It Doesn't Rhyme

It's ALLLIIIIVEE....+ drabble

2009-03-13T23:18:59Z

Hello world,

So, I have been totally absent from LJ for a while, for various life related reason, but I am back! Yay!

Plus one shot! More yay! It's a little bit random, but I hope you enjoy it anyways!

Breaking the Boys Club.

The first day she walked in, Draco nearly spit out his coffee.

It wasn’t that he was surprised, oh no, even if the HR manager hadn’t sent around a memo, it would never have surprised him that she should work for the most prestigious wizarding law firm in the U.K., or that (loath as he was to admit it) her prodigious intelligence academic success should land her in the same place that money and family name landed him: the associates floor.

It was what she was wearing. He was going to have to reconsider that intelligence thing.

Most of the women on the floor had learned very quickly that affirmative action was no joke around Murgatroid, Mettle, and Harp. Witches were hired for their talents in the field of law, just as the wizards were, and were expected to behave as such. Thus, a strict pant suit and severe hairstyle were almost uniform. There was to be no coquettish pencil skirts, no blousy button downs, jaunty scarves were not to be thought of and merlin forbid hair that was merely clasped at the nape of the neck.

And yet… all of these things had just come waltzing in on top of three inch stilettos belonging, rather annoyingly, to Hermione Granger. What had happened to the rather plain and tomboyish girl he had known at school?

He recovered himself enough to smirk at her as she walked into the senior barrister’s office and was only mildly surprised when she completely ignored him with not even so much as a toss of her head.

She’d learn. Probably walk out of the office crying before noon.

But she didn’t. In fact, he could have sworn he saw the senior barrister crack a smile as he escorted her to her desk, which was rather unfortunately located directly across the corridor from his own. He’d have to see her every time he looked up from his work.

The second day, he walked in to find Granger already at work in with her little black and silver nameplate sitting arrogantly at the front of her desk.

It had taken him three weeks to get his nameplate! He glared daggers at the office manager as he walked by.

Granger gave him a girlish wave and a little wink.

He decided it would be more effective to glare daggers at her.

This time she did toss her head at him. And he didn’t like it one bit.

At the end of the first week, Draco was ready to commit murder. That frizzy bucktoothed witch had just been put on the Gavrock case. He had been angling for that case for months!

He stalked across the corridor to her desk.

“Listen Granger,” he growled at her, the first words he had spoken to her since she was hired.

She held up one perfectly manicured finger at him, effectively silencing his comment as she answered whoever was on the phone. Non-wizard obviously, or she’d have been on her desk-top fireplace.

“I understand your concern your terribleness,” Granger said in a tone that managed to be charmingly sweet and yet ever so slightly ironic at the same time, “But if you want to carry out your ritual at all, you are just going to have to wait for the paperwork to come through.”

It was Gavrok, only he insisted upon that title. And why wouldn’t you if you were an eight foot tall baby eating demon?

“I have read the brief, I know the deadline, but the ministry has put their foot down on this. You are going to have to accept a substitute or you will face the entire college of aurors. And, I don’t have to tell you, we will not raise so much as a quill to stop them. I know that you are a fiercely intelligent warrior, and you understand strategy better than to risk that, your terribleness.”

Indistinct noises somewhat akin to a cement mixer came from the phone. Apparently it was good cement mixing, because Granger smiled brilliantly.

“Of course, I will let the partners know your decision, an absolute pleasure as always.”

She hung up.

“Was that Gavrok?”

She nodded.

“And he’s going to agree to the substitution clause?”

Another, rather self satisfied, nod.

“and you did this?”

“It was simply really,” she pulled out a nail file. A NAIL FILE. “Just had to understand the meaning of the ritual. Transfigured steaks won’t affect the symbolism.”

Draco was starting to sound a little bit like a cement mixer too.

He grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her roughly out into the hallway.

“Hey! Ouch!” Hermione twisted her arm away from him, “What do you think you’re doing Malfoy?”

“This has to stop!” Draco fairly growled at her.

“What has to stop?” Hermione asked in exasperation.

“This is not how things are done” he raged.

“Whatever do you mean by that?” she asked, having the nerve to bat her eyelashes at him. Oh she knew exactly what he meant.

“You! With your skirts and your perfume and your nail file. Why don’t you wear suits like all the other witches who have passed the bar?”

Hermione crossed her arms firmly and glared at him. “And what do you think that would accomplish?” she asked.

“Oh come on Granger, don’t you want anyone to take you seriously?”

She smirked at him. Wasn’t that his job?

“You think people don’t take me seriously? How exactly do you think I got put on the Gavrok case. Was it because I was more experienced than you? Or any of the other witches in the office? No. It’s because I am better at dealing with clients that you. And all the other witches in the office.”

Draco spluttered.

“And do you know why?” she continued with laser sharp acuity, “it is because I am a woman, and not in spite of it. If you think that a skirt and a nice blouse changes anything about my credentials or my abilities, and if you think that wearing unflattering clothes and displaying male aggression would, in any way, make me a better barrister, then you don’t have half the intellect I have grudgingly given you credit for.”

She stopped, apparently finished her tirade.

Draco didn’t like Granger all that much, and he was still pretty hacked off at her, but he had to admit that she had a point. If he was allowed to look impeccably fashionable at work, why shouldn’t she?

Being a Malfoy, however, he had to make an attempt at the last word.

“It’s a wizards world, you know Granger,”

“Not a problem Malfoy,” she said, with a revoltingly arrogant grin, “So long as I can be a witch in it.” She sauntered back into the office, heels clicking against the floor.

Malfoy glared after her, but he couldn’t help but crack a grin. At least she would keep things interesting.

Some More Failed Drabbles!

2008-09-02T21:47:49Z

This weeks challenge at dramione_ldws was a challenge indeed. I kept feeling like I was coming up with really lame ideas. Anyways, some of them got written. It was actually a tough call between the last one here and the one I did submit. I'd love to hear if you all thought I made the right choice once results are up!

ETA: Sorry! I thought the rules were only for no posting of submitted drabbles. I clearly misinterpreted (: I will repost once the challenge is over!

ETA2: Re-posting!!

Lies # 1

“Just say it.”

“I won’t.”

“Draco, please,” it was less than a whisper, he hardly would have heard it if his whole world hadn’t been hanging on her every breath.

“I can’t.” He wished he could conceal the fact that he was being ripped apart. “Hermione, you can’t ask me to say that.”

“Then come with me.” The stubborn determination in her voice was familiar, the words were familiar. His answer was wrote.

“I can’t do that either, you know that.”

“But why?” A tear trickled past her defences and she angrily scrubbed it away. “You can’t believe in what you’re fighting for. I know you can’t!”

“Well I can’t believe in your cause either!” He lost his temper, angry not so much at her, but at fate, and at war, and at falling in love in the first place.

A silence lay between them that might as well have been a thousand miles.

“I’m sorry.” She said finally, “But you are choosing to fight for something that I hate with everything that I am, that goes against everything I believe in. I can’t miss you, I won’t. So I need you to lie to me.” The look in her eyes made him wonder if she would even hesitate if they ever met in battle.

“Hermione…” his voice cracked under the pressure of generations of family loyalty and honour pressing down on him.

“You have to.”

He knew it. And he spoke.

“I don’t love you.”

And it was done.

Lies #2

Harry was holding a piece of parchment, and Hermione as more afraid than she could ever recall having been before.

“What the FUCK is going on Hermione.” He didn’t yell, that would have been easier. His voice was cold. Sharp.

“Harry, please, you have to listen to me. I don’t know who sent it. I don’t know what this is all about.” She wished that her voice wasn’t shaking so much, but her whole life was about to fall down around her, and she couldn’t help it.

“Why would anyone send me a letter telling me that you were cheating? Who could possibly gain anything by that?” He glared at her, arms folded.

“I don’t know who would want to hurt you like that, but you have to believe me, I am not cheating on you. I would never do that.” She sat on the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees.

“How can I know that you’re telling the truth?” His voice lost a little of its edge,

“I don’t know Harry, I don’t know what I can do to prove it to you. But you have to know that I would never do anything to ruin what we have.”

Harry let out a breath, “I know, I’m sorry.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “It just…drives me a little crazy to think of you with another man”

Hermione smiled weakly and resolved for the thousandth time to end things with Draco…but she knew it wouldn’t stick.

Lies #3

“Will you please keep your sodding distance Malfoy,” Hermione bit out through clenched teeth, focusing on grinding the aptly named stone root.

“That’s not what you said last night, Granger,” Draco said in a low voice, close enough for Hermione to feel his breath against her ear. A thrill shot up her spine.

“I was drunk,” she said firmly, “It meant nothing.” She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.

“Didn’t feel like nothing to me,” said Draco with a grin that made Hermione want to melt. “Who knew that beneath that bushy hair you were such a good snog.”

Hermione was surprised to hear what probably passed for a compliment from Malfoy, but resolutely kept her eyes on her work.

“Who knew that you were so lousy.” She was lying through her teeth.

Unfortunately, Draco knew it. “Lousy, hey?” He leaned in behind her. “Good enough to make you scream Granger, which is what landed us in detention, if you’ll remember.”

Merlin help her, she did remember. It was making her flush just thinking about it. She put down the mortar and pestle. “I hate you.” She said, turning around on her stool to push him away.

The look in his eyes stopped her, hands against his chest. His eyes were heavy lidded and smoldering, looking at her in a way that was positively indecent. Resistance was futile.
Several minutes later, they came up for air.

“I thought you hated me,” Draco sounded amused.

“I guess I lied.”

Title: Speechless
Rating: PG
Warning: mild suggestion of snogging
Word Count: 498

There was ink on her face.

Draco stared at her from where he stood, hid really, in the stacks. He had thought that, at this hour, the library was sure to be empty. Contrary to popular belief, it was often quite difficult to find “private time” with a girl when one was living in shared quarters. He was glad that he had chosen to check first.

To tell the truth, he was a little bit relieved when Granger had slouched into the library, bending under the weight of her bag, and almost collapsed into a chair. “Private time” with Pansy had become somewhat distasteful. Not entirely, of course, because she was still a very pretty and very willing sort of girl, and he was 17, but Draco had begun to forget why he put up with her.

The downside, of course, is that now he was trapped in the library with Granger and was probably not going to get out with out some sort of confrontation. He loathed how hot blooded she was, mostly because it meant she often had the last word.

So here he was, hiding behind the stacks, desperately trying to come up with some sort of cutting remarks that would leave her speechless long enough for him to make a hasty retreat.

“Been snogging your books again, have you?”

No, that didn’t make any sense at all.

“Don’t you ever bathe, or do you enjoy your face being as dirty as your blood?”

That was no good either, as he would probably end up being punched in the face again. As much as he detested Granger, he had to admit that she had a decent right hook.

“Your glorious leader doesn’t even give you time for a shower anymore? Poor management skills, I’d say.”

Well that wasn’t bad, plus it included an insult directed at Potter. Straightening his robe ever so slightly, he swept out from behind the stacks towards Granger’s table.

She looked up sharply at the sound of footsteps. He stopped directly in front of her, arms folded, a carefully crafted smirk on his face. At this range, he could see that whatever the wonder team was up to, it was indeed taking up far too much of Granger’s time. She looked tired. Her normally bright eyes were dim and listless, her complexion sallow and tired. She looked a right mess.

Draco suddenly found that all of his carefully crafted insults had deserted him. Without thinking, reached out, gently placed the tip of his wand against her cheek and whispered “tergeo.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as both wondered for a moment if perhaps hell had frozen over. Finally, Draco nodded, turned on his heel, and walked out of the library, leaving Hermione looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face, one hand touching her cheek.

Draco wasn’t exactly sure what had just happened.

All he knew was that Hermione Granger had, for once in her life, been rendered speechless.

Drabble-tastic!

2008-08-25T20:12:42Z

So, I entered round two of the drabble contest over at dramione_ldws. I have submitted my response to the first prompt! Yay! I did, however, write a first attempt that I tossed when I had what I felt was a better idea. But, because I feel that it is a shame to let any writing go to waste, I give you Speechless: the drabble that wasn't good enough (:

Title: Speechless
Rating: PG
Warning: mild suggestion of snogging
Word Count: 498

There was ink on her face.

Draco stared at her from where he stood, hid really, in the stacks. He had thought that, at this hour, the library was sure to be empty. Contrary to popular belief, it was often quite difficult to find “private time” with a girl when one was living in shared quarters. He was glad that he had chosen to check first.

To tell the truth, he was a little bit relieved when Granger had slouched into the library, bending under the weight of her bag, and almost collapsed into a chair. “Private time” with Pansy had become somewhat distasteful. Not entirely, of course, because she was still a very pretty and very willing sort of girl, and he was 17, but Draco had begun to forget why he put up with her.

The downside, of course, is that now he was trapped in the library with Granger and was probably not going to get out with out some sort of confrontation. He loathed how hot blooded she was, mostly because it meant she often had the last word.

So here he was, hiding behind the stacks, desperately trying to come up with some sort of cutting remarks that would leave her speechless long enough for him to make a hasty retreat.

“Been snogging your books again, have you?”

No, that didn’t make any sense at all.

“Don’t you ever bathe, or do you enjoy your face being as dirty as your blood?”

That was no good either, as he would probably end up being punched in the face again. As much as he detested Granger, he had to admit that she had a decent right hook.

“Your glorious leader doesn’t even give you time for a shower anymore? Poor management skills, I’d say.”

Well that wasn’t bad, plus it included an insult directed at Potter. Straightening his robe ever so slightly, he swept out from behind the stacks towards Granger’s table.

She looked up sharply at the sound of footsteps. He stopped directly in front of her, arms folded, a carefully crafted smirk on his face. At this range, he could see that whatever the wonder team was up to, it was indeed taking up far too much of Granger’s time. She looked tired. Her normally bright eyes were dim and listless, her complexion sallow and tired. She looked a right mess.

Draco suddenly found that all of his carefully crafted insults had deserted him. Without thinking, reached out, gently placed the tip of his wand against her cheek and whispered “tergeo.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as both wondered for a moment if perhaps hell had frozen over. Finally, Draco nodded, turned on his heel, and walked out of the library, leaving Hermione looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face, one hand touching her cheek.

Draco wasn’t exactly sure what had just happened.

All he knew was that Hermione Granger had, for once in her life, been rendered speechless.

Indistinct anger noises

2008-08-19T16:16:27Z

So, I was working on Chapter two of the Abyss at home last night, and I opened the file only to realise that a whole chunk of the middle of the chapter was oddly missing. I was not particularly worried because I have the file saved in several different versions. I assumed I had just been working on it at work (yes, my job is that slack) and saved it there. However, upon closer inspection today, it is nowhere to be found. So now I have to reconstitute about 2500 words!! *fumes* Rage!!!!

Update, but not the good kind

2008-08-06T03:24:31Z

For those who are reading this (slash care) I wanted to assure you that I am working very hard on another chapter of The Abyss. It is going to be very long. It's already siting around 2500 words and it's got quite a few more to go. I'm hoping you all will think it's worth the wait! Also, in order to push through a bit of writers block, I'm off to find a drabble prompt and write something silly!

How do you know if you're a pirate...You just ARRRRR!

2008-07-25T17:09:58Z

As Requested, all three!

Title: How do you know if you're a pirate? You just ARRRR
Author: imogen_penn
Rating: PG 13
Summary: "She stood breathlessly before him, her hair blowing wildly in
the rough winds, her torn blouse fluttering over her shoulders, her
corset pushing her heaving bosoms high on her chest.

Draco, without moving his rapt attention from said heaving objects,
reached down and pinched his arm violently. Nothing changed. Winds were
still blowing, blouses were still fluttering, bosoms were still heaving.

ETA: I'm computer dumb. There all here now

Part One: An Awkward Encounter Involving Pirates
She supposed the location wasn’t exactly private. Still, she’d thought, when she had left the castle looking for a bit of solitude, that she would be left alone out on the rise overlooking Hagrid’s hut.

However, here she was, making a desperate grab at her novel which was currently being held aloft by an infinitely amused looking Draco Malfoy.

It wouldn’t have been anything more than a minor annoyance. Nothing she couldn’t handle. Except that the particular book he had snatched from her happened to have the words The Pirate and his Wench emblazoned in gold lettering across the front, with the clever caption “He could take her body, but could he take her heart?” (he could, in fact, if you were wondering) doing little to cover the picture of a scantily clad woman being ravaged by a shirtless pirate.

Well, she thought to herself, at least it wasn’t a wizarding picture.

“Always have to have your nose in a book, don’t you Granger?” he sneered. “What’s this muggle trash that you’re reading?” He flipped the book open at random and began to read aloud.

“He pushed her up against the bulkhead, her heaving bosoms straining against the thin, damp fabric of her corset.”

Good lord. He had to have opened it to this part.

“She could feel his throbbing…” Malfoy trailed off abruptly. A distinctly pink color marring his otherwise flawless complexion. He looked, Hermione realised, quite uncomfortably embarrassed.

Advantage Granger.

“His throbbing what Malfoy? I hadn’t quite got to that part yet? Is it his sword?” She asked innocently.

Malfoy made an indistinct noise.

“Oh don’t stop now!” said Hermione a little breathlessly, really beginning to enjoy herself. “Does she like it? Does she like having his throbbing sword pressed up against her heaving…”

“For Merlin’s sake Granger!” Malfoy finally interrupted, pulling his cloak around himself. No doubt to guard against the stiff breeze. Maybe that was why his face looked quite distinctly blotchy.

He didn’t seem to be intending to continue his outburst.

“May I have my book back Malfoy?” She asked, holding her hand out expectantly.

He stepped towards her, snapping the book shut somewhat reluctantly and passing it over. He was looking at her with a rather fixed expression.

“Something in my teeth Malfoy?” she asked cuttingly, “or are you just enjoying the view.”

He managed something approaching his trademark smirk.

“In your dreams Granger. You have a leaf on your bosom…I mean chest…I mean heaving…” He had the good sense to shut his mouth before it got any worse.

“My heaving what?” Hermione asked politely.

“Oh sod off Granger!” He shouted, his cheeks blushing an even deeper red. Then, turning on his heel, he marched off with as much dignity as he could muster.

She watched him go with a grin before settling back down to enjoy her novel. Somewhere along the way, however, the pirate captain’s hair become silvery blond in her mind, and his eyes a steely grey. By the time she got to the part about the bulkhead and the throbbing member, the captain was distinctly Malfoy-esque.

“Buggering git has ruined the whole book for me now, prancing around shirtless in my head.” She grumbled, putting it down in disgust.

She immediately picked it up again and continued.

**********************************
Part Two: Pirate Pants

She stood breathlessly before him, her hair blowing wildly in the rough winds, her torn blouse fluttering over her shoulders, her corset pushing her heaving bosoms high on her chest.

“Wh…what are you going to do with me?” she asked him, her voice husky with fear and a little bit of curiosity. She backed away from him, pressing herself into the bulkhead of the ship.

“Whatever I want,” he replied seductively, “You’re mine now wench. No one will find you this far out at sea, not even your beloved Sir Potter.”

“And…and what is it you want?” She asked him, unconsciously running her tongue over her lips, chapped from the salt air.

“You.” He said simply, closing the distance between them. With one hand he deftly ripped her blouse from her shoulders, leaving her in only her corset and skirt. “And I will have you!” he cried, pulling her against his chest by her tiny waist.

He leaned into her and fiercely pressed his lips against hers. For a moment she resisted, struggled to preserve her chastity. However she couldn’t resist the heat of his lips pressed against her and the hardness of his body. She melted into his embrace, moaning into his mouth.

He tore his mouth away from hers with great effort, “I kidnapped you for ransom miss Granger, but I will take you to my bed for your beauty.” His voice was husky and filled with lust.

“Oh yes Captain,” she cried, all morals abandoned as she threw herself into his arms.

He swept her off her feet and carried her too his cabin. Throwing her across the bed he fell on top of her, pressing himself into her soft, yielding form…

**********

Draco woke up with a start. The charm alarm beside his bed was telling him, in a rather nagging voice, that he really ought to get up if he wanted time to properly coif his hair before breakfast.

He took a quick look under the covers. He was going to need a few minutes before it would be appropriate for him to get up in front of his dorm mates.

“Bloody Granger and her sodding book.” He muttered, flopping back against his pillows and willing himself to stop thinking about heaving bosoms or how good it had felt, in his dream of course, to be pressed up against her.

Instead he concentrated on how good he had looked dressed in leather pants and an open shirt. The sash and sabre had been particularly effective too, he thought. Perhaps, he mused, he ought to go out and buy the outfit. Maybe a corset to anonymously deliver to Granger as well.

He let out an exasperated groan. This was not good.

Part Three: Pirate Shenanigans
She stood breathlessly before him, her hair blowing wildly in the rough winds, her torn blouse fluttering over her shoulders, her corset pushing her heaving bosoms high on her chest.

Draco, without moving his rapt attention from said heaving objects, reached down and pinched his arm violently. Nothing changed. Winds were still blowing, blouses were still fluttering, bosoms were still heaving.

“What are you doing here,” said Hermione sharply, crossing her arms over her ample chest and taking the words right out of his mouth.

Draco pulled himself together enough to project something like his typical scorn. “It’s hot inside.” He said, “I needed some air.” To be fair, the Halloween ball was, as always, well attended and the great hall was not very well ventilated.

Hermione smirked. “I’m not surprised, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of breathing room in those pants.” She stared rather pointedly in the direction of his leather-bound posterior.

Draco found that he was indeed having a little difficulty breathing. He didn’t think it had much to do with the pants though. He was pretty sure it was Hermione’s devastating smirk. No wonder the ladies found him irresistible, what with all the smirking he did.

“Not a lot of breathing room in that corset either, is there Granger.” Draco was quite pleased that he had managed to pull together a come back…even if it was a terribly obvious one.

Hermione gave him a withering glare. “Well clearly that is why I am out here, isn’t it?” Yep, really obvious.

There was an awkward pause.

“So,” Draco felt that, as the Slytherin of the two, he ought to throw in the next cutting remark, “What made you choose wench?” Well, not precisely cutting…but at least he was saying something and not mindlessly staring at her breasts…which is what he would really rather be doing.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. She wondered if Malfoy had any idea exactly how thin the ice he was treading on was.

“Probably the same thing that made you choose pirate.” She didn’t consider the fact that she was implicating herself at the same time as she was accusing him until after the words had come out of her mouth.

Draco took a moment to consider his response. It was patently obvious that both of them were thinking of Hermione’s muggle romance novel that had caused considerable discomfort for both of them. If it had been anyone other than Hermione Granger, Draco would have sworn she was flirting with him. As it was Hermione Granger, Draco decided to stick with sarcasm.

“What, that I look fantastic when I am tightly bound?” Hold on a second…in retrospect, Draco thought, that was mildly flirtatious. He glared angrily at the empty glass of spiked punch in his hand… “traitor,” he muttered.

If Hermione found this remark odd, she didn’t let on. Instead she asked “You think I look fantastic when I’m tightly bound?’ She had meant it to be witheringly embarrassing for him. Unfortunately, it had come out sounding rather shy and ever so slightly hopeful.

“Oh come off it Granger, no girl, however bookish, can look at that” He gestured towards her emphatically, “in the mirror and not be aware that half of the schools population is going to be drooling over it.” Well, the tone of voice was right, but Draco had a sneaking suspicion that he had just paid Hermione Granger a compliment.

Fortunately, she seemed not to know what to do about it any more than he did. So, she simply said, “well…” in the tone of voice he would expect her to use if she was called upon for a question she did not know the answer to (not that such a thing had ever occurred), turned on her heel, and marched back into the great hall.

Draco let out a tortured groan. This was really really no good. Damn Granger and her filthy novel. Damn Granger and her incredible figure that she’d been hiding all these years…and her wit…and her devastating smirk. Draco yelled at no one in particular and then kicked a nearby stone bench. He then cursed and sat down holding his injured foot. This was very undignified. Something would have to be done.

********************************

Hermione moved with purpose towards the refreshment table, telling herself firmly that she had not run away from Draco Malfoy, she was simply very thirsty.

After a ghost, Zorro, and a goblin had each very persistently tried to press drinks into her hand, she decided that she was going to have to take Draco’s point. The outfit did seem to be attracting a lot of attention. That, of course, had been the intention. Hermione just hadn’t expected it to work quite so well. She had also expected to enjoy any ogling glances that were cast her way. Instead, she found herself feeling rather ill.

Across the hall, she caught sight of Draco limping back into the hall. Well, the limping bit was interesting. Also interesting: as she caught him staring at her, a feeling like a warm and tingly butterfly uncurling itself fluttered up in her stomach. She turned to her right, where Marcus Flint was staring directly at her breasts without so much as a hint of prevarication. Naseau. Draco, butterfly. Flint, nausea. Butterfly. Naseau. Butterfly…

Several thoughts were beginning to come to her. First, she was beginning to get a crick in her neck. Second, maybe she should have stopped a few drinks ago. Third, she may be developing a crush on Draco Malfoy. She looked over in his direction again. As if being able to read her mind, a slow lazy grin spread across his face. The butterfly attempted to jump out of her throat.

*******************************

As Draco walked back into the hall, he had come to two conclusions. One: he was attracted to Hermione Granger (a level of self honestly that he only reached when truly liquored up) and two: there was nothing to be done about it except avoid the sight of her in that blasted amazing corset.

However, as he walked into the hall, he saw her looking at him across the costumed crowd. He couldn’t be sure at that distance, but he thought she had a sort of dreamy look on her face. She turned her head sharply towards Marcus Flint who (like the blunt lummox he was) was staring at her breasts. Draco had half a mind to bash his face in. But she looked vaguely ill, so Draco supposed she couldn’t be enjoying it. Then she looked back at him. Dreamy face. Flint, nausea. Him, dreamy, Flint, nausea.

He watched her do this for several moments before the implications reached his brain. Hermione granger LIKED it when he looked at her.

Draco came to two brand new conclusions. One: he was interested in Hermione Granger. Two: he was bloody well going to do something about it.

He moved towards her with single minded determination usually reserved for the snitch. This thought struck Draco, along with a very inappropriate pun. He grinned.

**************************************
Hermione took a few moments to process the fact that Draco was effectively stalking her across the great hall. It might as well have been the African savannah, because he was reminding Hermione distinctly of a jungle cat moving in for the kill and she was fervently wishing that she had gazelle like speed. His mad grin wasn’t doing much to help.

However, with nowhere to run, Hermione couldn’t do anything other than watch helplessly as he approached. She looked around frantically for Harry and Ron. Ron was over on the other side of the hall, talking animatedly to a very bored looking Parvati. Harry was nowhere to be seen, likely in some dark corner with Ginny.

Draco stopped directly in front of her, looking at her with an intensity that made her simultaneously want to run away and melt into a puddle of goo. Without a word, he grabbed her by the upper arm and began pulling her towards the door that lead into the dungeons.

“Malfoy, what do you think you’re doing!” she exclaimed, struggling rather half heartedly.

"Kidnapping you.” He said succinctly.

Hermione’s sensible side told her to knee him in the ballocks and get back to the party. However, another, larger and more audible part of her was saying ‘Oh well, that’s alright then.”

Once they were far enough away from the party that the noise was beginning to fade, Draco stopped. He took a breath that Hermione couldn’t interpret. Before she had a chance to say
anything, he pushed her up against the wall, trapping her between his arms.

Up until this point, this had all seemed like a bit of a saturnalian lark. Malfoy was undeniably attractive. And she had also undeniably had some pirate-themed fantasies about him. Halloween was about playing out fantasies, being someone else for a day. She had figured that they were playing. Sniping back and forth to expel a bit of inappropriate sexual tension, and then everything would go back to normal. Suddenly, with his face about three inches away from hers, it was very very real and Hermione was afraid.

Draco was getting carried away with this whole pirate thing. He thought he could blame the pants and the liquor for acting rather rashly. But he knew he was only going to have himself to blame the minute he saw fear in Hermione’s eyes. With a muttered “shite” he back away from her and sat down with a soft thud, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Sorry, Granger.”

“Hmphh” said Hermione eloquently, crossing her arms in front of her.

Draco knew that he was drunk. He also knew that discretion, in this instance, would probably be the better part of valor. If he simply shut his mouth and walked away, they could probably forget the whole thing ever happened, or at least chalk it up to the deadly cocktail of liquor, binding clothes, and teenaged hormones. But Draco, as always, simply had to get the last word.

“It’s your fault you know.”

Hermione looked at him incredulously. “In what way is this my fault? How exactly did I force you to manhandle me away from the ball?”

“It was you and your filthy book!” Draco exclaimed triumphantly, quickly warming to the subject. “You probably meant for me to take it from you. It was your plan all along to make me fantasize about you! In fact, you probably even charmed the book! You chest is clearly charmed to stay up like that. This is all part of some plot to get me expelled, isn’t it? Once you’ve seduced me with your magically enhanced feminine wiles you’re going to leave me lying unconscious in a hallway with some contraband! Well you have underestimated me! Bet you never thought I’d figure you out, did you!”

Draco looked half crazed. Hermione wondered just exactly how much he had had to drink. She gave him a piercing glare.

“My magically enhanced feminine wiles?” she questioned in an icy voice, “that is the stupidest…wait…you’ve been fantasizing about me?” Hermione wasn’t quite sure where that question had come from. Oh well, too late to take it back now. The butterfly in her stomach had made a reappearance and was going absolutely mad.

“Uhhh…yes?” Draco had the good grace to look vaguely embarrassed. “But you made me…” he tried lamely.

“I didn’t make you.” Said Hermione, looking at him with curiosity. “What kind of fantasies?” Hermione’s logical and rational side was telling her to shut the hell up and walk away, that this was impossible and could only lead to badness. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who you ask) her rational side seemed to have taken a vacation.

Draco looked at her sharply. Did Hermione Granger just ask him to describe his fantasies about her? Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who you ask) his rational side gave a sleepy murmle and told him to deal with this himself. It was very difficult for him to think clearly with that much ivory skin on display right in front of him and the deep, intelligent brown eyes looking at him with interest and maybe just a hint of lust.

He let the whole situation percolate for a good long moment. He was undeniably attracted to Hermione Granger. Wouldn’t have been his first choice, but one didn’t get to choose these things, did they? All evidence pointed to the fact that she was attracted to him too. They were both clearly intoxicated and thus couldn’t really be blamed for their actions, right? Right.

Draco stood up rather unsteadily from the floor. “My favorite one is where I’m that captain of a ship.” He took a step towards her. “You are the daughter of my greatest enemy.” He took another step. Hermione gave a little shiver. Draco was fairly certain she wasn’t cold. He grinned. “I kidnap you intending to hold you ransom, but you are just so bloody gorgeous that I can’t help myself.” He reached out and ran his fingers down the side of her face. She let out a low noise that completely wiped away any thought of stopping this that Draco may have had. “You’re my enemy because of your family, but it doesn’t matter because of your beauty.” He kissed her exposed shoulder “You’re spirit” he kissed her temple. “And your truly remarkable breasts.” He grinned devilishly. With a rather undignified snort of something between amusement and scorn Hermione wrapped a hand around his neck and closed the remaining distance between them, crushing her lips against his.

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what possessed her, but she had been completely incapable of stopping herself from kissing Draco Malfoy. Even now, as one hand was pulling at the hair on the nape of his neck and one was working its way under his shirt, she was telling herself that this wasn’t a very good idea and she should stop; but to no avail. Then Draco did something with his tongue that nearly caused her knees to buckle, and she told herself very firmly that this was a perfectly good idea and that she should butt out and let herself enjoy it.

Draco was fairly certain that good girls shouldn’t kiss like this. In fact, he was pretty sure that good girls couldn’t kiss like this. Which meant that Hermione Granger was not as good as she was made out to be. Interesting.

He tested his theory by moving his hand from where it rested in the small of her back over the curve of her rear. She made a breathy little noise against his mouth. He gave her a gentle squeeze. She moaned. Draco stumbled. They ended up pressed against the wall, and a particular piece of Draco’s anatomy was pressing up rather uncomfortably against his trousers.

Hermione’s brain was off. Nothing was telling her that this was a bad idea or that she should stop anymore. All she knew was that nothing that felt this good could be bad. She felt him pressing up against her, his heat in stark contrast to the cold stone wall pressing up against her back. Instead of shying away, or making some move to stop him (which she might have done in other circumstances) she hiked one leg up around his waist and pulled him closer.

Draco couldn’t remember ever feeling quite like this before. Like it was imperative that he feel her skin against his. Necessary like breathing. He began tugging at her blouse, but it was held securely under her corset. He began tugging ineffectually at the strings. He broke contact to try and get a better angle, but to no avail.

“Bloody buggering shite.” He muttered in frustration.

Hermione laughed. Draco didn’t think he’d ever heard her laugh like that before. At least, not directed at him. Usually she was laughing rather cruelly at him or because of him. This was different, and he found that he liked it a lot more. He stopped what he was doing and looked at her.

Her face was flushed, her hair unruly. He expected her to look embarrassed, awkward, but she looked…happy, and hazy. He let out a breath and forced himself to move away from her.

Now Hermione did look awkward and embarrassed. “Did…did I do something wrong?”

Lord help him, he found her insecurity endearing.

“No. Really really no. It’s just…you’re drunk.”

Hermione smiled. Draco Malfoy was being chivalrous. To her. “So are you,” she pointed out serenely.

“Yes.” He agreed, “which is why this isn’t a good idea.”

“Oh?”

“Look, we have been enemies for years.” He said, moving a little farther away from her. It made it easier to think. “Now, because of a stupid muggle book, some Halloween costumes, and a significant amount of alcohol we’re going at it in a hallway. Don’t you think we should stop and think about this?”

Hermione looked at him quite seriously. “You’re right.” She said. She paused for a moment, gathering herself together. “Of course you’re right. This is insane. We hate each other.”

“Right.” Draco agreed without much conviction.

“And the only reason we’re making out in a hallway is because of alcohol and a book.”

“Right…” Draco agreed with even less conviction.

“So, the obvious answer is we just walk away and forget that this ever happened.”

“Err…sure…” Draco was pretty sure that forgetting wasn’t going to happen without a good old fashioned obliviate…which he was also pretty sure he didn’t want.

“Well then,” said Hermione, sticking out a hand to him.

“Right.” Draco took her hand, intending to give it a brisk shake, but once his skin touched hers, he didn’t want to let go. They stood there for a long moment.

Hermione coughed awkwardly. “Well, right. I’m just going to…” she trailed off awkwardly before turning abruptly and walking away in the direction of Gryffindor tower.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, watching her go. “Well that was downright odd.” He muttered to himself, heading back to his own dorm.

*******************************

The next day, Draco was not the only bleary face stumbling in to breakfast late. Hermione, rather annoyingly, looked fresh and alert and had already finished her breakfast. She was sitting reading a book as Harry and Ron complained about their headaches. She looked up as she saw him walk in the hall. Draco though he saw the ghost of a smile cross her face, but he shook it off, must be his imagination. As he sat down, a flock of owls flew in overhead. Draco winced at the noise. He looked up, surprised as a school owl came to a hopping stop in front of him. He took the package, plainly wrapped in brown paper. It was a book. Draco hastily shoved it out of sight under the table.

This may have seemed odd to anyone paying attention. However, Draco assumed they would find it much odder if they had seen the title: “A Pirate and his Wench.” Attempting subtlety, he peeked inside the front cover. There was a note.

“Draco,

Upon further consideration, I think that, if nothing else, last night proved that we don’t really know each other all that well. I can think of at least three things you may not know about me.
1. As I am writing this, I am sober.
2. I still don’t hate you.
3. I like to take long walks near the sound side of the lake at precisely 8:00 pm.

Hermione.”

The sun was setting when Draco reached the south end of the lake. For a moment, he couldn’t see her against the glare. Then he caught sight of her, silhouetted against the glowing sky, her hair flying about a bit madly in the wind. He smiled, took a deep breath, and a few steps forward.

“Hallo wench.”

The End.

Pirate Shenanigans

2008-07-24T23:27:10Z

As promised, a third and slightly (less silly instalment in my series, which I have now decided to call "How do you know if you're a pirate....you just ARRRRR" (because nothing is awesomer than a pun)

Cross posted in dracoxhermione, hp_fanfiction,and dramione

Title: Pirate Shenanigans
Author: imogen_penn
Rating: PG 13
Summary: "Draco was fairly certain that good girls shouldn’t kiss like this. In fact, he was pretty sure that good girls couldn’t kiss like this. Which meant that Hermione Granger was not as good as she was made out to be. Interesting."

She stood breathlessly before him, her hair blowing wildly in the rough winds, her torn blouse fluttering over her shoulders, her corset pushing her heaving bosoms high on her chest.

Draco, without moving his rapt attention from said heaving objects, reached down and pinched his arm violently. Nothing changed. Winds were still blowing, blouses were still fluttering, bosoms were still heaving.

“What are you doing here,” said Hermione sharply, crossing her arms over her ample chest and taking the words right out of his mouth.

Draco pulled himself together enough to project something like his typical scorn. “It’s hot inside.” He said, “I needed some air.” To be fair, the Halloween ball was, as always, well attended and the great hall was not very well ventilated.

Hermione smirked. “I’m not surprised, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of breathing room in those pants.” She stared rather pointedly in the direction of his leather-bound posterior.

Draco found that he was indeed having a little difficulty breathing. He didn’t think it had much to do with the pants though. He was pretty sure it was Hermione’s devastating smirk. No wonder the ladies found him irresistible, what with all the smirking he did.

“Not a lot of breathing room in that corset either, is there Granger.” Draco was quite pleased that he had managed to pull together a come back…even if it was a terribly obvious one.

Hermione gave him a withering glare. “Well clearly that is why I am out here, isn’t it?” Yep, really obvious.

There was an awkward pause.

“So,” Draco felt that, as the Slytherin of the two, he ought to throw in the next cutting remark, “What made you choose wench?” Well, not precisely cutting…but at least he was saying something and not mindlessly staring at her breasts…which is what he would really rather be doing.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. She wondered if Malfoy had any idea exactly how thin the ice he was treading on was.

“Probably the same thing that made you choose pirate.” She didn’t consider the fact that she was implicating herself at the same time as she was accusing him until after the words had come out of her mouth.

Draco took a moment to consider his response. It was patently obvious that both of them were thinking of Hermione’s muggle romance novel that had caused considerable discomfort for both of them. If it had been anyone other than Hermione Granger, Draco would have sworn she was flirting with him. As it was Hermione Granger, Draco decided to stick with sarcasm.

“What, that I look fantastic when I am tightly bound?” Hold on a second…in retrospect, Draco thought, that was mildly flirtatious. He glared angrily at the empty glass of spiked punch in his hand… “traitor,” he muttered.

If Hermione found this remark odd, she didn’t let on. Instead she asked “You think I look fantastic when I’m tightly bound?’ She had meant it to be witheringly embarrassing for him. Unfortunately, it had come out sounding rather shy and ever so slightly hopeful.

“Oh come off it Granger, no girl, however bookish, can look at that” He gestured towards her emphatically, “in the mirror and not be aware that half of the schools population is going to be drooling over it.” Well, the tone of voice was right, but Draco had a sneaking suspicion that he had just paid Hermione Granger a compliment.

Fortunately, she seemed not to know what to do about it any more than he did. So, she simply said, “well…” in the tone of voice he would expect her to use if she was called upon for a question she did not know the answer to (not that such a thing had ever occurred), turned on her heel, and marched back into the great hall.

Draco let out a tortured groan. This was really really no good. Damn Granger and her filthy novel. Damn Granger and her incredible figure that she’d been hiding all these years…and her wit…and her devastating smirk. Draco yelled at no one in particular and then kicked a nearby stone bench. He then cursed and sat down holding his injured foot. This was very undignified. Something would have to be done.

********************************

Hermione moved with purpose towards the refreshment table, telling herself firmly that she had not run away from Draco Malfoy, she was simply very thirsty.

After a ghost, Zorro, and a goblin had each very persistently tried to press drinks into her hand, she decided that she was going to have to take Draco’s point. The outfit did seem to be attracting a lot of attention. That, of course, had been the intention. Hermione just hadn’t expected it to work quite so well. She had also expected to enjoy any ogling glances that were cast her way. Instead, she found herself feeling rather ill.

Across the hall, she caught sight of Draco limping back into the hall. Well, the limping bit was interesting. Also interesting: as she caught him staring at her, a feeling like a warm and tingly butterfly uncurling itself fluttered up in her stomach. She turned to her right, where Marcus Flint was staring directly at her breasts without so much as a hint of prevarication. Naseau. Draco, butterfly. Flint, nausea. Butterfly. Naseau. Butterfly…

Several thoughts were beginning to come to her. First, she was beginning to get a crick in her neck. Second, maybe she should have stopped a few drinks ago. Third, she may be developing a crush on Draco Malfoy. She looked over in his direction again. As if being able to read her mind, a slow lazy grin spread across his face. The butterfly attempted to jump out of her throat.

*******************************

As Draco walked back into the hall, he had come to two conclusions. One: he was attracted to Hermione Granger (a level of self honestly that he only reached when truly liquored up) and two: there was nothing to be done about it except avoid the sight of her in that blasted amazing corset.

However, as he walked into the hall, he saw her looking at him across the costumed crowd. He couldn’t be sure at that distance, but he thought she had a sort of dreamy look on her face. She turned her head sharply towards Marcus Flint who (like the blunt lummox he was) was staring at her breasts. Draco had half a mind to bash his face in. But she looked vaguely ill, so Draco supposed she couldn’t be enjoying it. Then she looked back at him. Dreamy face. Flint, nausea. Him, dreamy, Flint, nausea.

He watched her do this for several moments before the implications reached his brain. Hermione granger LIKED it when he looked at her.

Draco came to two brand new conclusions. One: he was interested in Hermione Granger. Two: he was bloody well going to do something about it.

He moved towards her with single minded determination usually reserved for the snitch. This thought struck Draco, along with a very inappropriate pun. He grinned.

**************************************

Hermione took a few moments to process the fact that Draco was effectively stalking her across the great hall. It might as well have been the African savannah, because he was reminding Hermione distinctly of a jungle cat moving in for the kill and she was fervently wishing that she had gazelle like speed. His mad grin wasn’t doing much to help.

However, with nowhere to run, Hermione couldn’t do anything other than watch helplessly as he approached. She looked around frantically for Harry and Ron. Ron was over on the other side of the hall, talking animatedly to a very bored looking Parvati. Harry was nowhere to be seen, likely in some dark corner with Ginny.

Draco stopped directly in front of her, looking at her with an intensity that made her simultaneously want to run away and melt into a puddle of goo. Without a word, he grabbed her by the upper arm and began pulling her towards the door that lead into the dungeons.

“Malfoy, what do you think you’re doing!” she exclaimed, struggling rather half heartedly.

"Kidnapping you.” He said succinctly.

Hermione’s sensible side told her to knee him in the ballocks and get back to the party. However, another, larger and more audible part of her was saying ‘Oh well, that’s alright then.”

Once they were far enough away from the party that the noise was beginning to fade, Draco stopped. He took a breath that Hermione couldn’t interpret. Before she had a chance to say

anything, he pushed her up against the wall, trapping her between his arms.

Up until this point, this had all seemed like a bit of a saturnalian lark. Malfoy was undeniably attractive. And she had also undeniably had some pirate-themed fantasies about him. Halloween was about playing out fantasies, being someone else for a day. She had figured that they were playing. Sniping back and forth to expel a bit of inappropriate sexual tension, and then everything would go back to normal. Suddenly, with his face about three inches away from hers, it was very very real and Hermione was afraid.

Draco was getting carried away with this whole pirate thing. He thought he could blame the pants and the liquor for acting rather rashly. But he knew he was only going to have himself to blame the minute he saw fear in Hermione’s eyes. With a muttered “shite” he back away from her and sat down with a soft thud, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Sorry, Granger.”

“Hmphh” said Hermione eloquently, crossing her arms in front of her.

Draco knew that he was drunk. He also knew that discretion, in this instance, would probably be the better part of valor. If he simply shut his mouth and walked away, they could probably forget the whole thing ever happened, or at least chalk it up to the deadly cocktail of liquor, binding clothes, and teenaged hormones. But Draco, as always, simply had to get the last word.

“It’s your fault you know.”

Hermione looked at him incredulously. “In what way is this my fault? How exactly did I force you to manhandle me away from the ball?”

“It was you and your filthy book!” Draco exclaimed triumphantly, quickly warming to the subject. “You probably meant for me to take it from you. It was your plan all along to make me fantasize about you! In fact, you probably even charmed the book! You chest is clearly charmed to stay up like that. This is all part of some plot to get me expelled, isn’t it? Once you’ve seduced me with your magically enhanced feminine wiles you’re going to leave me lying unconscious in a hallway with some contraband! Well you have underestimated me! Bet you never thought I’d figure you out, did you!”

Draco looked half crazed. Hermione wondered just exactly how much he had had to drink. She gave him a piercing glare.

“My magically enhanced feminine wiles?” she questioned in an icy voice, “that is the stupidest…wait…you’ve been fantasizing about me?” Hermione wasn’t quite sure where that question had come from. Oh well, too late to take it back now. The butterfly in her stomach had made a reappearance and was going absolutely mad.

“Uhhh…yes?” Draco had the good grace to look vaguely embarrassed. “But you made me…” he tried lamely.

“I didn’t make you.” Said Hermione, looking at him with curiosity. “What kind of fantasies?” Hermione’s logical and rational side was telling her to shut the hell up and walk away, that this was impossible and could only lead to badness. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who you ask) her rational side seemed to have taken a vacation.

Draco looked at her sharply. Did Hermione Granger just ask him to describe his fantasies about her? Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who you ask) his rational side gave a sleepy murmle and told him to deal with this himself. It was very difficult for him to think clearly with that much ivory skin on display right in front of him and the deep, intelligent brown eyes looking at him with interest and maybe just a hint of lust.

He let the whole situation percolate for a good long moment. He was undeniably attracted to Hermione Granger. Wouldn’t have been his first choice, but one didn’t get to choose these things, did they? All evidence pointed to the fact that she was attracted to him too. They were both clearly intoxicated and thus couldn’t really be blamed for their actions, right? Right.

Draco stood up rather unsteadily from the floor. “My favorite one is where I’m that captain of a ship.” He took a step towards her. “You are the daughter of my greatest enemy.” He took another step. Hermione gave a little shiver. Draco was fairly certain she wasn’t cold. He grinned. “I kidnap you intending to hold you ransom, but you are just so bloody gorgeous that I can’t help myself.” He reached out and ran his fingers down the side of her face. She let out a low noise that completely wiped away any thought of stopping this that Draco may have had. “You’re my enemy because of your family, but it doesn’t matter because of your beauty.” He kissed her exposed shoulder “You’re spirit” he kissed her temple. “And your truly remarkable breasts.” He grinned devilishly. With a rather undignified snort of something between amusement and scorn Hermione wrapped a hand around his neck and closed the remaining distance between them, crushing her lips against his.

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what possessed her, but she had been completely incapable of stopping herself from kissing Draco Malfoy. Even now, as one hand was pulling at the hair on the nape of his neck and one was working its way under his shirt, she was telling herself that this wasn’t a very good idea and she should stop; but to no avail. Then Draco did something with his tongue that nearly caused her knees to buckle, and she told herself very firmly that this was a perfectly good idea and that she should butt out and let herself enjoy it.

Draco was fairly certain that good girls shouldn’t kiss like this. In fact, he was pretty sure that good girls couldn’t kiss like this. Which meant that Hermione Granger was not as good as she was made out to be. Interesting.

He tested his theory by moving his hand from where it rested in the small of her back over the curve of her rear. She made a breathy little noise against his mouth. He gave her a gentle squeeze. She moaned. Draco stumbled. They ended up pressed against the wall, and a particular piece of Draco’s anatomy was pressing up rather uncomfortably against his trousers.

Hermione’s brain was off. Nothing was telling her that this was a bad idea or that she should stop anymore. All she knew was that nothing that felt this good could be bad. She felt him pressing up against her, his heat in stark contrast to the cold stone wall pressing up against her back. Instead of shying away, or making some move to stop him (which she might have done in other circumstances) she hiked one leg up around his waist and pulled him closer.

Draco couldn’t remember ever feeling quite like this before. Like it was imperative that he feel her skin against his. Necessary like breathing. He began tugging at her blouse, but it was held securely under her corset. He began tugging ineffectually at the strings. He broke contact to try and get a better angle, but to no avail.

“Bloody buggering shite.” He muttered in frustration.

Hermione laughed. Draco didn’t think he’d ever heard her laugh like that before. At least, not directed at him. Usually she was laughing rather cruelly at him or because of him. This was different, and he found that he liked it a lot more. He stopped what he was doing and looked at her.

Her face was flushed, her hair unruly. He expected her to look embarrassed, awkward, but she looked…happy, and hazy. He let out a breath and forced himself to move away from her.

Now Hermione did look awkward and embarrassed. “Did…did I do something wrong?”

Lord help him, he found her insecurity endearing.

“No. Really really no. It’s just…you’re drunk.”

Hermione smiled. Draco Malfoy was being chivalrous. To her. “So are you,” she pointed out serenely.

“Yes.” He agreed, “which is why this isn’t a good idea.”

“Oh?”

“Look, we have been enemies for years.” He said, moving a little farther away from her. It made it easier to think. “Now, because of a stupid muggle book, some Halloween costumes, and a significant amount of alcohol we’re going at it in a hallway. Don’t you think we should stop and think about this?”

Hermione looked at him quite seriously. “You’re right.” She said. She paused for a moment, gathering herself together. “Of course you’re right. This is insane. We hate each other.”

“Right.” Draco agreed without much conviction.

“And the only reason we’re making out in a hallway is because of alcohol and a book.”

“Right…” Draco agreed with even less conviction.

“So, the obvious answer is we just walk away and forget that this ever happened.”

“Err…sure…” Draco was pretty sure that forgetting wasn’t going to happen without a good old fashioned obliviate…which he was also pretty sure he didn’t want.

“Well then,” said Hermione, sticking out a hand to him.

“Right.” Draco took her hand, intending to give it a brisk shake, but once his skin touched hers, he didn’t want to let go. They stood there for a long moment.

Hermione coughed awkwardly. “Well, right. I’m just going to…” she trailed off awkwardly before turning abruptly and walking away in the direction of Gryffindor tower.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, watching her go. “Well that was downright odd.” He muttered to himself, heading back to his own dorm.

*******************************

The next day, Draco was not the only bleary face stumbling in to breakfast late. Hermione, rather annoyingly, looked fresh and alert and had already finished her breakfast. She was sitting reading a book as Harry and Ron complained about their headaches. She looked up as she saw him walk in the hall. Draco though he saw the ghost of a smile cross her face, but he shook it off, must be his imagination. As he sat down, a flock of owls flew in overhead. Draco winced at the noise. He looked up, surprised as a school owl came to a hopping stop in front of him. He took the package, plainly wrapped in brown paper. It was a book. Draco hastily shoved it out of sight under the table.

This may have seemed odd to anyone paying attention. However, Draco assumed they would find it much odder if they had seen the title: “A Pirate and his Wench.” Attempting subtlety, he peeked inside the front cover. There was a note.

“Draco,

Upon further consideration, I think that, if nothing else, last night proved that we don’t really know each other all that well. I can think of at least three things you may not know about me.
1. As I am writing this, I am sober.
2. I still don’t hate you.
3. I like to take long walks near the sound side of the lake at precisely 8:00 pm.

Hermione.”

The sun was setting when Draco reached the south end of the lake. For a moment, he couldn’t see her against the glare. Then he caught sight of her, silhouetted against the glowing sky, her hair flying about a bit madly in the wind. He smiled, took a deep breath, and a few steps forward.

“Hallo wench.”

The End.

It's ALIVE

2008-07-23T18:42:22Z

So, I opened up my e-mail today and, thanks to a rec by the lovely treeson over at dracoxhermione,I had a whole host of exciting crack-like comments. Thus, I have been pulled out of semi-retirement by LJ love. I am currently at work (the major reason for above mentioned semi-retirement) but not doing any work at all. Instead, dear readers, I am working on some fic. I hope to have another chapter to my OMG EPIC story "The Abyss" as well as a third, slightly longer, one shot to finish off the pirate-themed series. So, in conclusion, thanks to everyone who read and commented! See, comments work!

I'm honorable!

2008-04-15T05:41:51Z

Also, I am amused that my late entry earned me My very first graphic thingy for a fic! Thanks a million dhr_challenge!

OMG, EPIC!

2008-04-15T05:35:20Z

So, as previously hinted at to some of you beautiful people who have reviewed some of my one shots, I am working on a very big story. This is the first part! I hope that you all like it enough to want to see a bit more of it! I also hadn't the least intention of having any romance in there at this point, but somehow it crept in...those wiley characters, always wanting to snog as many people as possible. Also, I am looking for a beta. If, after reading this, you have any suggestions/ are interested, leave me a comment over at my journal imogen_penn! Thanks a bundle!

Title: The Abyss
Chapter One: Mythology
Author: imogen_penn
Rating: PG
Summary: The wizarding world has moved forward since the war, but they haven't moved on. Something is stirring amongst the defeated, and Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy find themselves called upon to prevent disaster.

notes: Firstly, this story happens in the same universe as a little one shot I wrote called Wedding is a Seven Letter Word for Shame. This chapter discusses events in that fic, but if you haven't read it, it wont ruin your life (: Also, the title of the series comes from this quote:

Battle not with monsters
lest ye become a monster
and if you gaze into the abyss
the abyss gazes into you.

- Friedrich Nietzche

On with the show!

**************************************

History is the present. That's why every generation writes it anew. But what most people think of as history is its end product, myth. - E.L. Doctorow

*************************************

These tales of adventure, legends recovered from the mists of time, are valuable threads in the tapestry of our history, of our world. Yet, let us not forget that each magical weapon I have demystified, each fairy tale I have found to be grounded in fact also represents a part of our past that is best left behind us. These weapons come from a world of endemic violence. Each one represents a dangerous escalation, an arms race that led to destruction for countless individuals, even entire nations. We have seen with far too much acuity the danger of great power in the hands of those who would wield it. In our own times we have seen the discovery of the Deathly Hallows and only narrowly escaped the destruction that might have reigned over all the world. That is why, dear reader, I have not included any reference to possible locations of these weapons. That is why I have endeavored to present them as they are: tools only to hasten the downfall of their bearer. Each and every story I have uncovered behind a mythical weapon ends in the untimely death of its wielder. That is why these weapons have fallen out of use and become myth. That is why I uncover only their stories, and leave the weapons themselves to the mythical past where they belong. Harry let out a whistle, clearly impressed. “It’s bloody brilliant Hermione! I couldn’t put it down, and you know how much I love history books.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him and snatched the first bound copy of her book from him where he sat beside her on the chesterfield, leafing through it quickly.

“What, looking to see if a dog-eared any pages?” Harry looked amused.

“No, just looking to see if you scribbled about all over it like the rest of your history books.” Hermione grinned, passing the book back to him. “You really like it then?” She asked.

“Hermione,” Harry said, taking her by the shoulders and looking her in the eye, “I really liked it. You are an amazing writer. You made all those piles of research you’ve been doing seem downright fascinating. It makes me think I’d have been better served to read your papers at Hogwarts rather than having you read mine all the time.”

She smiled brilliantly, genuinely pleased to have his good opinion. With Ron off training with some very hush-hush department of the ministry (Harry had broken security only enough to tell her that it had something to do with intelligence), they had been spending far more time together, and he had suffered through the creation of her book along with her. It was his good opinion, more than any editor’s, that she sought. “It would’ve been a bit of a travesty if I hadn’t since you seemed determined to get through without learning basic grammar rules.” Hermione said in a crisp Scottish brogue, arching her brow in a very convincing imitation of Minerva McGonnagal.

“Well we can’t all be insufferable know-it-alls,” said Harry, ruffling her hair good naturedly. “But seriously,” he continued, “I wish you’d put your name on it. It’d be a shame for the whole world not to know how smart, and talented, and wonderful you are.”

“You’re sweet Harry, but you know how much I hated all the attention after the war. I’ve only just become a hermit enough to end any interest on the part of the press. I’d much rather quietly get my checks in the mail and leave all the fame to Ms. Elina Grottersly. You’ll have to settle for having my wonderfulness all to yourself.” She said cheekily.

“Happily,” he said, giving her an affectionate squeeze, “but how on earth did you come up with such an atrocious pen name?”

“Oh, I thought it was boring enough not to attract too much attention. Sort of conjures up and image of a dried up old spinster, doesn’t it? Hopefully no one will connect such a name with me.”

Harry looked at her appraisingly. No, no one was going to mistake Hermione Granger for a dried up spinster. In the six years since they had graduated from Hogwarts, Harry had watched Hermione grow into a very striking woman. She wasn’t the sort of girl who stopped traffic, but those that knew her well enough to take a second look were never disappointed. Always a rather slight girl, Hermione was still petite, but she no longer had that elfin look that came from too much hair and a boyish figure. She had filled out, Harry thought, rather nicely. She was constantly frowning at herself in the mirror and complaining that she couldn’t wear the fashions like tall, willowy, Ginny Weasley. Although there was no denying that Ginny was drop dead gorgeous (Harry himself had been with her on again/ off again since the end of the war), Harry often found himself thinking how pleasant it would be to hold a girl who was soft and smooth as opposed to all of Ginny’s hard angles. It also didn’t hurt that Hermione’s stable and gentle character was a welcome change from Ginny’s wild moods.

Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably and Harry realized that he had been staring for far too long. “Ah, no.” he finally said, “nothing spinster-ish about you.” He said, with a little more emphasis than he had intended.

“Well,” said Hermione, a blush rising to her cheeks, “now that it has hit the bookshelves, all we can do is hope the literary critics will like it as much as you did.”

“Of course they will! You’re going to be famous! Well…Ms. Elina Grottersly is going to be famous.” Harry exclaimed.

Hermione laughed at his exuberance. “You’re a real brick Harry, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to ‘mione. Now I think it’s very important that we celebrate this momentous occasion by getting ourselves suited and booted, going out to a very posh club, and getting properly pissed!” Harry sprang to his feet, dragging Hermione off the couch. The enthusiasm in his voice was infectious, and since Hermione knew he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, she might as well go along with it.

“That sounds terrific Harry, what time shall I meet you?”

“You think I’m going to let a famous author meet me somewhere like some common skirt? I will pick you up in style at eight o`clock sharp. And you had better be ready to be shown a good time, Ms. Grottersly!” With a wink and a *pop* Harry dissapparated, leaving Hermione to worry over what to wear and whether or not she was about to go on a date with her best friend.

*********************************************************

Ever since Fact or Fiction: The Hammer of Thor and other Mythical Weapons by previously unknown author Ms. Elina Grottersly, had appeared on bookshelves early that week, bookshops everywhere were beginning to see a slow but steady increase in sales. Many smaller shops were having to re-order already as word of mouth passed around about the eminently readable yet well researched book. Of course, the exciting and dangerous nature of the material under investigation didn’t hurt either.

However, one bookkeeper had had a slightly more unusual experience with the publication of the book. His shop, just off the end of Diagon Alley and a little too close to Knockturn Alley for his overall comfort, specialized in rare and unusual books. He had awaited the publication of the new work on mythical weapons ever since his supplier had mentioned that he had a shipment coming in. He was, however, quite surprised when a rather dodgy looking gentleman had come into the shop, asking about the book nearly a week before it arrived.

The man had returned to the shop precisely at opening on the day the book was set to appear on the shelves. He had bought every single copy and paid in cash.

He couldn’t imagine why, and didn’t think much about it for quite some time. It wasn’t until many months later, when the wizarding community at large started to notice some funny goings on, that he thought he ought to tell anyone. And by then, it was far too late to do any good.

********************************************************

“Okay, your turn ‘arry.” Hermione slurred, decidedly drunk after a number of drinks she couldn’t properly count.

Harry had, as promised, picked her up at eight o’clock on the nose. Hermione had agonized to an unusual degree over what to wear. She had, for a moment, considered wearing her bridesmaid dress from Parvati’s wedding. Several men, Harry included, had admired her that night. However, recalling how the evening had ended, she hastily put the dress back into the depth of her wardrobe from whence it came. She had eventually decided upon a simple black wrap dress.

Harry had, quite quietly, told her that she looked beautiful. She supposed it had been the right choice.

After a late dinner that had felt just like any other that she and Harry had shared over the years, Hermione had relaxed. A bottle of wine over dinner in muggle London had turned into beers at a nearby pub, which had in turn morphed into shots at a noisy club up the road. They had also, for some unfathomable reason, decided to play “never have I ever.” The general point of the game, so far as Hermione could divine, was to state something of a rather embarrassing or personal nature that one hadn’t done in the hopes that their opponent had. If said opponent had done said act, they had to drink. Since both knew each other so well, they were very good at producing the desired result. However, after several rounds, they were running out of questions to which they knew the answers.

“Uhhh, never have I ever….” Harry pondered. Suddenly a perfectly devious look came over him. “Never have I ever indulged in sexual acts with a member of Hufflepuff.”

“Harold James Potter!” Hermione cried with mock indignation.

“Don’t hate the player, Hermione, hate the game. You still have to answer.” Harry looked triumphant.

Redfaced, Hermione picked up her drink and took a swallow.

“Ha!” cried Harry, “I knew you pulled Ernie last new years!”

“Fine, fine, my big secret is out!” She covered her embarrassment with bravado. The incident in question had been a terrible drunken mistake.

“Really, though, Hermione, there were several better looking blokes looking for a snog that night.”

Had Hermione been slightly soberer, she might have noticed a certain disappointment in his statement. Instead she responded jovially, “What, like you?” Recalling that Harry himself had snogged Alicia Spinnet on the dance floor that night.

“Maybe,” said Harry, looking at her pointedly. His sincerity penetrated her liquor addled brain, but she was completely unsure of what to do with it. Instead, she changed the subject.

“My turn now Potter, and I wont be pulling any more punches” Harry seemed happy to return to the safe friendly banter.

“Never have I ever…” Hermione was distracted as she caught sight of an unmistakable head of white blond hair entered the club. What on earth was he doing here? It had been more than a year since she’d kissed Draco Malfoy at Parvati’s wedding. She’d seen him around every once in a while, but they hadn’t even so much as nodded in greeting. Now, however, they were going to be trapped in a fairly small room together. He looked over in her direction, catching her eyes on him. They stared at each other for a moment, Hermione wondered if they were both remembering the electricity of their kiss and questioning how much of it had really been the alcohol. With some effort, Hermione turned her attention back to Harry.

“Never have I ever snogged anyone from Slytherin.” Hermione felt a flush rise to her cheeks. That was stupid.

“Swing and a miss Hermione.” said Harry gleefully.

“That’ll be a drink for you, Granger.” drawled a gravelly voice from behind her. Shit. What the hell was he doing?

“In your pervy dreams, Malfoy.” Said Harry. It lacked the venom it might have had in their school days. Still, even though Malfoy was technically reformed, the two were never going to be friends.

Hermione had no idea what possessed her, but she deliberately picked up her drink and took a good long swallow. Maybe she was trying to make Harry jealous; maybe she was unwilling to deny her earlier indiscretion. She really couldn’t tell.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. Harry stared at her in shock.

“Honest to a fault.” sneered Malfoy.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but he didn’t manage to get anything out as Hermione violently shushed him. She was looking intently at the T.V. at the end of the bar. More reading the subtitles than actually listening, her attention had been grabbed by a story that was about what was being deemed an art heist. An eighth century Anglo-Saxon shield had been stolen from the British Museum. The muggle announcer said that police were confused, as the shield was one of several in a collection and was certainly not the object of greatest worth.

Hermione was not confused in the least. It was the shield of Lancelot, a mythical weapon found in both muggle and wizarding mythology. Supposedly, it cured the bearer of fatigue and gave him the strength of three men. Hermione had devoted a chapter to it in her book, Fact or Fiction: Thor’s Hammer and other Mythical Weapons. She had traced the myth back to an eight century wizarding warrior name Lance the Lazy. He had served the wizard Merlin as his most trusted guard, but had received a very persistent sleeping curse in battle. Merlin’s female companion, often known as the lady of the lake, had crafted the shield for poor Lance so he could continue to be an effective warrior. He had eventually perished of insomnia.

What she hadn’t written in her book, and what the wizarding world at large did not know, was that the shield was held in the permanent collection of the British Museum and had just been stolen. That, however, was not her primary concern. The news was showing photos of the crime scene and Hermione could clearly see, lying on the floor next to the destroyed display case, a copy of her book. It was a wizard who had taken the shield. A wizard who knew what it was. A wizard who had used the information in her book to track it down. Hermione felt a little ill at the implications.

“Harry, we have to go.” She said firmly.

“Gladly,” said Harry, tossing a rather hefty amount of money on the table and offering her his arm as he sent a menacing glance in Malfoy’s direction.

Malfoy didn’t seem to notice. He was looking between the T.V. and Hermione with curiosity. “Entertaining, as always, Granger.” He nodded to her with a little wink, just to annoy Harry.

Hermione rolled her eyes and left without a word, a bemused Harry Potter following in her wake.

***********************************************************

“What the heck was that all about?” Harry asked as soon as they were outside.

“That shield, Harry, I wrote about it in my book. It’s the shield of Lancelot. There was a copy of my book on the floor. A wizard used my book to steal a mythical weapon!” Hermione was quite agitated.

“Hermione, if I remember correctly, it doesn’t do anything all that dangerous, and really, it’s just an isolated incident, surely they can’t all be so easy to find.” Harry said impatiently.

“No, I suppose not. There’s only two out of all of them that I even know the exact location of.” Hermione calmed down somewhat.

“What I meant” continued Harry, “Was what the heck was that about with Malfoy!”

Typical, thought Hermione, “It’s nothing Harry,” she placed an arm placatingly on his shoulder, “I got really drunk at Parvati’s wedding and we kissed. It didn’t mean anything. He’s just trying to annoy you.”

“You kissed MALFOY and you didn’t TELL ME?” Harry was starting to sound obnoxiously like his teenaged self.

Hermione rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Yes Harry. Sometimes I don’t tell you everything about my life. Frankly, I was a little embarrassed by the whole episode, and I knew you wouldn’t like it so I didn’t tell you. Besides,” Hermione was feeling distinctly annoyed at Harry, and was really enjoying a good chance to rant, “it’s not as if you have any say over who I kiss. I’m a grown woman and I can kiss whoever I want!”

Harry looked angry. “Well SO CAN I!” He grabbed Hermione firmly by the shoulders and kissed her soundly.

Hermione had certainly not been expecting that. It was only a moment before they rocketed apart as if they’d been burnt.

“Oh,” said Hermione, feeling quite foolish.

“Yeah,” said Harry, running a hand through his hair.

She supposed it was inevitable. With Harry currently “off again” with Ginny and Hermione not having been in a relationship since she and Ron broke it off two years ago, and what with them spending so much time together, they were bound to get drunk and have a snog.

“So…” Hermione still couldn’t think of anything coherent to say…but the awkward silence was becoming laughably long.

Harry started to grin. Hermione tried to stifle a snort of laughter, but within seconds they were doubled over, laughing until tears ran down their faces and their sides hurt. After a few moments their laughter subsided to wheezy chuckles and they pulled themselves together.

“We should cab,” said Hermione finally, “since we’d only splinch ourselves if we tried to apparate.”

Harry agreed emphatically, casually tossing an arm over Hermione’s shoulder. “Hermione, I think we are epically drunk.”

“Yep!” Hermione agreed, sticking her arm out and waiving it wildly as a cab slowed for them.

“A very successful celebration, I should think.” He said.

“You said it.”

*********************************************************

“Simpkins, you insufferable MORON” the deep voice bellowed from the shadows across the dimply lit hall.

“I’m sorry sir, it won’t happen again!” The smaller man cringed.

“Of course it won’t! Do you think I’d honestly send you on an errand any more important than fetching my lunch after you left a book at the SODDING BRITISH MUSEUM?”

Simpkins cowered.

“Get out of my sight!” the man ordered. Simpkins scurried to obey.

“For Merlin’s sake’ the man muttered, “It’s so hard to find good henchman these days. The man to his right smirked. “Indeed. But with new recruits joining all the time, we will have a higher caliber to choose from for future missions.”

“Hmmm,” the first man agreed thoughtfully, “And they will only get harder. The shield was child’s play compared to the others. Are we close to anything else?”

“We’ve got a lead on one of the swords,” the man to his right said, “but it will be a while before we can move on it.”

“Very well,” the first man stood, “keep me posted. I’ve got to go home for supper.” He grimaced.

The second man chuckled, “You’re a braver man than I.”

“It will all be worth it when the world is set to rights again.” The man pulled his dark hood up, obscuring his face, and dissapparated with a pop.

Changes

2008-04-03T03:44:54Z

This was written in response to a challenge over at dhr_challenge. I, unfortunately, did not get it in on time. Happily, seems like no one else did either! So here it is. I'm interested to hear some feedback because I found this very very difficult to write. I hope you like it!

Title: Changes
Challenge: dhr_challenge #3: The Party has Just Begun
Author:imogen_penn
Rating: PG
Spoilers: General spoilers for Deathly Hallows.
Summary: The war is over, the seventh years have graduated and in Hogwarts tradition, a Graduation Ball has been thrown. The Weird Sisters are back to play the event and everyone is letting loose

“Good evening students,” Professor McGonagall’s crisp voice rang out over the great hall. No, Hermione mentally corrected herself, Headmistress McGonagall. It was hard to remember, sometimes, that Dumbledore was gone. Especially now. The war was over. Celebration was in the air. Things ought to be right again, happy again. However, there were constant reminders of loss that seemed to jump up behind you just when you thought you might remember what normal was. Hermione got the feeling that seeing Headmistress McGonagall standing up in front of them, ready to speak, had reminded many of the Headmaster who had been with them through most of their formative years. It was like a collective intake of breath that sucked just a little of the celebratory mood out of the air.

“I stand here today in front of far too few of you.” She paused for a moment, looking out over the somber young faces gathered before her. Usually the end of the year at Hogwarts was a joyous time for graduating students, excited to move off into the world, to grow up. These students had already had to do far too much growing up.

“This past year has been a difficult one for all of us. Many of us have suffered great losses, but I am also proud to say that many have shown great bravery, fortitude, and skill. The graduation feast has long been a time of celebration here at Hogwarts, this year no less than any other. So I urge you all, not to forget those who cannot be here tonight, but to celebrate their sacrifice, celebrate your achievements, and celebrate the freedom that each and every one of you has earned. No one knows better than I that you have all already become adults. You have already become the best of yourselves. I have been honored to serve the cause alongside each and every one of you.”

The applause were deafening. They stomped and clapped and cheered and cried together for a solid five minutes before McGongall raised her hands for silence.

“I said before that there were too few of you here. Some of those absent can never be returned to us. Some chose a dark path, anathema to the principles of tolerance and wisdom that we have tried to teach. Some, however, chose simply not to defy their families. Loyalty is an admirable quality, however displaced it may be. They have committed no crimes and their bravery in coming here tonight, facing their classmates who may now consider them enemies, shows how much they value their education, this school, and you, their classmates. I ask you now to do something more adult than anything that has yet been demanded of you. I ask you to welcome them home.”

Only three students stepped into the great hall. Three of more than a dozen Slytherins who should have graduated this year. Some were in jail, some were dead, some were simply missing. Only Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and Draco Malfoy walked slowly up to join McGonagall.

A tense silence hung over the great hall. Emotions still ran high. Losses were still new and sharply painful. These were people they associated with them with the death eaters, with those who had killed and injured friends and family.

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what made her do it. Maybe it was that she remembered once sharing a companionable study session in the Library with Daphne, maybe it was because Blaise looked positively green with trepidation, but he was still standing there. Maybe because, for once, Draco Malfoy wasn’t sneering or insulting her. Mostly because this, prejudice, judgement, hatred, was what they had all fought against.

She raised her voice loud and clear above the silence. “Three cheers for Slytherin!” There was a momentary shocked silence, from those on the podium as much as those in the hall, followed by wild applause. Daphne and Blaise looked surprised but pleased. Draco Maloy was looking at her, clearly confused.

Again McGonagall raised her hands for silence. “Now some of you may have heard some rumors about the actions of some of your peers during the war.” The group’s attention focused sharply on Draco Malfoy. Hermione saw him stiffen ever so slightly in response.

“I ask each and every one of you, what would you do if your mother or your father’s life was on the line? I sincerely hope that each and every one of you would show the same strength of character that each of these three people have shown. I hope you would have removed yourself from home and family rather than obey orders that you couldn’t support like Ms. Greengrass. I hope you would have staged your own death, like Mr. Zabini. And it would be more than I could possibly expect that, with no alternative, you would obey orders against your convictions in order to protect your family, while risking your own life to pass vital information to the other side, like Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco paled, clearly having not expected this. An audible gasp ran over the crowd.

Hermione didn’t think she could ever look at him the same way again. How wrong they had all been! Not about him being a gitty tosser, certainly not. However, mistaking some minor character flaws for real evil was a fault indeed.

This time Hermione didn’t need to start anything. The assembled students were already cheering even louder than they had before for the three Slytherin students that stood before them.

Hermione was struck by the oddity of the whole situation. For all their seven years, she had been convinced that being in Slytherin automatically made someone into her enemy. How unfortunate that it took a war to prove her wrong.

“Now enough of weighty issues!” said McGonagall once things had calmed down. “Students of Hogwarts, congratulations on your graduation! You are truly the finest class of graduates I have ever been privileged to teach. Now go enjoy yourselves!”

With a pop the hall transformed itself. Table disappeared, tiny strings of colored lights blinked around the room, and the head table disappeared only to be replaced by a band. A band that looked oddly familiar…

“The Weird Sisters!” Someone in the crowd exclaimed.

And just like that, with a “one two three four” from the drummer, the party had begun.

*************************

It was almost an hour later before Harry found a chance to talk to Draco.

“Malfoy,” he said, approaching him where he sat against the wall.

“Potter,” he replied cautiously.

“I owe you an apology.” Said Harry simply, looking a little pained to do so.

Draco rolled his eyes, “For what? Thinking I was an evil git or slicing me open in the toilet?”

“Will you give me a break here Malfoy? I’m trying to do the right thing?” Harry let out an exasperated sigh. He supposed he shouldn’t have assumed Malfoy had any particular inclination to like him just because he had switched sides.

“Then maybe you should think about getting a haircut.” Malfoy deadpanned.

Harry almost…almost cracked a grin at that one. “At least I don’t have girly hair. Maybe you should man up Malfoy.”

“Man up? Is that what you call it when you and Weasely…”

“Hey!” Harry cut him off. Malfoy smirked. An awkward silence followed.

“So,” Harry asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him, “When did you…you know, become a spy?”

Draco had known that this was what Harry was after from the moment he approached. He had already decided that it was best just to get it over with, so he didn’t hesitate.

“Right after my father told me I had to kill Dumbledore.” He said calmly. “Dumbledore offered me asylum, but they were going to kill my Mum, so I said I wouldn’t run away. I offered to stick with it for as long as I could if he would find a way to get my Mum out safely.”

Harry was gobsmacked. “So you’ve been spying for two years?”

Draco nodded.

“What about when you let the Deatheaters into Hogwarts.” He asked.

“Had to,” Draco replied simply, “I couldn’t find a way around it without blowing my cover.”

“What about the room of requirement?” Harry was on a role now.

“You’ll notice I didn’t kill you.” Draco responded serenely.

“What about when you fought me at your house? I mean, couldn’t you just have let us go?”

“Don’t be stupid Potter, I was the master of the elder wand. You had to win it.”

Harry looked at him with open mouthed shock.

“You knew?”

“Of course I did you speccy git! You didn’t really think I’d be that easy to defeat did you?”

“Well,” said Harry considering, “It wasn’t all that easy…But how did you know about the wand? I didn’t even know at that point.”

“Dumbledore.” Said Draco, as if the answer was blatantly obvious. Which, Harry supposed, it was. “It would have been an awfully convenient bit of luck if I had just happened to disarm Dumbledore, and just happened to leave his wand behind, and you just happened to defeat me and take my wand, and then just happened to be able to retrieve the elder wand from where it was being safely kept. Would’ve been pretty irresponsible of the old man to leave that all to chance, don’t you think.”

Harry was flabbergasted. He had been pretty sure that it had just been an extraordinary string of luck. Of course, in retrospect, he should have known Dumbledore had a plan.

“Well…” said Harry finally, “Well done then.” He stuck out his hand to Malfoy.

After only a moments pause, Malfoy shook his hand.

“We’re not friends you know,” Maloy said, sticking his hand back in his pocket.

“Didn’t say we were,” said Harry evenly, “but we are allies.”

Draco nodded once in agreement.

“Well,” said Harry, but couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he just turned and walked away. He couldn’t figure out if that had gone well or not.

*****************************************

Harry was walking past an arched opening, a glass of pumpkin juice in his hand, when he was abruptly grabbed by the collar and pulled into the hallway.

“What the bloody hell!” he exclaimed, shaking spilled pumpkin juice off his hand. He looked up to find himself staring at an irate Ginny Weasley.

“Ginny!” He exclaimed, “I…what are you doing here?”

“Gate crashing, apparently.” She said in a steely voice that he had learned to fear.

“Okay,” he said, in what he hoped was a soothing voice, “why are you gate crashing?”

Apparently that was the wrong question. “Because you DIDN’T INVITE ME HAROLD JAMES POTTER!”

Oh dear. This was not good.

“I suppose I should have expected it. It’s not like I’m your girlfriend or anything. I should have known that whole ‘protecting me from evil wizards’ thing was bollocks. Well I’ll tell you what Harry Potter. I don’t need you, so you can go JUMP IN THE LAKE for all I care. I hope you and Reginald will be VERY HAPPY!”

“Reginald?” Harry wasn’t quite sure why that was what he was reacting to.

“The squid.” Said Ginny succinctly.

“The squid is named Reginald?” Harry asked incredulosely.
“Well…I named him Reginald.” Said Ginny sharply.

Harry burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it.

“Harry this is NOT FUNNY!” Yelled Ginny. However, she looked like she was trying to hold back her giggles.

“Only my girl would name a big ugly squid something like Reginald.”

And suddenly it wasn’t so funny anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t invite you Ginny. Everything has been so crazy. I haven’t had a moment to myself. You know that if I had, I would have been on your doorstep before you could say broomstick.”

“You would?” she asked hopefully.

“Of course!” Harry exclaimed. “I have spent a whole year dreaming about when I was going to get to be with you again.”

“Dreaming hey?” said Ginny mischievously.

Harry smiled. “You are my girl though, aren’t you Ginny? Even though sometimes I’m really really thick and I don’t deserve you?”

“Oh Harry, of course I am.” She threw her arms around his neck and he pressed his face into her hair. Looking back, he thought that that moment was when the war really ended for him. When he stopped fighting and started living.

He pulled back, simply looking at her. She had changed in the last year. She looked a little older, she was wearing her hair differently, but she was still the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen.

“My beautiful girl.” He whispered to her. He pulled her closer, tangling his hand in her hair, and pressed his lips against hers.

******************************

A few moments later, Ron was wondering where Harry was. He heard something off in the corridor and went to investigate.

He found Harry, glasses askew, hair even messier than usual, with one hand in the hair of and one hand up the skirt of his little sister, whom he was snogging like there was no tomorrow. Ron looked on with amusement for a moment. He was happy for both of them that they could finally make a real go of it. Not that he particularly wanted them to make a real go of it right in front of him. It was still his little sister.

“Oi!” he hollered, feeling immensely amused as they jumped apart with blinding speed.

“Get your hands off my little sister!” Harry looked at Ron in shock and fear for a moment, Ginny with wide eyed astonishment.

Ron doubled over with laughter, “Oh the looks on your faces!” he managed to get out.

“Ron you wanker.” Harry said, pulling a barrette from Ginny’s hair and tossing it at him. “At least I didn’t stop for a snog with my best mate in the middle of a battle.”

“Ronald Weasley, you didn’t!” Ginny shrieked at him.

“Oh yeah…” said Ron sheepishly, “I’d almost forgotten about that.”

“Well why don’t you go find her for a snog and leave us in peace!” said Harry, purposefully pulling Ginny closer again.

“Well…” Ron paused, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous habit, “I’m not so sure that’s the best idea.”

“Why not?” Harry was clearly astonished.

“I’m not really sure that I want to kiss Hermione again.”

Harry and Ginny could not have looked more stunned if a pack of blast ended skrewts had dropped from the sky in front of them.

“But…but all the fighting…and the jealously….and….what?” Ginny stammered.

“Well, it turns out that, even though I thought it would be great, snogging Hermione is kind of like snogging my sister.” Ron said. Ginny looked ill.

“That’s gross Ron.”

“Maybe,” said Harry quite forcefully, “you should go talk to Hermione about all this.”

Ron sighed, “Right as always Harry.” He said, “And maybe you, the hero of the hour, should get back to the party.”

Harry rolled his eyes but moved back towards the great hall, “Aye aye captain,” he saluted sarcastically. “Coming Gin?” he offered his arm. Ginny took it with a brilliant smile and they moved back into the noise and confusion of the celebration.

**********************************

Ron made his way rather woozily towards where Hermione was standing against the wall. He had made a few trips to the punch bowl in the mean time, for a little liquid courage. An objective observer might have told him to slow down about four drinks ago.

“Hi ‘mione” He slurred, interrupting her conversation with Padma, “How’r you?”

“Sober,” said Hermione with a grin, “And you?”

Ron considered for a moment. “Drunk.”

“I noticed.” Hermione put a hand out to steady Ron’s swaying.

“Can we talk?” He asked.

“Uh…sure,” said Hermione. She had known this encounter would come and felt very uneasy about it. Sure it had been her that had kissed Ron in the heat of the moment, and there had been tension brewing between them for years. But when she had kissed him, it hadn’t been what she expected. There were no sparks, no stars, no nothing. It was hardly more exciting than kissing Victor Krum.

Now, she had no doubt, he was about to confess his undying love or something equally dramatic and she was going to have to turn him down.

“About the kiss,” Ron began gracelessly.

“Yes.” Said Hermione neutrally, “what about it.”

“It wasn’t very good.” Ron ploughed foolishly ahead.

“Oh yeah?” said Hermione, bristling at the offense even though she agreed. “And whose fault is that?”

“I think it’s yours, because you’re my best friend and not really a girl.” Ron paused after this came out, suddenly realizing that maybe that wasn’t quite what he had meant to say. “I mean, you’re not a girl because you’re Hermione…no, that’s not it either…uhhh”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that you’re not interested in me romantically because we are such good friends?” She asked archly.

“Yeah! Yeah that was it exactly!” Ron agreed enthusiastically.

“Ronald Weasly it is a good thing I agree with you. Next time you let down a girl who may actually be interested in you, try to be slightly less oafish about it.” Hermione turned on her heel and marched smartly away. It had gone, she thought, much better than it could have. But she wasn’t about to let Ron get away with a speech like that.

Ron watched her go in bewilderment. Blaise Zabini, who was standing nearby, commented dryly “women.”

“Boy you said it.” Said Ron rather petulantly.

“Have you ever thought of batting for the other team Weasely?”

“…”

**********************************
Hermione stepped out of the hall into the cool night air. Maybe it had been her encounter with Ron, or maybe it was the absence of far too many people, but suddenly the celebration seemed to be passing her by. An odd sort of melancholy was setting in. And it seemed like she was not alone. Draco Malfoy was sitting on a nearby stone bench, looking utterly dejected. She took a deep breath and approached.

“This seat taken Malfoy?” she asked, pointing at the empty spot on the bench.

Draco looked up at her. She had expected him to look sad or haunted or something but he just looked at her impassively and shrugged.

“I think I owe you an apology Malfoy,” she began.

Draco cut her off with a choked laugh, “must I really endure these overtures of friendship from every single Gryffindor?”

“I wasn’t trying to be your friend Malfoy. I still think you’re a stuck-up git who ought to have been muzzled through puberty.”

Draco looked mildly surprised. Also impressed. “Muzzled.”

“So you could keep your venomous thoughts to yourself.” Hermione clarified serenely.

“If you’re quite happy to continue loathing me then I’m quite happy to reciprocate. No apologies necessary.” Draco waved a hand at her dismissively.

“I want to apologize for assuming that your behavior dictated your loyalties. It was short sighted and prejudiced of me. If I hadn’t been so blinded by my dislike of you, I probably would have figured it all out. In retrospect I feel quite foolish.”

Draco made an amused sort of noise, “yes, you probably would have figured it out Granger. So what?”

“I could have made it easier.”

Draco shrugged, “nothing was going to make it easier.”

“I suppose not.”

“You know Granger, everyone else seems to think that what I did makes me a different person. They’re all trying to be my friends and assuming that I’ll be excited to, I don’t know, rescue puppies with them, or whatever it is you Gryffindors do. So, thanks for still hating me, I suppose.”

Hermione looked at him for a long moment. It seemed an odd moment of honesty. She wondered why he had spoken so frankly to her. He seemed to be wondering the same thing.

“You know,” said Hermione thoughtfully, “I don’t think I ever really hated you. I just didn’t understand your world. You may have missed it, but I don’t like things I don’t understand.”

Draco snorted, “Really, I hadn’t noticed.”

The corner of her lips turned up in a grin. Even a year ago, Draco pondered, that sort of comment would have set her flying into an indignant rage. He had gloried in setting off her temper as a child. It seemed as if both of them had grown up a good deal. And he would have to be a fool not to notice how beautiful she had become. As they sat in silence for a moment, Draco thought that he wouldn’t actually mind getting to know her a little. Puppy rescuing was still completely out though.

Although Hermione had not approached him with any intention of becoming friends, nor did she find him much changed from who he had been before, she was finding that her opinion of him was quickly changing. It was more of a shift in perspective. Things she had found infuriating, offensive, or evil in the past became a little more understandable now she knew the incredible pressure put on him by his place in society. She wasn’t about to invite him over for tea or anything, but it was something.

“You should go back to the party.” Draco said, finally breaking the silence. “I’m sure your friends are missing you.”

“Yeah,” said Hermione reluctantly standing up.

“I hate parties.” They spoke nearly simultaneously.

They shared a smile.

“I’ll see you in there Draco.” Said Hermione, very deliberately using his first name. It had been so much easier to think of him as a last name, a flat character, a foil. Now, she supposed, she was going to have to start thinking about him as a person, as a peer. Wizarding Britain was an awfully small place.

Draco gave no sign that he noticed her use of his name, merely nodding as she walked away. He had thought, when he had come tonight, that he was going to have to fight his way, tooth and nail, back into respectable society. Accolades for war heroics were only going to last so long, and then people would start remembering who he had been for so many years before the war, who he still was. Hermione Granger had just given him the first light of hope he had had in a long time.

*********************

Later, Hermione slumped in a chair against the wall, exhausted. She had lost count of how many songs she had danced about a dozen ago. Her feet hurt, she was getting a headache, but the party showed no signs of winding down.

She watched with curiosity as Draco made his way back into the great hall. She was surprised when he headed her way.

The band started to play a slow song.

Hermione suddenly felt enormously uncomfortable. What if he asked her to dance? Sure she thought he might be worth getting to know…but he was Draco Malfoy! He had called her the most offensive name she knew, tormented her and her friends! And now he wanted to slow dance?

Hermione stopped herself. This was exactly the sort of prejudice that had gotten them all into this situation. If Draco Malfoy wanted to dance with her then by God she would give him the same chance she would give anyone else.

“Hermione.” He said by way of greeting, stopping in from on her.

“You decided to give us puppy loving Gryffindors another chance did you?” said Hermione wryly, not missing for a moment his use of her first name.

“Well, a side effect of the whole double agent thing is you pretty much loose any friends you had. No one told me.”

“Was it worth it?” Hermione found herself asking the question before she could stop herself. It wasn’t what she had meant to say, but suddenly the answer was very important to her.

“Yes.” Draco replied simply and without hesitation.

There was a laden silence. “So,” Draco continued lightly, “I suppose I’m going to have to take a stab at the other side. Not literally of course.” He smirked. “And since you’re the least offensive Gryffindor I could think of, I thought maybe you’d like to dance.”

Hermione was oddly flattered. Here was Draco Malfoy, one of the best looking boys in school, asking her to dance. And he looked nervous! Nervous to ask her to dance.

“I’d like that.” She said, her sore feet and headache forgotten.

He offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet.

They didn’t share any whispered words, or any words at all. They didn’t look into each other’s eyes. They didn’t hold each other close.

Instead, they stood almost amusingly far apart, they avoided each other’s gaze, they simply swayed slowly to the music.

Hermione didn’t think she would ever forget it.

Her hands tingled where they rested against his neck. She felt nervous and sweaty like she was fourteen again. She felt goosebumps rise up on her neck where his breath fell. She told herself firmly that it was simply the appeal of the unknown.

The song seemed to last forever and it seemed to end far too soon. As they parted, Draco uncomfortably cleared his throat.

“Hermione, I…” he didn’t get any farther as a still intoxicated Ron broke in between them and pushed them apart.

“Ron! What are you doing?” cried Hermione.

“Pulling Malfoy off of you!” he shouted, looking angrily at Draco who looked thoroughly confused.

“We were dancing Ronald.” She said irritably.

“But it’s Malfoy, Hermione.” Ron blundered on. “Even if he’s not evil, he’s still Malfoy.” At this, Draco turned around and walked away. Hermione could see the tension in his shoulders.

“I know that Ron.” Said Hermione, trying to keep her cool. “But did it ever occur to you that if you were wrong about his loyalties, maybe you’re wrong about him?”

Ron looked confused. Hermione didn’t wait around to hear his response. She turned and walked in the direction Draco had gone.

******************************

It took her a little while wandering through the corridors to find him. He was sitting on the floor with his head between his legs.

“Draco?” she approached cautiously. She wasn’t quite sure what she would do it he was crying. She should have known better.

“Your friend is a huge git.” He said calmly, looking up at her as she approached.

“Yes, a surprising amount of the time.” Hermione agreed, settling herself on the floor beside him, a safe distance away.

“He’s probably not alone in his point of view.” Draco said.

“No, probably not.” Said Hermione, judging that Draco probably wasn’t the sort who needed sugar coating. “So are you going to give up? Crawl into a hole and die?”

“I was thinking of crawling into my opulent mansion.” He said with a wry smile.

“You’re not really going to do that.” Hermione stated. She didn’t know him well, but she knew him better than that.

“No.” he agreed. “I’m not. I suppose I’m just going to keep going around taking out my frustration of poor, unsuspecting walls.” He lifted his hand, flexing it painfully.

His knuckles were skinned, bleeding, and already swelling. Hermione reached out and gently took it.

“Here,” she said quietly, pulling out her wand, “let me fix that.”

Draco sat silently, watching her as she knit the skin together.

“You know,” he said, trying to distract himself from the warmth spreading from where her hand held his, “This can never go back to the way they were. I can’t figure out where I fit right now.”

He thought, in retrospect, he would have been better to keep his mouth shut. He wondered if everyone tended to let out shockingly honest thoughts to her, or if it was just him.

“You’ll find a place.” Said Hermione confidently, putting her wand away, “Besides, not all change is bad.” She looked up at him from under lowered eyelashes. Shy, and uncertain how do deal with this new situation.

She unconsciously licked her lips and Draco’s brain turned off. He leaned towards her, burying a hand in her soft curly hair and pressing his lips against hers.

It was relatively brief and closed mouth, but Hermione felt all the sparks and saw all the stars that had been missing when she kissed Ron.

They parted, both looking surprised at what had happened.

Draco broke the silence. “No, change isn’t really bad at all.”

******************************

The next week, Hermione was moving into a brand new flat in London, ready to start a new job.

She hadn’t spoken to Draco since they had kissed at the graduation party. Harry had come upon them shortly after and, while he hadn’t said anything about her choice of companion, he had been adamant about pulling her back to the party.

She hadn’t tried to contact him since. She had no idea what she would say. “Hey, thanks for the best kiss I’ve ever had. I know it was short and I know we have a long history of violently disliking each other, but how ‘bout a snog.”

She laughed out loud at the thought of it. No, she was fairly sure nothing would ever come of the whole situation.

An owl pecked at the window. Hermione walked over and pulled it open, taking a thick parchment envelope. She looked at it curiously as the bird flew off. Besides her name on the front, it was completely blank. She pulled open the seal and removed the letter.

Hermione,

I’ve been intending to write you every day for the past week. I find myself completely at as loss as to how I ought to write you, what I ought to say. In some ways, life was a lot easier when there were rules to follow. Then again, writing this letter at all would have been very much against the rules. Still, I have come to the conclusion that it is better to do this the only way I know how than not to do it at all.

Miss Granger, may I request the pleasure of your company for dinner this coming Friday the 3rd? I would be pleased to pick you up at your home at 7:00 in the evening. I look forward to your reply.

Yours,
Draco Malfoy

Hermione finally drew a breath and said “Change is really good.”

Pirate Pants

2008-03-31T23:30:12Z

So, a little while back, I wrote a little drabble called "An Awkward Encounter Involving Pirates". Then I dissapeared off the face of the net because my supervisor started cracking the whip. So now I am, of course, procrastinating while my thesis due date looms closer, and I wrote a sequal. It's very silly. I hope you all enjoy it!

Title: Pirate Pants
Author: imogen_penn
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: D/H
Summary: He tore his mouth away from hers with great effort, “I kidnapped you for ransom miss Granger, but I will take you to my bed for your beauty.” His voice was husky and filled with lust.
“Oh yes Captain,” she cried <-- I'm pretty sure that covers it :)

She stood breathlessly before him, her hair blowing wildly in the rough winds, her torn blouse fluttering over her shoulders, her corset pushing her heaving bosoms high on her chest.

“Wh…what are you going to do with me?” she asked him, her voice husky with fear and a little bit of curiosity. She backed away from him, pressing herself into the bulkhead of the ship.

“Whatever I want,” he replied seductively, “You’re mine now wench. No one will find you this far out at sea, not even your beloved Sir Potter.”

“And…and what is it you want?” She asked him, unconsciously running her tongue over her lips, chapped from the salt air.

“You.” He said simply, closing the distance between them. With one hand he deftly ripped her blouse from her shoulders, leaving her in only her corset and skirt. “And I will have you!” he cried, pulling her against his chest by her tiny waist.

He leaned into her and fiercely pressed his lips against hers. For a moment she resisted, struggled to preserve her chastity. However she couldn’t resist the heat of his lips pressed against her and the hardness of his body. She melted into his embrace, moaning into his mouth.

He tore his mouth away from hers with great effort, “I kidnapped you for ransom miss Granger, but I will take you to my bed for your beauty.” His voice was husky and filled with lust.

“Oh yes Captain,” she cried, all morals abandoned as she threw herself into his arms.

He swept her off her feet and carried her too his cabin. Throwing her across the bed he fell on top of her, pressing himself into her soft, yielding form…

**********

Draco woke up with a start. The charm alarm beside his bed was telling him, in a rather nagging voice, that he really ought to get up if he wanted time to properly coif his hair before breakfast.

He took a quick look under the covers. He was going to need a few minutes before it would be appropriate for him to get up in front of his dorm mates.

“Bloody Granger and her sodding book.” He muttered, flopping back against his pillows and willing himself to stop thinking about heaving bosoms or how good it had felt, in his dream of course, to be pressed up against her.

Instead he concentrated on how good he had looked dressed in leather pants and an open shirt. The sash and sabre had been particularly effective too, he thought. Perhaps, he mused, he ought to go out and buy the outfit. Maybe a corset to anonymously deliver to Granger as well.

He let out an exasperated groan. This was not good.

I'm a bad person...

2008-03-31T18:33:29Z

So, I totally intended to complete the challenge I signed up for at dracoxhermione, but then this whole "my thesis is due in two weeks" thing kicked in, and so I only have about half a story done and the due date was last week...

I am going to be really really excited when this whole school thing is done...

Anyways, I fully intend to finish the story (which, quite honestly, is already pretty long for a challenge fic) and post it in the next week...depending on what my supervisor says about my latest draft...

Oh, the Liberal Media, you are so crazy.

2008-03-11T22:37:54Z

So, I'm wandering through the CBC website today (yes, I am a Canadian...also, they have fun games!) and I come across this little gem of journalistic outrage. For those who don't feel like reading, the basic gist is that in Britain, they have a department that tracks down "forced marriages" perpetrated by, usually, middle eastern families against their daughters. My absolute favorite quote it this:

"Forced marriage … is a part of a patriarchal system where parents believe they know what is best for their children," she said.

How DARE those parents think they know what is best for their children! Oh the HUMANITY!

Also,

"As a society we draw a line in the sand," Warsi told British television network GMTV.
"This is not a culturally sensitive issue; this is an abhorrent act which we must stand together on."

Now, I understand that, in some cases, that this practice gets a little illegal. As CBC put it (using as many inflammatory words as possible): abuse, assault, rape, kidnapping and murder.

(Which, PS, happens in un-"forced" marriages as well)

So I'm totally on board with cracking down on things that are illegal, but, in order to make my point, I turn (rather shamefully) to Wikipedia. The point being, that forced marriage is a subset of arranged marriage. The distinction is, essentially, that the child doesn't have any say in their choice of partner. Now, I'm not part of a culture that practices arranged marriage, but it seems to me that there are probably a lot of arranged marriages within these cultures that occur with some resistance on the part of the child or at least no input from the child.

The long and the short of it is, where do we draw the line? I heartily disagree that this is not a culturally sensitive issue. Are we, as "Western Society" really going to tell people that they cannot arrange their childs marriage for fear that the child might not agree? When does an arranged marriage become a forced marriage? You get my point.

So there's my political musing for the day. I understand that people get very up-in-arms about issues like this, so I want to tag on a little caveat. I'm trained in history. We have it beat into our heads that we CANNOT impose our point of view on the events, people, places etc. that we investigate. Our job is to find meaning without passing judgement. So my reluctance to police and potentially illegalize (is that even a word?) what is essentially a cultural practice with long standing tradition comes from this firmly non-ethnocentric point of view.

The end (deep breath)

Pirates!

2008-03-09T05:37:32Z

I just wrote this bizzarre little drabble for dramionedrabble so I thought I might as well record it for posterity here. I'm pretty sure it means that I read too many romance novels...especially ones involving pirates..

It also probably means that my thesis supervisor is going to yell at me for not getting enough done this week. *sigh* oh well.

She supposed the location wasn’t exactly private. Still, she’d thought, when she had left the castle looking for a bit of solitude, that she would be left alone out on the rise overlooking Hagrid’s hut.

However, here she was, making a desperate grab at her novel which was currently being held aloft by an infinitely amused looking Draco Malfoy.

It wouldn’t have been anything more than a minor annoyance. Nothing she couldn’t handle. Except that the particular book he had snatched from her happened to have the words The Pirate and his Wench emblazoned in gold lettering across the front, with the clever caption “He could take her body, but could he take her heart?” (he could, in fact, if you were wondering) doing little to cover the picture of a scantily clad woman being ravaged by a shirtless pirate.

Well, she thought to herself, at least it wasn’t a wizarding picture.

“Always have to have your nose in a book, don’t you Granger?” he sneered. “What’s this muggle trash that you’re reading?” He flipped the book open at random and began to read aloud.

“He pushed her up against the bulkhead, her heaving bosoms straining against the thin, damp fabric of her corset.”

Good lord. He had to have opened it to this part.

“She could feel his throbbing…” Malfoy trailed off abruptly. A distinctly pink color marring his otherwise flawless complexion. He looked, Hermione realised, quite uncomfortably embarrassed.

Advantage Granger.

“His throbbing what Malfoy? I hadn’t quite got to that part yet? Is it his sword?” She asked innocently.

Malfoy made an indistinct noise.

“Oh don’t stop now!” said Hermione a little breathlessly, really beginning to enjoy herself. “Does she like it? Does she like having his throbbing sword pressed up against her heaving…”

“For Merlin’s sake Granger!” Malfoy finally interrupted, pulling his cloak around himself. No doubt to guard against the stiff breeze. Maybe that was why his face looked quite distinctly blotchy.

He didn’t seem to be intending to continue his outburst.

“May I have my book back Malfoy?” She asked, holding her hand out expectantly.

He stepped towards her, snapping the book shut somewhat reluctantly and passing it over. He was looking at her with a rather fixed expression.

“Something in my teeth Malfoy?” she asked cuttingly, “or are you just enjoying the view.”

He managed something approaching his trademark smirk.

“In your dreams Granger. You have a leaf on your bosom…I mean chest…I mean heaving…” He had the good sense to shut his mouth before it got any worse.

“My heaving what?” Hermione asked politely.

“Oh sod off Granger!” He shouted, his cheeks blushing an even deeper red. Then, turning on his heel, he marched off with as much dignity as he could muster.

She watched him go with a grin before settling back down to enjoy her novel. Somewhere along the way, however, the pirate captain’s hair become silvery blond in her mind, and his eyes a steely grey. By the time she got to the part about the bulkhead and the throbbing member, the captain was distinctly Malfoy-esque.

“Buggering git has ruined the whole book for me now, prancing around shirtless in my head.” She grumbled, putting it down in disgust.

She immediately picked it up again and continued.

New LJ, New Fic!

2008-03-08T00:55:58Z

I felt it was appropriate to begin my LJ career by posting a fic! Of course, as I'm posting this, no one will be reading it. But to you, gentle reader from sometime in the future, I hope you enjoy!

Title: Wedding is a Seven Letter Word for Shame
Author:imogen_penn
Rating: R
Pairing: D/H
Summary: A wedding! During which many helpless martinis give up their lives, Hermione forgets her knickers, and Draco innapropriately wears a tie.

Hermione looked into the mirror with despair.

This. Is. Humiliating.

She fruitlessly attempted to re-adjust her dress into some semblance of decency for the Merlin-only-knew-how-manyth time.

It wasn’t so much that it was short. From the left side the floor length skirt could even have been called conservative. The thigh high slit on the right side, however, was more likely to be called shocking and inappropriate.

It wasn’t even that it was all that low cut either, although Hermione wasn’t sure that “keyhole” was the right name for a neckline that required her to forgo a bra in favour of a carefully placed lifting charm. More like “hole you could drive the knight bus through” neckline.

Hermione even kind of liked the color, a deep midnight blue. No, the real problem was the fit. Tight didn’t even begin to describe it. The thin cloying material showed off absolutely everything. So tight that you could count ribs. So tight that her “assets” were clearly discernable. So tight that she had had to leave her knickers at home.

She wondered, rather nastily, if Parvati had decided to dress her bridesmaids like slags in an attempt to make everyone forget just how many notches were on her own bedpost.

She sighed. “Not nice Hermione” she muttered to herself. Taking a deep breath, she walked out of the toilet and back into the “war room,” as she had taken to calling it. Parvati, she had to admit, looked splendid. Her contrastingly tasteful white gown stood out among her bridesmaids.

With one final tug at her neckline, she swallowed her pride, told herself to remember how happy she was for her friend, and waded into the haze of hairspray and tulle.

“Darling, you look radiant.” She said with a smile, kissing Parvati on the cheek. “Are you ready?”

“Have been for ages.” Parvati said with a blissful smile. “Now lets get this show on the road!”

*****************************************

Walking down the aisle on the arm of Parvati’s older brother Pindar was sort of like walking down memory lane. A bizarre, bi-polar memory lane. To her right, on the bride’s side, were many old school chums. Harry and Ron were there, along with Neville, Dean, Seamus, Lavender, and a host of other Gryffindors. Padma, of course, was walking down the aisle in front of her. Colin was snapping photos like a maniac.

On the left side was everyone who had ever made her miserable.
No, she thought, that wasn’t entirely fair. It wasn’t as if Voldemort himself was there. Pretty nearly though. Blaise Zabini was there, looking bored. Crabbe looked hungry, Pansy looked…well, drunk actually. That was interesting. The whole lot of them seemed remarkably uninterested in the proceedings. Even the groom, Marcus Flint, was looking stoic and silent.

Every single one of them seemed to find something more interesting than the wedding party to look at.

No, she thought, that wasn’t entirely fair either. One set of cold grey eyes were focused, with upsetting intensity, on her. If she wasn’t so sure he was trying to set her on fire with his thoughts, she would suspect that he was undressing her with his eyes. Not that he really needed to try very hard. She tugged subtly at her skirt.

Draco sodding Malfoy. Like she needed ANY more help feeling ridiculous. However, never one to let a silly thing like crippling shame stand in the way of her pride, Hermione pulled herself up, stuck her nose ever so slightly in the air, and glided past him with far more grace and aplomb than she felt.

She tried not looking at him, but he was directly in her line of sight from where she stood on the podium. It wasn’t like she could move. Parvati had been very clear about the importance of the lining up of everyone’s shoulders to the ultimate success of her marriage. But it was very distracting the way he kept staring.

Frankly, it was making her paranoid. Was she showing too much hip? Could he see that she wasn’t wearing knickers, was her lifting charm starting to fail? With almost inhuman self control, she refrained from reaching up to see if her hair was still in place. Instead, she satisfied herself by staring back at him, trying to communicate her irritation with her eyes while maintaining an appropriately nuptial smile. The result must have been somewhat amusing because one pale eyebrow rose up and his lips curled up into the smirk she remembered so well from Hogwarts.

Shoulder angles be damned. She resolutely shifted ever so slightly so that she was now looking more or less in the direction of Ron and Harry. To her chagrin, she found them both staring fixedly somewhere distinctly below her face. Honestly!

*************************************

Halfway through the reception, Hermione was unsure whether to burn the buggering dress or have it bronzed. She had never received so much male attention in her life. However, much of it was awkwardly unwanted. When Marcus Flint’s father attempted to cop a feel in the buffet line up, she decided burning was the way to go…followed by several long showers.

She retreated to a corner with a glass of wine, hoping to go a few moments with out being ogled, accosted, or propositioned. Fate, it seemed, was game for a few more tries.

Draco buggering Malfoy walked through the hallway right beside her, nearly flattening her against the wall with the force of the swinging door.

“Oi!” she cried in annoyance, “Watch yourself Malfoy!”

Malfoy, who was clearly well and truly soused at this point, leered at her. “I can watch myself anytime Granger, whereas I haven’t seen so much of you displayed since…” he paused, considering, “ever.”

Without a second thought, she tossed the contents of her glass of wine in his face and stormed off. She found it oddly satisfying that, rather than a cutting remark, only a bemused gaze followed her exit.

**************************************

“Hermi’nee,” Harry warbled, lounging across two chairs at the head table,

“Hmmm?” she responded, over the rim of her eleventh…no wait, was it twelfth martini?

“I’m drunk!” He finished with gleeful enthusiasm, nearly falling off his chair in the process.

“Thatsh nish Harry” she replied absently, her attention focused on what were apparently fascinating floor tiles.

“you look quite alright in that dress y’know,” Harry continued, propping himself upwards with a rather disturbing look of consideration on his face.

“Oh brother,” muttered Hermione, pulling herself to her feet unsteadily, “I,” she announced dramatically, “am going for a walk.”

**********************************

She tottered out of the reception hall into the garden beyond until she found a bench, upon which she collapsed with a thud.

“Careful there Granger,” A much soberer looking Malfoy strolled down the path. Correction, much soberer that her, which wasn’t really saying much at all.

“I’m not sure that dress will stand up to much vigorous activity.”

“It’d be your own rutting fault if it did fall off you tosser.” Hermione said inexplicably.

“How’s that?” said Malfoy with an amused smirk.

“Staring at it with your stupid beady eyes…prolly weakened the fabric…” Hermione trailed off, her own argument no longer making sense to her.

“Oh, that,” the bastard looked completely unfazed. “Patil may be a Gryffindor, but she has excellent taste in dresses. Even you look like a ten in that one Granger.”

Maybe he wasn’t as sober as she thought. Come to think of it, she didn’t think ties were supposed to be worn around one’s head.

She paused a moment. Then, “too bad her taste doesn’t extend to men.” It felt triumphantly like wit for a moment, but then she realised that she didn’t actually mind Marcus that much. “No wait, I don’t think I mean that…” Malfoy was watching her with what she was sure was a nasty smirk hovering around his lips.

She had a sudden image of herself on a ship with water pouring in over the sides. She may not be sober, or witty, or even coherent really, but she still knew when to make an exit.

She stood up in a fashion that was meant to be dismissive, but abruptly overbalanced and went toppling towards Malfoy. He caught her easily and set her on her feet.

“Alright there Granger,” drawled Malfoy with a smirk.

She chose not to dignify that with a response and pulled herself up to make a composed exit. She took one step and nearly turned her ankle.

“Blody Buggering hell,” muttered Malfoy, “For God’s sake Granger, let me help you.” He offered her an arm.

She looked at him for a long moment, trying to determine exactly how he was going to turn this rather chivalrous gesture into humiliation for her. She couldn’t for the life of her figure it out and it was unlikely that she was going to make it back uninjured without his help. She let out a long suffering sigh and took the proffered arm.

He was warm and surprisingly well built underneath his impeccable dress shirt. Up close, she thought, his eyes weren’t really grey at all. They were kind of a stormy blue, with little gold flecks. She reached up and flicked his tie, inexplicably tied around his forehead, out of the way to get a better look.

“What are you doing Granger?” He asked, looking slightly uncomfortable for the first time that evening.

“Looking.” She said matter of factly. After all, it was her turn wasn’t it?

They had stopped walking, but neither really noticed.

“At what?” he asked, not really sure if he wanted to know, or why he was asking at all.

“You have beautiful eyes,” she said by way of response. Even through her liquor addled haze she knew that this wasn’t entirely appropriate. She couldn’t remember why though, so she brushed the thought aside.

“Oh,” he said.

And then they were kissing.

She was kissing Draco Malfoy. Some distant, long forgotten, sober part of her brain was telling her that this was bad and wrong and disgusting.

Unfortunately the way his lips felt against hers and the way he tasted and the way his tongue was flicking across the roof of her mouth set her nerve endings to singing in a way that was much louder than her common sense. Singing things like good and right and fantastic.

Of course Draco Malfoy would have to be an excellent kisser, just to show her up.

And just like that, the last remaining bastion of good sense left in her was overrun and she decided she had to prove that she was just as good at this as he was.

She pressed herself closer, one hand tangling itself in his longish, perfectly manicured hair, the other tucking itself underneath his Italian leather belt.

she thought to herself. Rather than saying this aloud, however, she let out a surprisingly wanton moan as he sucked on the column of her neck in a fashion that was sure to leave obvious marks.

She felt one of his hands sliding under the slit in her skirt and travelling up her thigh. With rather detached surprise, she hiked her leg up around his waist, giving him better access. Any minute now, he would discover that….

Malfoy’s sharp intake of breath indicated that he had indeed discovered that a certain piece of clothing was missing. He let out a low groan that made her tremble. His hand moved higher, cupping her hip where it met her leg, sliding it under.

She kissed him with an intensity she did not remember having; their teeth clicking and bruising in unstudied enthusiasm. She silently begged him to keep going, aching for him to touch her. She would never give him the satisfaction of begging aloud.

“Hermione!” A voice called out in the still night air. They froze.

“Hermione, where are you!” It was Padma, “Parvati’s about to leave!”

“Buggering shite,” Hermione exclaimed to herself in a whisper, disentangling herself with remarkable speed and readjusting her wardrobe. There was nothing she could do about the bite marks without a mirror.

They stood there for a moment. Hermione couldn’t read Draco’s expression. She supposed she was similarly inscrutable at the moment, given that even she hadn’t a clue what she was thinking.

He spoke first. “Bloody fucking hell Granger.” It was part surprise, part frustration, and maybe even a little bit of admiration.

She knew just what he meant. The corner of her mouth turned up in a wry smile. Then she shrugged, turned away, and made her way carefully back towards the party.

He must have left, because she didn’t see him again that night. In fact, she was fairly certain they would never run into each other again. That was fine by her. A stupid drunken encounter at a wedding didn’t make him any less of a shite.

However, the fact that he was a shite who she didn’t care if she never saw again didn’t change the fact that she had taken to leaving her knickers at home more often, or that Parvati could pry that dress from her cold dead hands.