming sensation. They were still them, even if she enjoyed saying his given name now, at least in private. She spoke her final words aloud for the evening before cancelling the charm and finally turning out her lights.
HJG: Sweet dreams, Draco. Think of me.