Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy knew two things: he was probably going to die, and he was definitely not dying a virgin.
Hermione Granger knew two things: Ron was a prat, and she needed a distraction before she hexed him.
The Hogwarts library was many things; vast, majestic, intimidatingly dusty… but it was not generally the sort of place where people lost their virginity.
At least, not without a great deal of careful planning, a discreet silencing charm, and preferably some padding to protect one’s knees from the stone floor.
Hermione had stormed into it anyway, because where else did one go after one’s supposed best friend snogged a girl who laughed like a donkey being strangled with fairy lights?
Books were reliable. Books didn’t shove tongues down other people’s throats right in front of you. Books didn’t moan “Won-Won.”
Draco, meanwhile, had followed her with the grim determination of a man walking to his own execution. Which, in a way, he was. Being marked with the Dark Lord’s tramp stamp had convinced him that his days were numbered.
He’d accepted death. What he hadn’t accepted was dying a virgin.
And if he was going to lose it, he wanted to do so with someone who was equally as clueless.
“Granger,” he announced, striding between the stacks like some sort of overconfident librarian on a mission to fine her.
She turned, blotchy and magnificent in her indignation. “What?”
“I have a proposition.”
She narrowed her eyes. “If this is about House-Elves—”
“It’s about sex.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Draco said, leaning casually against the shelf. “You’re upset. I’m doomed. Neither of us has any experience worth bragging about. Let’s… fix that.”
Hermione gaped at him. Her brain briefly considered exploding, then decided that was too much paperwork.
“You’re—are you serious?”
“I’m Draco Malfoy,” he said. “But yes.”
There was a long silence.
Hermione opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. She thought of Ron. She thought of Lavender. She thought of strangling them both with a book strap.
“Fine,” she said suddenly, with the air of a woman agreeing to a duel. “But if you’re bad at it, I’m hexing you.”
Draco smirked. “I’ll take my chances.”
The first kiss had been a hypothesis.
Hermione tasted of peppermint, probably from one of those study mints she hoarded. Draco tasted dark and sweet, like chocolate eaten too quickly. His lips were cool at first, then devastatingly hot, and he kissed like someone determined not to waste time.
“Less teeth,” she ordered.
“Yes, ma’am,” he gasped, immediately correcting.
The second kiss was a revelation.
Hermione shoved him against the bookshelf and kissed him like she meant to annotate him with footnotes, and Draco’s brain promptly short-circuited.
The third was utterly reckless, the sort of thing people composed poetry about and then hastily burned before anyone could read it.
Hermione, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, gave him one sharp command: “Again.”
Draco obeyed like he’d been waiting his entire life for this moment.
“You’re shaking,” Hermione whispered against his mouth.
“So are you,” he muttered, before kissing her hard enough to prove neither of them cared.
Hands wandered, fumbling and desperate.
Hermione, it turned out, was bossy even when half undressed.
Draco was surprisingly eager to follow every sharp directive; fingers, tongue, hips—
“Not there… higher. Yes, exactly..”
“Anything you say.” Draco panted, obeying instantly.
They explored each other clumsily and hungrily. Draco discovered that Hermione’s little noises were addictive. Hermione discovered that Draco’s smirk dissolved into something raw and desperate whenever she took control.
When at last the moment came—the point of no return—they froze, eyes locked, both shocked by the enormity of what they were doing.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, voice shaking more than he wanted.
“Yes,” she said, fierce and certain. “Don’t you dare stop now.”
“As if I could,” Draco groaned, driving into her, the smirk gone now, replaced by raw hunger.
The first movement was awkward, both of them stiff with nerves.
Then the world tilted, caught fire, and refused to let go. It was heat and friction, an avalanche of sensation neither had been prepared for.
Hermione guided him, sharp and clear, while Draco followed like a man discovering religion.
“More,” she demanded.
He chuckled, “Greedy.”
“Faster,” she instructed.
Draco gave a breathless laugh. “Do you ever stop being terrifyingly efficient?”
“Someone has to be in charge. Now do exactly as I tell you.”
He groaned, half-mock, half-ruined. “Merlin, Granger, you’re going to be the death of me.”
“Then stop talking and die properly,” she snapped, kissing him hard enough to shut him up.
Draco thought he could die right then and not mind.
It was chaotic, clumsy, and better than either of them had imagined.
When they collapsed, sweaty and stunned, Draco leaned his forehead to hers, chest still heaving.
“Well,” he said, breathless but smug. “Best study session I’ve ever had.”
And because she was still furious at Ron, and because Draco had been much, much better than expected, Hermione did not disagree.
Hermione woke with a start, which was impressive given that she hadn’t exactly slept. More like drifted in and out of a daze, tangled in robes and Draco's too-warm body.
Her first coherent thought was: Oh no.
Her second: This can’t have actually happened.
Her third, most horrifying: It happened twice.
“Morning, Granger,” came a lazy drawl from somewhere near her shoulder.
She flinched, and scrambled upright. “This was a mistake.”
Draco, infuriatingly, looked like he’d just woken from the best night’s sleep of his life. He leaned back on one elbow, shirt hanging open.
“Best mistake of our lives, you mean.”
Hermione yanked on her blouse, cheeks flaming. “We—this—we cannot ever speak of this again.”
“Of course,” he agreed smoothly, buttoning his shirt. “Total lapse in judgment. Purely accidental. A statistical anomaly.” He paused, smirking. “A very satisfying anomaly.”
Hermione made a strangled noise somewhere between a growl and a whimper.
And then, before she could gather her scattered robes or her dignity, Draco’s hand slid to her hip again. He tugged her back down onto him, smirk sharpened into something far more dangerous.
“Malfoy!” she hissed, shoving at his chest.
“What?” he murmured, teeth grazing her ear as though he had every right to be there. “Third time’s the charm.”
Her pulse jumped traitorously. Heat flared low in her belly before her brain slammed on the brakes.
“Absolutely not!” she snapped, though her hands were still gripping his shoulders instead of pushing him away.
But Draco sat up and leaned toward her with that trademark Malfoy smirk.
“Malfoy, don’t you—”
He tried to nip another kiss, aiming for her mouth, but Hermione smacked him square on the chest with her book bag.
“Ow!” he wheezed, clutching his ribs. “Merlin, Granger, you hit like a Bludger.”
“You deserved it,” she snapped, cheeks flaming. “Honestly, have you no shame?”
“None whatsoever,” he said cheerfully, and leaned in again.
But then—
The unmistakable scrape of shoes and the rustle of skirts.
Madam Pince.
Hermione froze. Draco’s eyes went wide for half a second before narrowing with a kind of dark delight. He pressed a finger to his lips and gestured toward the approaching footsteps.
The librarian’s voice floated down the stacks, sharp and suspicious: “Who’s in here? I heard whispering!”
Hermione panicked. Draco didn’t. With a flick of his wand, the books on the opposite side of the aisle began to topple one by one like falling dominoes. Madam Pince shrieked in horror and bustled toward the catastrophe.
“Run,” Draco mouthed.
They bolted out the side door and into the corridor. Hermione’s hair was a wild halo, Draco’s tie hung like a limp banner of shame, and both were breathless by the time they collapsed against the wall outside.
Hermione slapped his arm. “You almost got us expelled!”
“Correction: you almost got us expelled. I saved us.” He smirked, entirely too pleased with himself. “You’re welcome.”
Hermione huffed and spun on her heel, storming down the corridor. Her legs, however, were not entirely steady, which made her storm look more like an aggravated wobble.
“Careful, Granger,” Draco called after her, voice low and infuriatingly amused. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you just had a… vigorous study session.”
She nearly tripped on her own feet, spun back, and hissed, “Never again.”
“Of course,” Draco said, lips twitching. “Utter madness. Total one-time thing.”
By lunch, Hermione had repeated the words “never again” so many times it was starting to sound less like a vow and more like a hex she was trying to cast on herself.
She stabbed at her shepherd’s pie with alarming vigor. Across the table, Harry watched her warily. Ron, meanwhile, was too busy making starry eyes at Lavender to notice Hermione mutilating her food like it had personally betrayed her.
Harry leaned closer. “Er—everything all right?”
“Perfectly fine,” Hermione said, her tone brittle enough to shatter. The shepherd’s pie was less convinced, collapsing under the assault of her fork.
Harry frowned. “You seem… twitchy.”
“I am not twitchy!” Hermione snapped, twitching.
Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, Draco was committing the crime of not being subtle.
He lounged like a minor aristocrat awaiting his portrait, chin tilted, smirk firmly in place, eyes fixed on Hermione as though she’d suddenly transformed into a particularly rare dragon egg.
It was, frankly, unnerving.
“Draco,” Blaise said slowly, “why are you staring at Granger like she’s a limited-edition Firewhisky you’re about to bid on?”
Draco didn’t look away. “Because,” he drawled, “she is.”
Theo, who’d been watching as well, raised his brows. “You realise your face looks insane right now, yeah? Like… you’re giving her the expression I usually reserve for finding extra pudding at the bottom of my bowl.”
Blaise choked on his water. “Exactly. Hungry, confused, a little reverent.”
Pansy followed Draco’s line of sight, took one look, and nearly inhaled her pumpkin juice.
She coughed, smacked Blaise when he didn’t immediately rescue her, and then shrieked, “Excuse me? You are not staring at Granger.”
Draco hummed, noncommittal.
“Oh my god, you are. You’ve lost it.” Pansy fanned herself dramatically.
Theo tilted his head, studying Hermione, who was currently murdering a bread roll with surgical precision. “To be fair, she does look terrifying. I mean, if someone stabbed me with that kind of focus, I’d marry them too.”
Blaise cackled. “He’s not marrying her, he’s sniffing her.”
Draco’s lips curled into a lazy grin. “Parchment and peppermint,” he murmured.
Theo blinked. “Wow. That was oddly specific.”
Pansy dropped her head into her hands. “Pathetic. If you’re going to ruin your reputation, at least pick someone who moisturises.”
Back at the Gryffindor table, Harry followed Hermione’s line of sight, then followed Draco’s. His eyebrows drew together.
“…Why is Malfoy staring at you?” Harry asked suspiciously.
Hermione dropped her fork with a clatter. “He’s not!” she said far too quickly, cheeks flaming.
Harry tilted his head. “He definitely is. He’s been doing it for a while.”
Ron, finally looking up from Lavender’s face, squinted across the Hall. “Why’s Ferret Face staring at Hermione like that? Seriously, though. He looks… weird.”
Harry shook his head. “No, worse. He looks like he’s plotting something.”
Hermione went pink to the roots of her hair. “He isn’t! Stop saying that!”
Harry squinted across the Hall, suspicion written all over his face. “He’s up to something. He has to be.”
Ron jabbed his spoon toward Malfoy. “Look at him! That’s not a normal face. That’s his ‘I’d trade my broomstick for that’ face.”
Lavender gasped dramatically. “You mean Malfoy wants to ride Hermione?”
Harry choked on his pumpkin juice. Hermione nearly combusted.
She nearly knocked over her goblet in her hurry to stand. “I have to go. Urgent essay. Extremely urgent.”
Harry and Ron stared after her. Draco tracked her every step with the air of a man memorizing a priceless map. Pansy glared daggers sharp enough to cut steel.
By the time Hermione disappeared through the doors, the entire Great Hall was buzzing faintly with confusion.
Draco leaned back, smug as ever. “Interesting lunch,” he murmured.
“Interesting?” Blaise said flatly. “You looked at Granger like she was the last biscuit at tea.”
Theo nodded sagely. “Correction: the last biscuit at tea after a famine.”
Draco smirked. “Well. Some things are worth starving for.”
Pansy nearly threw her goblet at him.