The Polyjuice Incident
The girl's lavatory really ought to be better guarded.
Hermione held in her hands a cup of steaming, freshly brewed polyjuice potion, the product of over a month's hard labor. It was midnight, so late that even Moaning Myrtle seemed to have retired, and there was no sign of Mrs. Norris or Argus Filch anywhere. In fact, according to Harry's map, which rested on the sink, they were clear on the other side of the school. However, as glad as she was, Hermione couldn't help feeling a bit annoyed that the security wasn't a bit tighter. After all, these were dangerous times.
Speaking of which...
She was in the middle of running a spy mission for Harry, but how he had coaxed her into making this blasted potion again was beyond her. She hadn't so much as mentioned the spell out loud since that horrible incident during Second Year. This time, however, she had been very sure to grab a human hair. And besides, Pansy Parkinson didn't have a cat. In fact, Pansy Parkinson hated cats.
A self-satisfied grin appeared on Hermione's face as she recalled the incident from lunch in which Crookshanks had leapt onto Pansy's pug-like face and ripped at the greasy mop of hair.
The grin promptly disappeared when she glanced back at the cup. This is so disgusting.
Nevertheless, she raised it to her lips and gulped it down, trying to pretend that it was anything besides what it actually was.
Ten minutes later, she emerged from the lavatory, clad in the emerald and silver uniform of Slytherin House, which had been conveniently pinged from an unconscious Pansy Parkinson. To start off, she practiced shaking her rear in that whorish way that Pansy always demonstrated.
Hmmm, she thought. Left, right, left, right, sort of like a swaying ship...
Unfortunately, she overcompensated during one, exaggerated hip swivel, nearly tripped over the walk, and landed with a thud on the stone. She cursed under her breath as she picked herself up, but apparently this was a mistake. No sooner had she righted herself than a voice came from down the corridor. "Who's there?"
Hermione panicked, and began looking all around her for an escape. There was a broom closet up ahead, but that would take her within sight of whoever was approaching. Why couldn't she have brought Harry's cloak!?
But then, it wasn't as if she would get in trouble. She looked like Pansy...
"Who's there?! I know I heard something." the voice came again, and Hermione was relieved. Not only was it not a member of the staff, but it was the very same person for whom she was supposed to be looking. And so, after donning her most ridiculous smile, Hermione prepared herself for her dramatic debut.
"Drakie!" she forced herself to croon, when he had come within sight. She held her arms out as if she was a teddy bear.
"Pansy?!" Malfoy jumped back in horror. Nevertheless, his right hand, which had held his wand at the ready, dropped to his side. His left hand slicked the silvery hair back from his forehead. She noticed that in the waning light of the corridor it had slight sheen. His pale eyes seemed quite dark at they peered at her over that chiseled nose.
God, he's gorgeous..., she caught herself thinking. Wait. No...no he's not!
"What are you doing here?" he snapped. "It's past curfew. Only Prefects are supposed to be out this late."
Hermione was surprised by the amount of distaste that his voice and expression held, and a slight twinge of guilt rippled through her at the thought of deceiving him. Malfoy really hadn't been bad lately. In fact, ever since Sixth Year, he'd been positively pleasant. Well, as pleasant as a Malfoy can be. And he had offered Harry that clue once.
But she shook those thoughts from her mind, especially the one where he had unexpectedly held the door for her after class, and their hands had brushed by accident. And how handsome he had looked...
Oh shut up, she told herself. The truth of the matter was that he was the son of a Death Eater, and he might be withholding information.
"I came to see you, Drakie." She crooned, doing her best imitation Pug Girl. "I thought you might be lonely out here all alone."
He grimaced. "If you don't go back to the dungeons right now, I'm going to take points away."
Hermione struggled not to bite her lip in frustration. Pansy never bit her lip. Pansy never seemed to have problems getting Draco's attention either. Now she was wishing desperately that Harry and Ron had reprised their roles as Crabbe and Goyle. It was foolish to think Draco would confide in a person as ridiculous as Pansy. But she had to try. Otherwise she'd owe Ron five galleons.
"You wouldn't do that," she tried. Strategy, strategy...THINK, dammit! "Gryffindor is leading by ten points, and you wouldn't want to set Slytherin behind, would you? Think what your father would say." She made an extra effort of emphasize the word "father." Hopefully this would lead to something interesting.
But it didn't.
"He'd say I let that filthy Mudblood best me again."
Hey! her brain protested in silence, but Hermione said nothing.
"I swear," he continued to rant, "McGonagall gives her points every time she raises her hand. Why does she have to volunteer so many bloody times? I wonder if she has some sort of spasm in her arm... Maybe it comes from jerking off Potter and Weasley too much. Maybe she gets a cramp."
"So you won't take points away?" she interrupted, red in the face, and very tempted to kick Malfoy where it counted. Everything in her mind was boiling over in outrage. But he hadn't heard, for he was still blithering on and on with his endless insults.
"...And I bet she isn't even that smart! She's certainly not that pretty, even when her hair is pulled back, although I bet Weasley thinks she's a godsend. But then, Weasley would think anyone is a godsend if she did him..."
WHACK!
Hermione hadn't meant to, but her hand had somehow snaked out of its own accord and slapped Malfoy clear across the cheek. Completely shocked, he just peered at her with questioning eyes. Then that haughty line of his mouth turned up at the corners in his best impression of a smile. It was as if he knew.
Her face went pale. Oops...think of an excuse, think of an excuse. She giggled. "Your father doesn't want you to think so much about that pesky little...m...mu...mudblood." Hermione mentally kicked herself for stumbling over the word, "Mudblood," but also congratulated itself again on having brought Draco's father back into the conversation. Even if the attempt was lame.
Yet again, however, it was ignored. "So," said he, drawing out the word as if he was calculating a million things in his mind as he spoke. "You wanted to keep me company...Pansy."
"Yes, Drakie," Hermione squeaked, and cried out in surprise when Draco suddenly grabbed her hand and led her to the broom closet. He swung the door open, dragged her in, and slammed it closed again.
"Silencio!" he ordered.
Hermione couldn't see anything, but she had a feeling she knew what was about to happen. That feeling was confirmed the moment she felt Draco's lips press upon hers. He kissed her as if he was punishing her, demanding her to open her mouth by running his tongue roughly between her lips. But it wasn't disgusting. It wasn't slobbery like Viktor's kisses, nor were his lips too soft like Justin's. They were hard and angry and...whoa, am I enjoying this?!
Hermione pushed him away suddenly, and pulled her wand from her robes. "Lumos!" she commanded, and just as quickly thrust the wand out of sight so Draco couldn't see that it wasn't Pansy's.
"I want it dark," sneered Draco. "Nox!" Then he was upon her again, pushing her against the door, and snaking a hand up her robes. He was kissing her so hard she thought she might faint. The feel of his tongue pushing against hers was so intense that Hermione almost didn't feel his fingers on the flesh of her lower thigh, trying to pull up her skirt. She gasped as his mouth pulled from hers. His hot breath puffed against the curve of her neck, and when his tongue touched her skin she shuddered. The pleasurable tingle almost incapacitated her, but reason had not completely escaped her. She knew she had to get free. Finally, Hermione managed to wriggle from his grasp.
"Lumos!" she cried.
Draco shielded his eyes and sighed with exasperation. "What is the matter with you, Parkinson?" He was creeping toward her now. "Isn't this what you wanted?"
Hermione backed away, until the backs of her knees came in contact with something cold and metallic. She stumbled over it and her posterior landed flat on what was apparently a trunk. A trunk in a broom closet?
"Look," she pointed out with her shaky voice. "It's the same trunk Professor Sprout used to transport the...uh...the...what are you doing?"
He was kneeling down in front of her, placing a firm hand on each thigh. His hair was tousled, which was odd because it had been perfect a moment ago. But then Hermione realized her hands were greasy from male hair products. Oh Hell, did I run them through his hair? Yes. Yes, she had. Because he was a fabulous kisser and she hadn't been kissed in an awfully long time and that was all and...and now she was going to lose her virginity to Malfoy in the most unromantic spot in the whole of England.
He was pulling back her robes and skirt, not even bothering to take them off. It was obvious he was only interested in one thing.
"N...now look, Malfoy...er Draco. Drakie...I'm not that kind of girl!" she stuttered, trying desperately to clamp her legs shut.
"What are you talking about, Pansy? You do this all the time."
Hermione squirmed backwards, but since he had hooked his fingers her underwear this action only served to help him. Draco tugged the underwear down, stopping only to unloose her shoes. She kicked at him.
There is no way I'm going through with this. Pumping him for information is one thing, but pumping him for...oh, bad choice of words!
"Well," she continued to inch away, but her back hit the wall. She was cornered. "Well, maybe I'm not that kind of girl today."
Draco held up her pants as if it was a prize, although he was obviously confused by the fact that they were white cotton. "I'll say you're not," he smirked. And then his head disappeared between her legs.
She pushed at his shoulders, struggling to keep him away. "Wait! Wait!"
Something wet caressed her thigh. Oh my God.
It began to work closer and closer towards her aching center. She had to stop him. "Wait, I'm Granger!" she exclaimed.
Draco pulled back her skirt, and peered up at her, with the surprise evident in his icy blue eyes. He smiled. "I thought you hated that game, Pansy."
WHAT!?! Game? What game?!
"I..."
But she didn't have the chance to react because Draco had returned to his previous activities. She was forced to watch as his golden head buried itself in her sex, and his tongue flicked out against her folds. And then she lost all coherent thought. Besides, it's not as if anyone will ever find out...
Her trembling hands reached out to grab the sides of the trunk, and her legs clamped around Draco's head. She had never done this before and didn't know what to do, but she ached to hold on to something, to latch onto something that would keep her from collapsing. As his tongue circled inside of her--inside and out, and then over that throbbing bud of flesh she had never known existed until today--Hermione could barely hold herself upright. Her breath came out in little gasps, as she strove to be as silent as possible. Why silence was necessary, she was unsure. Apparently Draco was too.
"Say my name," he mumbled into her crotch. The vibrations his speech caused were marvelous. Hermione was on the edge, and she knew it.
"Draco...," she whimpered.
"No," he said. "She wouldn't say that. Call me Malfoy."
His long fingers reached deep within her, and suddenly veered upward. Hermione couldn't stop herself from moaning. But she hadn't said his name yet.
"Say it!" he ordered. "Say it...Hermione."
At the sound of her own name she writhed against him, at last granting his request. "Yes, Malfoy! God, yes!"
She came in one great shudder, and would have fallen forward against him if he hadn't chosen that moment to stand.
His own robes parted before he prepared to kneel again, but Hermione's curiosity got the better of her.
"No," she stopped him. "I want to see it." It suddenly occurred to her that Pansy had probably seen Draco millions of times before, and her desire would seem quite odd to Malfoy, but he said nothing. Instead, after he had dutifully removed both his trousers and his pants, he allowed her to raise his robes and to conduct her innocent inspection.
He was long. Or at least she thought he was; Hermione had never seen one up close. But he was definitely thick. Will it hurt? she wondered, before remembering that she was in Pansy's body. Of course it wouldn't hurt.
His penis throbbed a little as she reached out to touch it. The pale head opened a little as she ran her thumb over it. Her pulse leapt when she heard Draco gasp. She ran her hand back to where his shaft was rooted in the light thatch of white-blond hair; then lower to the heavy sac underneath, and back to the head.
Perhaps she would have leaned over to kiss it, had Draco not prevented it.
"She wouldn't do that," he told her, bluntly.
"How do you know?" asked Hermione, a little defensively.
Draco paused at her question, and regarded her for a moment. Then he grabbed his wand. "Nox," he commanded.
Once again Hermione was blind, but she felt her skirt being smoothed away once again. Hands then reached under her sweater and blouse, searching for her breast.
Lips met lips, and she tasted herself for the first time: Salty and warm. She sucked herself from his tongue, and lightly bit the edge of his lower lip.
They both sighed as his cock slid into her passage without any resistance, settling quickly into a rhythm partly hindered by their position. To remedy this, Malfoy urged her forward until she was barely supported by the trunk. He slid out and back as a preliminary test, before picking up once more.
Hermione groaned at the friction, and for the first time allowed her arms to reach around him. The pressure she felt inside was immense, and the more she felt the closer she pulled him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, crushing him full against her body. She yanked at his robes, wanting to feel his flesh, but in her impassioned state she couldn't get them off.
The hand on her breast teased more, stroking it softly, letting the fingers linger over her erect nipple. Finally, however, the ache between their legs distracted them from everything else. Their mouths were released from kissing, but Hermione could hear Draco's panting beside her ear. She herself found it difficult to breathe. What breath she did have came out in long shudders and soft groans.
Apparently, this was not normal behavior for Pansy Parkinson because Draco stopped for a moment to ask, "Are you ok, Pansy?"
A little irritated by his pause, Hermione arched her hips to reassure him. "Sssh," she hushed him. "I'm Hermione."
That seemed to satisfy him for he began to pound into her whereas before his strokes had been slow and gentle.
The hand that had been at her breast disappeared, and she protested quietly, but then it reappeared between them. He played with her clitoris as he pushed inside her again and again and again.
"God, Granger, you're so wet," he whispered into her ear. "I made you that way."
She gasped, "I know."
"You think you're so much better than everybody else, but you're just a Mudblood."
His words might have lessened her arousal, but she was too far gone to care. Maybe she would have cared if his gorgeous cock wasn't buried deep within her, and his hands weren't milking her juices as if they were needed to put out a fire. Maybe she would have cared if his hot tongue wasn't swirling around her ear.
But the waves hit her at exactly that moment, and she could barely hear him as he cried, "Draco Malfoy made you scream!"
She did scream, letting her second orgasm wash over her before she let it die. Malfoy shoved roughly into her one last time before she felt the spurt inside of her.
He emptied himself into her as if he was using the toilet.
Seeing this, Hermione's mind returned, and she kicked him away, feeling utterly humiliated. Had he known all along? Would this be all over the school tomorrow? she thought. Her eyes widened. What time is it!?
She bolted for the door. "Lumos!"
"Bloody Hell, Pansy, what's your problem tonight?!" cried Draco.
Hermione wheeled around to take one last look. There he was, lying on the ground where she had kicked him. He was quite handsome; too bad he was such an arrogant bastard. His hair was in disarray and his lips were swollen. His robes were lying around his waist, and she could see his flaccid manhood still gleaming with her moisture.
Self-consciously, she straightened her skirt. His seed was already beginning to trickle down her legs. Unfortunately, her underwear was nowhere to be seen, so they would have to be left behind. Her robes were mussed, and she was sure her hair was a fright, but she couldn't stay. But for good measure she wrinkled her nose like Pansy would have and scoffed at Draco.
"Good heavens, Drakie. How am I supposed to enjoy myself when you're always thinking of her?"
Then she opened the door and stormed out, leaving a very confused Draco to collect himself.
The next day at breakfast, Harry leaned over to whisper in her ear, "So did you find out anything interesting about Malfoy?"
Hermione squeaked at the sound of his name. "No," she choked on her tea. "Nothing at all."
The end.