Special delivery for itsbeenvery Title: The Daydream Hermione Granger Never Had Author: fireworkfiasco Recipient's LJ name: itsbeenvery Rating: NC17 Pairing(s): Draco/Hermione Word Count: 3850 Warnings: underage; set during sixth year Authors notes: Thank you to everyone who encouraged me with this: you know who you are. And if you don’t, well, check your pockets for proper ID.
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Hermione—
We’ve heard all about ickle Ronniekins and his disgusting displays of debauchery and would like to offer our sincerest apologies. Find enclosed a little something from one revolted party to another.
Wickedly yours: Fred/George Weasley
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The day Hermione Granger found the little brown box is the day she realized that she had a problem.
The problem being that she was maybe attracted to someone she shouldn’t be. Not even remotely.
It started with the fact that the box was marked with every Prefect’s worst nightmare—the embossed Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes logo, stamped on the side in all its terrifying glory. And then there was the note, which made Hermione several kinds of nervous.
After double- (and triple-) checking for any sorts of waiting traps or spells, she opened the box (carefully) and sifted through the many sheets of tissue paper (slowly).
She felt a blush stealing its way across her cheeks as her stomach twisted. Hidden away at the bottom of the box was a rather obscenely colorful package with gilt gold lettering and a disgustingly buxom maiden draped across the front.
Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes is proud to present, it said, their new Patented Daydream Charms! Guaranteed to distract even the most studious witches (or wizards!) for half an hour or more. Virtually undetectable; side-effects include vacant expression and minor drooling. Must be 16 to purchase.
She really didn’t mean to open it, but suddenly she found herself holding a piece of parchment with instructions on it, and a vial of syrupy red liquid that felt warm against her fingers.
Directions for use (the instructions started, and in red ink, nonetheless) Step One: Drink the potion, preferably on an empty stomach. Step Two: Within 24 hours of ingesting the potion, use the incantation “Diabolu fecit, ut id facerem”. The Daydream will begin momentarily. Step Three: Sit back and enjoy. Step Four: Remember that Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes is not responsible for any daydreams that are the result of this product. You’re the lot with the sick minds.
And Hermione really didn’t plan on unstoppering the bottle, but suddenly she was holding a cork and the smell of cinnamon and something spicy filled the room.
And she really, really hadn’t thought of actually using the Charm, but suddenly there was an empty bottle and a sweet taste in the back of her throat.
And honestly; she couldn’t let good magic go to waste—and it was either use it now or never, as she couldn’t fathom using it to daydream in the middle of class—so she drew the curtains on her bed, settled back against her pillows and muttered the incantation under her breath.
The moment Ron’s oafish head filled her mind, she frowned and hurriedly tried to think of anyone else she could possible daydream about without finding herself in an awkward situation the next time she ran into said individual, and her mind settled on a shock of blond hair that—
Her daydream began with a sudden cacophonous crash of sound that poured over her much like a warm bucket of water. There were seagulls screeching in the distance, and to her left she could hear the thunder of the ocean.
She opened her eyes hesitantly against the sudden bright light, startled to find herself lounging on some beach, clothes completely soaked through. Sand was sticking to parts of her that sand ought not to stick to, and as she shifted on the hot beach, she realized that there was more of her than usual showing.
In place of a properly buttoned shirt, she was wearing a frilly thing that fell around her shoulders and halfway down her breasts, which were cinched up by some ridiculous device around her waist that—magically, she was assuming—didn’t impede her ability to breathe. What remained of her skirts were tattered streamers that didn’t fall past her knees.
And she was barefoot.
Already she could tell this daydream was completely beyond saving.
Beside her, someone chose that moment to groan and sit up, the open neck of his unblemished, white, and rather huge billowy top fluttering in the breeze, revealing a pasty-looking chest. His trousers were black and, well, rather tight, disappearing into a pair of boots that were folding over at the knee. Crowning the entire ensemble was a pointed face that was frowning in the overly vivid light.
Draco Malfoy, in all his sneering glory, did not look pleased.
“Where in the bloody hell am I?”
Hermione Granger wasn’t all that pleased, either, all things considered.
“What are you doing here?”
Draco didn’t speak for a moment, eyeing her ensemble with a smirk that would have sent her scrambling for something to beat him with if not for the fact that she feared her clothes might just fall to pieces if she moved all too much.
“You tell me. This is your daydream, Granger. I’m not about to narrate it for you.”
“I haven’t the slightest clue! I don’t want to daydream about you—”
“You must have been thinking about me; it’s the only way I could have gotten stuck in the middle of this mess.”
“And why in Merlin’s name would I think about you? I loathe you, if you don’t recall. You—you—” She fumbled for words, forgetting herself and crossing her arms before realizing that she was still in immediate danger of falling completely out of her top.
“I, what?” he challenged with a twist to his lips that made her scowl.
She took a breath and evened what she hoped was a most-ferocious glare in his direction. “You repulse me.”
“The feeling is completely mutual.”
“Good!”
“Good.”
“Fantastic.”
Hermione was able to last all of three minutes in the stifling silence before she glanced back, finding him watching her with amusement in his flat gray eyes. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said far too quickly for her liking, glancing down the beach. “How long is this situation going to last, Granger?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. It’s not like I’ve ever used one of these things before.” She nearly crossed her arms again in frustration, remembering herself at the last moment.
With a fluid motion that Hermione would never admit she found quite attractive, he got to his feet and started down the beach. She scrambled to follow.
“Where are you going?”
He slowed, turning to frown at her. There might have been a bit of color in his white cheeks, but Hermione told herself that it must have been the sun. Draco Malfoy didn’t blush. “It’s none of your business.”
“It is entirely my business! This is my daydream you’re running around in; I won’t have you prancing off to Merlin knows where to do Merlin knows what!”
At luck would have it, it was at that exact moment that Hermione’s foot came down rather awkwardly on a shell half-hidden by sand.
Before she could fall, however, she was caught by a pair of careful hands that slid against her waist in all sorts of inappropriate ways. Well, mainly inappropriate because of whose hands they were, really.
She tried to huff and untangle herself from him as quickly as possible, but her huff turned into a gasp of pain as she put weight on her turned ankle. Draco almost looked concerned.
“Sprain your ankle, did you?” The tone in his voice was almost mocking. She desperately wanted to hex him to oblivion, but there was really no place for a wand in her current ensemble. “Serves you right for following me. Now, stay here—I’ll be right back.”
And without further ado, he dropped her.
Spitting out mouthfuls of sand, she sat up and tried a few of the more colorful swears she’d heard around the Common Room. In the distance, she could hear Draco’s dark chuckle from behind the screen of the forest.
A moment later, he reappeared from between the trees, mouth still turned up into a rather charming—devilish, Hermione’s brain supplied, he’s devilish—smile. “How dare you—” she started, blustering and angry as she watched him approach.
“Oh, shut it, Granger. Just because this is your daydream doesn’t mean the rest of us are immune from certain basic human urges.”
Hermione’s eyebrows creased until she realized what it was he was implying. “Oh—well, why didn’t you say?”
He rolled his eyes and turned to survey the stretch of land behind them, hands on his hips. The sun was starting to drop in the sky, casting everything in a warm orange glow that made Draco’s hair look gold and her skin look nut brown.
It took her a moment to realize that she was ogling Draco Malfoy, and that—worst of all—she was enjoying the view.
Clearly, she was going mad.
Horrified, she turned her attention to the forest behind them as well, searching the snarl of forest for a sign of habitation or—or something. Anything, really, that would get her away from the scowling Slytherin.
That she hated. Completely. All-encompassingly. Entirely. Etc. She wasn’t attracted to him, she didn’t think him dashing—especially in that ridiculous costume—and he wasn’t in any way intriguing.
“There,” he said suddenly, breaking into her semi-sane state of denial. “I think there might be a shelter of some sort over in that direction.”
She glanced in the direction he was pointing, rather surprised to find herself agreeing. There was what looked to be some kind of fence tangled with the undergrowth and she frowned at its familiarity.
“I swear I’ve seen that gate before,” she commented from her perch on the sand.
Draco swung bored eyes in her direction. “How many times must I tell you—this is your blasted daydream. Of course it’s going to look familiar—this is the stuff that’s trapped away in that swotty brain of yours.”
Her scowl wasn’t entirely believable. “Then what, I ask again, are you doing here?”
He shrugged, squinting in the glare of the sun reflecting off the water. “Answer that yourself, Granger. And while you’re at it, can you tell me what in Merlin’s name I’m wearing?”
“I’ll tell you the moment I figure out what it is I’m wearing.”
“Some bloody imagination you have,” Draco returned after a moment, voice hard. “Throw yourself half-naked onto an island, with your worst enemy in a puffy shirt, and then what? Chat him to death?”
Hermione rolled her eyes as she climbed to her feet, careful to keep her weight off her sore ankle. “You’re hardly my worst enemy.”
“You shouldn’t be walking on that ankle.”
Before she could form a retort, he had stepped in front of her and was holding out his arm like some sort of gentleman. She took it as if in a trance, unable to keep from leaning on him as they made their way across the sand towards the familiar little fence.
He didn’t spare a single comment on their walk across the sand, and she focused on dragging her heels. But no matter what sort of bitter things were coming out of his mouth, she couldn’t help but notice that he handled her very carefully, leading her around particularly rough patches of sand and keeping her steady when she stepped poorly.
It was truly very disconcerting.
They found when they approached the grown-over gate that there was actually a path; it was hidden amongst the trees that led back towards the house Hermione already suspected would be there.
And there it was, set away from the beach, a little clearing with a rather homely looking little cottage settled into the middle of it. The walls were whitewashed and gray, contrasting rather nicely against the warped blue shutters. The walkway was overgrown with tufts of grass and brambles and the tiny heads of maple saplings.
Draco snorted when he saw it.
“Figures you’d dream up something like this,” he spat, and Hermione did her best to ignore him. “Grow up in a hut just like it, Granger?”
She didn’t answer, but she made sure to tread on his toes as he led her up the path towards the front door. He mumbled a curse under his breath but didn’t say another word.
The door wasn’t locked, and they stumbled their way into the main room of the house without speaking. There was simple, sparse furniture lining the walls illuminated by the sunlight streaking through the windows.
Hermione sank into one of the chairs with a sigh, eyes closed against the dying red light. She could feel Draco standing over her, but she refused to look at him.
This entire situation was completely out of control; she kept finding herself attracted to Draco Malfoy, and he was actually being relatively polite and there was just something not right with any of it.
“What now?” she asked when she couldn’t bear the silence any longer. “Do we wait it out? Let the Charm wear off?” Her eyes stayed closed, the heat across her cheeks only partially from the sun.
She felt the air shift, felt him step back. “I haven’t the slightest idea,” he said. His voice seemed darker than usual; not mean, but deep, and it slid along her spine in a strange caress that should have repulsed her.
Only, it didn’t.
“Well, what else is there to this place? Is there a kitchen? A library?” The room was dark when she opened her eyes; he seemed to glow in the fading twilight.
“There’s gold in your hair,” he said suddenly, eyes still on her. She squirmed uncomfortably. “It’s the strangest thing; like it’s woven in there.”
“It’s just from being out in the sun,” she snapped, refusing to look away and admit that he was making her feel flustered.
This was when things suddenly starting happening that Hermione Granger was rather unprepared for.
Completely okay with, certainly, just not necessarily expecting.
Like when Draco reached out a tentative hand and coiled one of her extravagant curls around his finger, thumb stroking the lock of hair, or when his other hand then dropped to the arm of the chair next to her, palm almost against her thigh.
Or when he leaned down and kissed her.
Her first reaction was to gasp, lips opening under his. His hand was suddenly sliding against her jaw, tilting her mouth to his. And it was strange, and awkward, and glorious.
All she could feel was the heat of it, and her heart thrumming in her ears, and the feeling of his cool lips against hers, and his palm against the fluttering pulse in her throat.
His hair twisted between her fingers like strands of silk and he groaned into her mouth, tongue slick against hers. It was when she found her fingers caught in the collar of his ridiculous shirt that he eased away, breathing heavily.
She watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, fingers stroking along the nape of his pale hair. There was a visible shudder down his spine that made her blush, but she didn’t remove her hands.
“Draco, why—what are—why—?”
“Granger,” he cut in, panting. “Shut it. Don’t—don’t talk, don’t think, don’t—just—”
And then he was kissing her again, and his hand was sliding against her thigh. She arched up against his mouth as he moved down her throat, teeth against her neck, her shoulder, the jut of bone underneath.
When he found the collar of her shirt he paused and looked up at her, a cocky smile in place. His fingers traced over the swell of her breasts, skimming them before delving into the hollow between. When her breath caught, his smirk grew. “Like that, do you Granger?”
It took her a moment to remember how to speak, and even then she sounded half-mad.
“If you—just—again? And—there—please—please—”
His mouth replaced his fingers, teeth against her skin until she was sure was going to burst into flames. This time, when he pulled away, she made a whimpering noise of protest, hands sliding against his arms.
“Stand up.” She wanted to giggle at the way his voice cracked, but the look in his eyes was anything but humorous. Mindful of how she might look, thoroughly kissed and flustered, she climbed to her feet. Almost immediately, he smiled, smug and certain as he looked her over.
“What do you want?” She closed her eyes for a moment, trembling from head to foot. Was she really considering this? Considering letting Draco Malfoy kiss her—again, nonetheless?
She really hadn’t seen this coming: the ridiculous costumes, the apparent ship wreck, the cottage in the middle of nowhere—those were all understandable. Completely mental, but wasn’t that just another side-effect of those blasted charms?
But the fact of the matter was that it was currently her and Draco Malfoy snogging like nobody’s business. Where in Merlin’s name had that come from?
It hadn’t occurred to her that underneath all the utter loathing might be—a hint of attraction?
He was watching her, unabashedly pleased with himself, his usually cool eyes hot as they traced the neckline of her top before meeting her gaze. She felt exposed and awkward, but not entirely opposed to this whole situation.
Mind made up, she met his eyes evenly, stepping towards him.
“Draco, please—”
His lips curled, mouth teasing. “Please, what?”
Over the tatters of her skirt, his hand found the curve of her hip, fingers biting into the flesh as his grip tightened. She closed her eyes, lip between her teeth.
“Don’t stop.”
She was the one to kiss him this time.
For a moment, they were tangled in each other’s clothing; her top twisted backwards as Draco attempted to unlace her bodice piece, and his sleeves about his neck as Hermione fought with the billowing fabric.
There was also the moment where they tried to pull each other to the floor, which only resulted in both of them bruising their knees rather spectacularly on the floor.
His hands slid up her back, cool and wide against her spine, pulling her down to lie beside him. The carpet was rough against her legs, but she was focused on the way the press of his palms pulled against her shoulders, how his hair felt against her cheek. A moment later, as his fingers flirted with her hem, he rolled her under him, a knee settling between hers.
She watched him watch her, his mouth dipping to the hollow of her throat.
“Draco?” she murmured as his thigh slid higher, making her toes curl.
He didn’t glance up from where he was busy, mouth against her ribs. “Hmm?” The vibrations echoed against her and she pressed up against him, eager for any sort of friction, any sort of release.
“I might—” His mouth slid against the jut of her hip, tracing it down below the waist of her skirt. He tugged at it absently, fingers sliding up her thigh. “I might have—thought about you—” She sighed as his fingers stroked against her, curling high, “—about this—before—before now.”
There was something like a crow of triumph caught in the back of his throat, mouth curving up in a devilish smile as he pressed his thumb against her all the harder. She gasped, back bowing off the floor. Around her was the knotted halo of her own hair, a snarled mess across the floor.
“I knew it,” he muttered darkly, sitting back on his heels to look down at her. His fingers followed the waist of her skirt, searching for the clasp. “I had you figured, didn’t I? Bookish Granger, sighing and lonely—” He leaned over her, hands scraping down her hips to catch at the remains of her skirt. “Tell me.”
She arched against him, knees lifting around his hips. “Tell you what?”
“Tell me what you thought about. Tell me how you—how you wanted this.” A sudden pull and he was holding two handfuls of fabric; Hermione groaned as he finished tearing away her skirt. “Go on—tell me.”
He fumbled with his own trousers and belt, and soon he was as naked as she.
She found herself stifling the urge to laugh, to burst into hysterical laughter at the entire situation; this was Draco Malfoy and she was about to—
But then he was kissing her and she quite forgot what it was she was going on about, because his hands were sliding against her breasts, his thigh was nudging her legs apart and she was gasping for air.
“Oh, hell,” she keened as he slid inside her, eyes shut tight. “Oh, bloody, bloody hell.”
Her nails raked up his spine as he moved, hips jerking against hers. “Tell me,” he growled again, mouth against her ear. “Tell me how long you’ve wanted this.”
There isn’t an answer, stifling another shout against his shoulder, biting into his flesh until he’s curling his fingers into her hips. Against her temple, she can feel his hair, damp and sticky, clinging to her skin; everything is painfully sharp and bright and hot and delicious and wicked and perfect.
She comes screaming.
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“Hermione Granger! You’re going to be late to Potions if you don’t get up this very instant! Are you feeling ill? You slept through lunch, you know.”
The smell of Lavender Brown’s rather disgusting perfume wakes her. She opens her eyes to find scarlet and gold hangings around her bed and a mussed school uniform twisted around her body.
Unable to stop herself from smiling, she bounds from the bed, straightening her skirt as she checks her hair in the mirror. It’s snarled and wild, and she leaves it as is, glad to be back from that beach with—
It all comes back to her frighteningly fast: the costumes, the bickering, the kisses, the—
Her stomach rolls and she turns to find Lavender watching her carefully in the mirror. “Are you okay? You look wretched.”
Hermione manages a dull nod, and then a shrug. “I’m—I’ll be fine. Just—ah, remembered something.”
The blonde girl shrugs, adjusting her robes for a moment before she turns to go. “Potions in ten; you’d best be going.”
As if in a trance, she gathers her books and heads to the dungeons; when she arrives, she can hardly recall how she got there, and she stares at her seat until Professor Slughorn asks her if she’s confounded.
She takes her seat and stares at her books, the memory of that blasted Daydream Charm rolling around in her head until she’s certain she’s turning bright red.
There’s a break in lecture and she chances a glance across the room, over towards where Draco Malfoy is sitting with his cronies. Her heart skips a beat when his eyes meet hers, heavy and hot.