Cuffs and Fisticuffs
Ron was in a surprisingly good mood, Hermione observed. Standing at the entrance of the shack, he kept one ear on Hermione while lobbing Party Popping Apples at any students attempting to venture outside the fence line of the pumpkin patch—as if he had eyes in the back of his head. Having so many siblings must have trained him to notice mischief. He had more of Molly Weasley in him than Hermione had given him credit.
“Weasley!” Malfoy snapped for the fifth time.
“Yes, I heard you the first time, Malfoy. What is it?” Ron pitched a Party Apple and caught a sixth-year upside the back of the head, sparkling him with red glitter and hollering, “STAY WITHIN THE FENCE LINE.”
“Could I have some volunteers?” Daphne distracted the M&M’s, sending them off on errands with the bonus of candy rewards.
Ron and Malfoy argued what to do with Hermione. Both of them ignored Hermione’s reminders that she had nothing to do with the mess they were investigating. Ron was too distracted by students to digest anything she said, and Malfoy made no effort to help with the chaos.
Hermione found herself edging out of the shack, pumpkin goo stuck to her shoes and knees and stringy bits dangling off her skirt and jumper. She was certain if she just slipped away, Ron would forget she’d even been here tonight within ten minutes.
She was about to escape out the door when Malfoy dragged her back to his side by the back of her jumper.
Stumbling, Hermione almost dropped the treasure chest, feet sliding in pumpkin goo. She was certain she’d fall on her back, but Ron steadied her under one elbow leaving a brand of green glitter behind.
“Careful there, Hermione,” He rushed to say, in the same breath hollering over his shoulder, “NO FLOATING THE FIRST YEARS!”
Malfoy smirked, “trying to make a run for it, Granger?” He asked quietly out the side of his mouth.
“This is ridiculous,” Hermione huffed, again.
“Need a Pepper Up potion? Even your hair is looking tired.”
“No, thank you,” Hermione smoothed her hair self-consciously.
Malfoy shrugged and snapped his fingers in Ron’s face. “Listen here, Weasley, I don’t trust this bloke. You should have heard the disgusting poetry that Jack-O’-Lantern was saying to Granger. Practically undressing her.”
“What?!” Hermione turned red, gaping at Malfoy.
Ron frowned, serious, “Don’t try to defend this creep, Hermione.”
“I’m not!” Hermione found herself squawking indignantly, “There was no undressing!”
“He taunted her to come find him, and spelled the Jack-O’-Lantern’s vines to grab at her,” Malfoy continued as if Hermione hadn’t spoken.
She felt half-mad. Within the span of ten minutes, Malfoy had Ron agreeing with him. Malfoy and Ron agreeing on something. Shamelessly dropping phrases like ‘Hermione’s stalker,’ and ‘obsessed individual,’ until he’d half convinced Ron (despite Hermione’s protests at the lack of evidence) that Hermione had an unhinged fan with a shrine of newspaper clippings in a closet somewhere; and a basement set up to keep Hermione as a sex slave, likely before murdering her horribly in a dark magic ritual.
“That’s settled, Hermione,” Ron said firmly. “Malfoy’s right, you can’t be too cautious. He’ll keep you safe and take you to Harry. Harry will know what to do. You can’t let this creep off the hook just because he sent you a book.”
“Keep me safe?” Hermione sputtered. This morning, she’d have laughed herself sick if anyone had suggested Ron would ever recommend anyone, let alone Hermione, into Malfoy’s care.
“Yes, Granger, you should stick close. Who knows what else this creep has planned.” Malfoy turned to her, mock serious.
“Oh, and, Hermione,” Ron leaned back into the shack with an afterthought. “Ask Harry how much longer we have to keep these kids here. It’s getting late.”
“Hurry! And thank you!” Daphne shouted shrilly, with a harried wave, running off to put out a literal fire.
“You!” Hermione rounded on Malfoy, struggling to find the words. “What was all that? That was such a gross and deliberate mischaracterization of an innocent (mostly innocent) Jack-O’-Lantern!”
“It was my interpretation and no less wildly biased than your own.”
“This is—“
“Ridiculous? Yes. I am aware of your willful disregard for your own safety, as well as your woeful overworking of the adjective,” Malfoy sniffed.
Hermione’s temper trampled her self-control. To be positioned as the victim of some heinous crime when all they knew for certain was that someone had sent her on a (mostly) harmless scavenger hunt. It was a mockery of all true crimes.
“I ought to turn you into a ferret.” Hermione pointed her wand at Malfoy’s throat.
“Granger, Granger, aren’t you a danger?” Malfoy purred mockingly.
“Don’t repeat it!” Hermione flushed.
“Why? Because it’s bloody creepy? Intimate? Stalker-ish?”
“I’m going to rip all that pretty hair out of your head if you try this nonsense with Harry too.” Hermione jabbed her wand tip at his throat.
Malfoy’s eyes slivered. “Put your wand away, or I’ll defend myself.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Hermione snapped.
Malfoy leaned into her wand tip, bearing his teeth in a grin, “wouldn’t have to try hard.”
Hermione’s eyes boiled over with deranged light. Her feral rage only seemed to delight Malfoy.
“No? Come along then, Granger,” Malfoy held out a posh hand, “Potter is waiting. Be a good girl and don’t make a fuss.”
“I don’t think so,” Hermione raged.
Malfoy grabbed her wrist.
Hermione promptly popped him in the face, smartingly reminding him how much it hurt to be hit by an enraged Granger.
“What do you have in that hand? Iron bones?” Malfoy rasped, shaking out his jaw. “Hit me again, and I’ll hit back.” He took a menacing step closer.
Hermione slapped the same cheek.
“You violent little Pygmy Puff!” Malfoy’s eyes flashed and without warning, he leaped at her.
****
Little as Malfoy and Granger had in common, one could say they were well off, pampered (to different extents), only children—and a good wrestling tussle was something neither of them had much practice, grace, or cunning at.
Draco tackled Hermione, knocking her on her back into pumpkin mush. Her hands dug into his hair, fisting and yanking his head back, exposing his pale throat—which she repressed a startling, feral urge to bite at.
He pushed his weight into her hips, one hand gripping her throat. Her thighs squeezed his sides. His scalp ached in her death grip, shocking a strangled laugh from him.
She hissed in his ear, “Flipendo!”
The jinx punched up between them, but he kept hold of her as much as she did of him—death gripping his hair and sides. Both of their wands went flying. He landed on his back—gasped as a pumpkin rind crunched beneath him. One hand fisted Granger’s jumper, stretching out the collar, the other instinctively gripped her thigh as her knees threatened to crack him open.
“Bossy thing. You would insist on topping.” Draco groaned as she yanked his hair hard. “Not the hair, you bloody Gorgon.” He returned the favor, viciously yanking a fist full of glossy curls.
“Ow!” Hermione arched backward. They wriggled like that for a while, bending one another backward, with far too much hip contact for either’s comfort.
“This is ridiculous, Malfoy!” She shouted at the ceiling.
“If you say so, Granger, I’m quite at my leisure,” he grunted.
“On the count of three, we both let go,” she commanded.
“Not likely to happen, Granger. I don’t trust you.” He bucked, knocking her forward on his chest, and rolled, eliciting a shriek.
Another minute of general grunts, gasps, groans, and knee-banging later, the two were interrupted by an incandescent Daphne.
“Enough!” Daphne stomped up to them. “Depulso!” Hermione and Draco tumbled apart. Two Petrificus Totalus spells followed. “I’m a healer, not a nanny! I’ve been sorting out children all day but you two are the worst! What sort of example is this?”
Draco and Hermione were levitated semi-upright sitting back to back as Daphne stormed on lecturing them with a fury. Daphne’s still red and green, glittery hands strangled the air like she was snapping chicken necks.
Draco’s nose itched terribly where Granger’s insidious curls tickled his face. He hoped Daph would wrap up her little tantrum quickly. Luckily her temper never had lasted long. Draco settled uncomfortably in to wait.
Hermione alternatively, felt terribly ashamed of herself. She was already awkward and cagey around Ron’s new and elegant fiancée. And now, to be caught rolling about on the floor—she shuddered internally.
When Daphne had blistered their ears, dolloped third helpings of shame atop their heads—vented the frustrations of being a full Healer treated like a disposable school Prefect all evening—she at last smoothed her glittery hair and took several meditative breaths.
“I know just the cure for you two’s bickering. This little lesson did wonders for Ron and Percy!” Daphne marched out of the hut and returned an ominous minute later to the tune of Ron’s, “Daph! We can’t play those types of games here. I need those! I’m on duty!”
These pleas filled both Hermione and Draco with equal levels of horror, disgust, and trepidation. Daphne returned brandishing a pair of Auror handcuffs. There was a distinctly sadistic glitter to her eyes. Her razor of a smile sliced fresh terror through Hermione and Draco’s palpitating hearts.
“When you can say something nice to one another, these will fall off easy as cuff links. Apologize sincerely, and you will set yourselves free. Or stay stuck, your choice,” Daphne warned.
Draco felt the click of a heavy metal cuff cinch to his wrist. But—being petrified, neither could so much as flinch.
“I’m going to release you now. You will be polite. You will make nice with one another. And you will give my regards to Potter—and make him send these children home!” Daphne swished her wand at them with a stern ‘Finite’ and stormed away, as children’s screams rang outside the shack.
Draco groaned as Granger yanked frantically on her wrist, jerking his arm about.
“Why! Why would she do this!” she wailed.
“It’s almost like she doesn’t like you, Granger.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. I know she likes me. So this must be entirely your fault that I’m trapped in Weasley’s sexy cuffs.” He gagged a little on the end of that sentence.
“STOP! Don’t make me think about it. In fact, I’m going to spell your mouth shut!” Hermione hissed with the menace of a python, which Draco found unsettlingly intriguing.
They both bruised their wrists scrabbling for their wands. But Draco, being larger and heavier, dragged Hermione about until he had snatched up both wands and crowed his victory.
“Give me my wand!” Granger screeched in his ear.
“I’m waiting to hear you say something nice,” he tutted.
“Eat a Flobberworm.”
“Who do we have to thank for these horror cuffs, hm? These are adapted from Muggle tech, aren’t they? Fascinating. If you weren’t such a terror, being tied up with a witch could have wonderful possibilities. If I’d only known half the fun Muggles could be, I’d only have bullied you half as much in school.”
“You are so vile!”
“You’re the one aflutter for cuff boy.“ Draco scowled angrily, “Do you perhaps want to stay in custody with me, Granger?” He smirked holding up their cuffed wrists. “Is this a kink Weasley shared with you?”
“Don’t be a beast, Malfoy.”
“Or maybe you like playing games?” he shook their cuffed wrists.
“Be serious,” Hermione spat.
“I am. I was just trying to do my job, and this is the thanks I get! You don’t even know who gave you that book, and you’re going to go home and hide it under your bed, aren’t you? You have a thing for weirdos? You’re being naive letting this creep run you round the countryside with cheap riddles and the promise of a book.”
“Why should you care?” Hermione screamed.
“Galleons,” Draco snarled back.
“What are you talking about?” Hermione threw their hands up.
Draco took several deep breaths, jerking his tie back in place. “Forgot who I was speaking to. Shall we go find Potter, or do you want to closet up in here for the winter?” He let the sarcasm in his nature have full reign. “Coming? Or custody?” He jingled the cuffs on his middle finger suggestively at her, “Or both, you greedy fiend?”
What was he doing? Draco didn’t know. Idiocy and close proximity to this witch made him lose brain cells. He knew it was a mistake the moment the words left his tongue. A joke he could have used to flirt with any other witch in his circle. A harmless flirt with another witch, one who wanted to jump into bed and back out again.
He wasn’t actually going to do things. But Granger had to go and look at him like he was serious. Like he was a smarmy, gormless git. If she already believed him to be such an utter tosser, why disappoint?
“Both? Really?” He let his gaze drag up and down her horrendous red jumper, not lingering at all on her equally horrendously appealing tangle of hair that their tussle had rendered dangerously close to bed hair.
Hermione’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly.
“Use your words.” Draco taunted, though his own throat felt dry.
Her hand raised wand-less, eyes burning again.
This was going on entirely too long for Draco’s comfort. “Don’t worry, Granger, I doubt you’d be able to come outside of a library!”
Hermione made a gasping sort of noise. Her hair puffed up like a spitting cat. Malfoy felt a sharp stab of fear.
“Off we go then.” He spun on a heel, yanking her after with a CRACK!