kink_bingo: It's not a side effect of magic
title: It's not a side effect of magic pairing: Draco/Hermione pov: 3rd rating: R prompt: humiliation (situational) summary: Hermione thought five intense years taught her that Draco Malfoy was bad news, not to mention his spite for Muggle borns and his bossy attitude. Ah, it was such a satisfaction when she had the chance to punch him in the face! …But apparently she hasn’t learned anything from the recent past. disclaimer: the Harry Potter universe belongs only to J.K.Rowling A/N: my first HP fic :') I blame my friend for luring me into reading Dramione fics. It's for kink_bingo 's november mini challenge
Hermione thought five intense years taught her that Draco Malfoy was bad news, not to mention his spite for Muggle borns and his bossy attitude. Ah, it was such a satisfaction when she had the chance to punch him in the face! …But apparently she hasn’t learned anything from the recent past. Here she is, on her knees on the cold stones of the basement in a dark corner right outside the kitchen with none other than Malfoy towering over her, looking expectantly in his cold gray eyes. Anyone who knows about the contrasts between Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter (and consequently his sidekicks Ron and Hermione), would think the witch was under the Imperius spell, but they’d be oh so wrong. Everything started on the train to Hogwarts, months ago.
It was their fifth year at Hogwarts, the first after Lord Voldemort’s return in bones and flesh, and it was also the year of the new Prefects nominees. Hermione had still in mind Harry’s upset face when Ron was chosen instead of him–everybody (Harry included) thought he was a sure bet, that Dumbledore would have picked ‘the Chosen One’ for the role. Being Prefects also means that there’s a section on the train all for them, so Hermione and Ron had to leave Harry and their other friends to attend a reunion with the Head Prefects and monitor the aisles.
That’s where they saw what they feared: Malfoy was Slytherin’s Prefect. Hermione heard Ron muttering his spite towards the other boy, but everything passed in the background when she locked eyes with Draco. She expected him to throw nasty comments in their direction, with much delight on Pansy Parkinson’s behalf, but he simply stared at Hermione, his lips slowly stretching in a wicked smirk that assured evil things. The Gryffindor girl felt her heart racing when she realized he promised hell solely to her…and she felt it was right. Blushing brightly at such thoughts, Hermione took a seat and stubbornly looked at the door, still feeling the icy eyes of Draco burning her neck. Once the Prefects were dismissed, they split to keep an eye on the other students. Hermione was left alone because Ron preferred checking on Harry before doing his Prefect duties, but somebody had to be responsible, right? Before opening the door to the next carriage, a slender yet strong hand grabbed her wrist and dragged her in the toilet, without giving the girl the time to voice her indignation. When the door clicked shut, Hermione got face to face with Draco Malfoy and his rapacious expression, mere centimeters from her anxious one. “Granger,” Draco growled, “Did you cast me a spell?” he asked. Hermione felt red bloom on her cheeks when he gently took one of her curls off her face. “N-no,” she stuttered, unable to take her eyes off his. “Then what suddenly attracts me to you?” he leaned closer, his lips brushing against Hermione’s. “I don’t kn—” her reply was interrupted by a heated kiss as she was shoved against the wall, with Draco’s hands caressing her sides. Hermione was overwhelmed by the rightness and wrongness of the situation, but kissed back ardently . She repressed a moan at the thought of her and Draco together: a bully, an enemy, a Slytherin…she felt naughty, and she liked it. The kiss ended too soon and Draco jerked back, reaching for the door without opening it yet. “See you at school,” he stated, and with that he was gone. If only Harry and Ron knew…
Neither Draco nor Hermione have discovered yet what suddenly attracts each other, mostly because they hated each other just the other day, but their ‘quality moments’ don’t leave room for complains. The thrill to be discovered is a huge turn on for Hermione, who sometimes finds herself almost wishing to be caught, just to see her best friends’ shocked faces–it’s in moments like these that she wonders if someone has actually cast a spell on Draco and her. Their secret encounters go on for months, usually in some empty room in the dungeons or even in the Room of Requirement, if they’re really that eager and don’t have too much time. Draco is used to be the one in charge and Hermione has discovered she doesn’t mind giving him what he wants, she actually likes when he orders her to do something during their intimacy…The girl often thinks about this relationship, before going to sleep, and prays there will never be a situation where she has to choose between Draco and her friends: she knows she’ll choose Harry and company anyway, especially if Malfoy follows his father’s steps and becomes a Death Eater, but she’d miss him and their unexpected complicity. Sure, when they’re with the other students he keeps acting like he loathes her for what she is (a smart Mudblood, talented witch and one of Harry Potter’s best friends, nonetheless) and doesn’t waste a chance to demonstrate it, but when it’s only the two of them he can be a nice lover… When he doesn’t humiliate Hermione for his pleasure. Yes, sometimes he is carried away by arousal and asks the girl to do things that usually go against her pride or simply make her feel uncomfortable. Like now: Draco just told her they’re going to fuck in the kitchen, where the elves can see them. “But…but the elves can see us!” she voices her concern. “Don’t be stupid, we won’t fuck right in their face,” he scoffs. “They can still hear—” “And I don’t care if they hear us!” Draco yells back, covering Hermione’s attempt at disobeying, “Now stand up,” he commands, offering a hand to help her up. She takes it and lets herself being dragged in the kitchen, where Draco shouts orders left and right to the elves to not disturb them. Hermione feels her eyes tearing up a bit at the elves’ scared pledges: Malfoy knows how much she cares about these creatures and yet he brought her where they are, threatening them if they report the two guys to the teachers. Draco yanks Hermione in the stock room and behind some boxes, making himself comfortable on one of the scattered ones. He crosses his leg and rests his chin against a hand, looking intently at Hermione who’s still standing up. “Masturbate,” he orders. Hermione flushes and looks around, “They might come in any time soon,” she tries again, but with no success; she instead makes Malfoy looking at her with a bored expression and it’s never a good sign. “Okay, okay,” she almost pleads, arranging some boxes to have a surface to lean on. She undoes her robe, tie and shirt, steps out of her skirt and looks at Draco, shivering in the cold room with only her bra and panties. He nods curtly at her and Hermione has no other choice but undressing completely, discarding her underwear on the pile of clothes and finally sitting on a box, throwing a leg on each of the boxes at her sides to allow Draco to see everything ; at his sharp intake of breath, Hermione blushes and a tiny satisfied smile graces her lips. She tries not to think of the elves in the kitchen, really, but it’s hard, it’s embarrassing having someone else hearing you moaning. “Granger,” Draco calls her by her last name only when he’s not pleased with her. This is one of those times: Hermione apologizes profusely, begging him not to be mad and promising to do whatever he wants, eventually sneaking a hesitant hand between her legs and sighing at the contact of a finger against her clit. Jacking herself off distracts Hermione from her worry enough to notice Draco’s heavier breathing. With some effort she opens her eyes she didn’t notice she closed, catching the guy palming himself through his trousers and eating Hermione with his eyes: his feral attention makes the girl speed her own hand, fingering herself with much more greed and desperation until a familiar sensation in her low parts precedes an intense orgasm, at which she moans her lover’s name out loud. Draco’s aroused groan comes close after hers; he comes in his pants but couldn’t care less, too pleased by the orgasm and the little Mudblood. Once he’s sure to be steady on his legs, Draco stands up and takes the few steps that separate him from Hermione, crouching at her eye level and leaning in for a quick kiss. “Thanks,” he mutters, handing her her clothes, that she takes with a shy smile. She dresses up silently and takes Draco’s outstretched hand, following him back in the kitchen (she notices the quick glances the elves throw at them, her heart clenches in embarrassment) and in the dungeons outside the room, where they separate not to rise suspicions–Draco walks in the direction of his House, Hermione takes the stairs to the Great Hall. When she turns one last time to look at Draco, she’s surprised to see him do the same. She smiles.