Hermione Granger was a deeply disturbed individual. She needed psychological help. She needed to be put in a straight jacket and locked in a white cushioned room. For the world's sake, the key should be destroyed.
At least, that was Hermione's opinion.
One would think, that after being bullied and harassed by someone for six years, then tortured in their home by their maniacal aunt, that maybe you would hate that person. That you would suffer from panic attacks after catching sight of them. That you would avoid them at all costs.
Certainly, you would not seek them out at their work, just to catch a glimpse. You would not sit, freezing your arse off, watching a sport you had no care for, just to watch one person and their magnificent broom thighs. You would not quiz your friends about that person's love life, and (hopefully) lack there of. You certainly would not fantasize about them. Morning, noon, and night.
Yes, Hermione Granger was clinically insane.
But Gods did Draco Malfoy look good in his auror uniform. And in a quidditch kit. And naked (or so she imagined).
Perhaps it had just been too long since Hermione had last... been with a man. Her involuntary celibacy could be giving her psychosis.
Yes! That must be it. She wondered would Cormac McLagen still be interested. Hell, he'd probably be interested in a jar of peanut butter. Was Hermione really so desperate she'd compare herself to a jar of peanut butter?
As the thought crossed her mind, an impossibly blonde head of hair passed through her unfocused vision. Well, previously unfocused, currently ultra focused.
Malfoy strolled up the aisle beside where Hermione was sat, eyes peeking over a book she hadn't read a single word of.
He looked as mouth watering as usual.
His back was currently to her, which was probably for the best, as wide eyed and basically drooling was not a look that suited Hermione.
The ministry library was a regular setting in Hermione’s daydreams. He’d push her up against the bookshelves, hard wood pressing into her back, his hands roaming every part of her body, stealing her moans with his mouth. He’d slip a hand up her skirt and…
As we established earlier, Hermione was clinically insane.
Malfoy stopped directly in front of her, back still to her. His fingers drifted across the spines of the books in front of him, searching. Gods, she wished he’d touch her like that.
“Merlin, you think ridiculously loudly Granger.”
Hermione’s heart either stopped or else ripped completely out of her chest and landed on the desk in front of her, she had trouble distinguishing which one.
”Uh, what?” Her voice was slightly shaky, but surely that was a good enough response. Right? Right?!
He laughed, turning to look at her. “I always knew you were a swot but I’d assumed that the books were educational, not… whatever that fantasy is.”
Yep, her heart was definitely not in her body anymore. The lungs were currently clawing their way out of the hole the heart left.
”What are you talking about Malfoy?” Hermione feigned confusion, as if she would never fantasise about anyone, never mind him. Even if she was thinking about him, which she most definitely was, how would he know that?
He smirked, the signature Draco Malfoy smirk. The one that she had seen him wear almost every day for six years, the one that had turned into a turn on of hers in recent years. “You may not know this but I am a legilimens. A quite powerful one at that. Sometimes, without me trying to, I can hear people’s thoughts.”
Her brain was most definitely oozing out her nose. Hermione Granger was officially deceased, at least she hoped so.
”I’m sure I have no clue what you’re talking about” she closed the book in front of her. “I have to go.”
The smirk grew into quite a charming grin. “You’re a bit red there Granger.”
Perhaps there was a dementor close by, it could perhaps suck out her soul and she could die, and never ever ever ever have to think about any of this ever again. How does one go about summoning a dementor?
Hermione’s feet would not move, would not cooperate with her liquified brain. “I- um- I don’t-“
”Maybe,” he took a step closer, now only the small desk between them. “I’d like to recreate that little daydream you were having.”
Huh?
Surely not.
Nope.
This was a joke.
He was pranking her.
Must be. Surely? Right? Right?!
“Maybe,” he continued, eyeing her casually, as if he had not just reduced Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of their age, to a slack jawed fool. “I’d like to push you up against that bookcase, and kiss you, and feel you. Maybe, you’re not the only one who daydreams.”
“Malfoy, I- I’m not- what?” Whatever puddle of brain she had left was immensely struggling to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. “Are you trying to trick me?”
He laughed again, stepping around the desk. He was close now, too close. Not close enough. “Granger, I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”
He took her hand gently in his, and glanced around the aisle. “There’s no one here, we’re both working quite late. The library is practically empty, especially the section on…” he glossed over the books above Hermione’s head briefly. “18th century muggle literature.”
Since when had the ministry added a heater in the library? It was impossibly hot.
He stared into her eyes, inching closer. “Don’t you think we should do something naughty?”
Hermione's eyes fluttered closed as she tried to process all of this. “I mmph-“
Her eyes flew open as his lips landed on hers. Briefly, soft and barely there, but- there.
If Hermione were ever to retell this story, she would say that she had been possessed by a poltergeist, one so mischievous that it would rival Peeves. Because really, what else could explain her grabbing Malfoy’s neck and pulling him to her level? How would one explain how she kissed him, how she pressed her body into him, how she held onto him for dear life?
His hands moved to her waist, squeezing roughly as kissed her. Although this wasn’t just a kiss, this was a desperate, fiery altercation. His tongue slid to meet her own, confirming Hermione’s suspicions that he was a wonderful kisser. Truly wonderful.
He pushed her gently against the shelf behind her, hands beginning to roam. One moved south, kneading her arse in a magical sort of way. The other tangled in her hair, pulling slightly, a glorious pain.
Her own hands began to roam, his shoulders, his back, his arms. Anything she could get her hands on. Hermione attempted to commit his body to memory, because surely he would come to his senses and push away from her in just a moment, and she would run away to the most concealed corner of the earth to be swallowed up and die. She would die happy with this memory.
“Granger,” his second hand joined the other on her arse. “Jump.” He sounded breathless, his voice tinted with a wonderful husk. That voice would be engraved in her mind forever.
She followed his instruction, and suddenly she was at his level, pressed between his body and the bookshelves, held up by his hands, feeling quite flushed.
Malfoy shifted, now only one hand holding her, the other snaking in between her legs, bunching her too-short-for-work skirt around her waist. Oh yes, please yes.
A soft moan escaped from her lips at the sensation, his light touch on her inner thigh. “I know I said the library wasn’t busy Granger, but you’ll have to keep quiet for me.” He stared into her eyes once more, the smirk returned. He didn’t move, only stared, waiting.
She nodded, “Of course, yes, quiet, yes.”
And then the magical kissing resumed. Gods, she’d need to purchase a pensieve.
She felt his hands crawling upwards, his fingers growing ever closer. “Malfoy,” she was growing impatient, shifting to reach him. “Please.”
A single finger impaled her, eliciting a gasp. The finger withdrew slowly, gathering her wetness and moved slightly north, to the throbbing bundle of nerves screaming for some attention.
”Merlin, you’re so wet Granger.” His head fell forward, resting on her shoulder. He inhaled a deep breath, and then he really got to work.
A second finger joined the first as he massaged her clit, pulling short gasps from Hermione. He rubbed her in circles, and already, she was almost there.
”Oh gods Malfoy, yes, yes- oh yes right there.” She couldn’t help the noises escaping her right now. He was a professional at this. He must be.
Oh Merlin, she was almost there, she could feel it rising within her, those butterflies in her stomach. Almost there, almost, almost-
"Why did you stop?!" Hermione cried, her voice quivering slightly.
That Draco Malfoy smirk returned. "Oh don't worry, I'm not even nearly done Granger." He dropped her unceremoniously to her feet and cast a quick glance around the aisle. Apparently satisfied, he turned his back to her, facing the desk. "This looks comfy."
Hermione stood there awkwardly, back pressing into the bookshelves. She dug her fingernails into her palms, not believing that this wasn't a dream, because in what sort of alternate universe was this that Draco Malfoy had just held Hermione Granger up against a bookshelf and fingered her, and was now suggesting that they have sex on a desk in the Ministry of Magic's library?
Dream or not, who was she to turn him down?
She decided to be brave. Hermione had been dreaming of this moment (and many moments like it) for a long time, like a really long time, and she refused to fuck it up because she was nervous. She stepped forward, trailing her hand along his back as she walked past him, circling the desk. She propped her hands up behind her on the desk and hopped up. "Mmh, yes, very comfy."
He was in front of her in an instant, his (slightly damp) fingers drawing shapes on her thigh. Their eyes met, the shockingly blue intensity warmed her to her core, and sent flushes downward. Gods, she could melt from his eyes alone.
"I think we should get you out of these clothes." He said, shifting her skirt upwards once again, exposing her knickers. He grabbed the lace thong between his forefinger and thumb. "I like these."
Hermione flushed, hoping he wouldn't think that she spent twenty minutes meticulously choosing which underwear to wear that day, you know, just in case. Hey, no judgement please, it paid off, didn't it?
"I've shown you mine, now show me yours." She smiled.
He smirked.
She unbuckled his belt.
He continued to play with the band of her knickers.
She unzipped his trousers.
He tugged her underwear down her legs roughly.
She grabbed his underwear and trousers together and jerked them down.
His cock jumped to attention.
She smiled.
He smirked.
She banged her head against the table.
She opened her eyes, rubbing a hand against her forehead.
She blinked. She looked up. She swung her head from side to side, searching for him.
No, no, no, no.
She had been dreaming. Again.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could've sworn she had seen a blonde head dart around the corner of the aisle. And then, as she began to think she might have imagined it, a passage she had read in a legilimency book came to mind.
"Those who possess the natural power of legilimency have been know to hold the ability to plant dreams and visions in another's mind. This is generally known to be a skill only the most powerful of legilimens possess."
Hermione might just re-read that particular book.