Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Malfoys Don't Wear Leather	By : icicle33 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 4518 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters, universe, or any other part of the fandom. No money is being made from this story. I wish.

Chapter List
- 1-Part I: The World's Most Horrid Costume...Ever
- 2-Part II: Potter's Fabulous Costume Party
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Harry Potter or any part of the Harry Potter universe. I'm just obsessed with the characters and like to play with them from time to time. Don't sue.

Warnings: No warnings that I can think of. This fic features a manipulative Pansy, a bossy and jealous Hermione, as well as shy, but still snarky Draco, and a clueless and smitten Harry.

Pairings: DM/HG, PP/BZ, and unrequited DM/HP

Author's note: This fic was originally written for the dramionedrabble community on lj for the October challenge. I expanded it from the original drabble of roughly 1500 words. The prompt words were broomstick, mummy, and vampire. I was pleasantly surprised when this fic was voted the winner of this prompt challenge.

This fic is complete and I will post part I today and part II tomorrow. Also, this fic takes place in 2003, which is relevant to why a certain costume was chosen. I hope that everyone enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, feedback is encouraged. It makes my day!

Part I: The World's Most Horrid Costume...Ever

: : :

"There's no way I'm wearing this costume. It's undignified, Hermione," Draco complained. "Besides, it has ruffles and—a cape. I'm not a bloody count!"

Hermione looked over her boyfriend's costume and giggled. It was true that he looked utterly ridiculous dressed up as Count Dracula, but there was no way she was going to tell him that.

She scrunched her nose at him and tried to look as serious as possible.

"Actually Dray, I don't see that much of a difference from how you usually dress—in those ludicrously ornate and old-fashioned robes." She smirked at her boyfriend and blew him an imaginary kiss. "Besides, love, you're the one that lost the bet."

Draco attempted to cross his arms and glare at her, but his frilly sleeves got in the way.

"How dare you?" he accused, pretending to be seriously affronted. "I always dress in fashionable and classic dress robes; they've been passed down as a wizarding standard and tradition for hundreds of years. Not in a bloody dress!"

She continued to smirk at him and had to bite down on her lower lip to keep herself from laughing.

"And it's Dray-co, not Dray or Drake or any other absurd butchering of my aristocratic ancestral name! How many times do I have to tell you?"

"I thought you were named after a constellation?" Hermione pointed out, her eyes utterly amused. "Nice alliteration though."

"That's not the point!" He was starting to flush in the cheeks now, and Hermione couldn't help but smile. He's so adorable when he's angry.

"Alright, Dray-co. Stop being so dramatic. You're wearing it and that's final."

"But Her-mi-one," he whinged, "I look like Weasley in those ghastly dress robes he used to wear back at school. How could you compare my fashion sense with that of a gormless Muggle? Especially, one with a blood disease. Gross."

Hermione tried really hard to keep a straight face, but she just couldn't help but shake her head at her drama queen of a boyfriend. Everyone was always telling her that she took herself too seriously and needed to loosen up; obviously, they hadn't met her rather adorable but overly uptight boyfriend. Thank gods there was one place he wasn't uptight.

"Well Draco, it's not my fault that you lost the bet. I warned you," she said, her dark eyes gleaming mischievously. "Now, you have to wear whatever costume I say—and I can wear whatever costume I please."

Draco frowned at her again. He seemed to be doing that a lot today.

"But—" he said, pouting. "Do you really have to wear—that?" He gestured at her skimpy French maid costume.

"It's undignified, Hermione. You're going to be a Malfoy one day, and you can't go around being dressed like a common street walker." He paused for a second and rubbed his face. "You'll be ogled by half our class. It isn't fair."

Hermione crossed her arms and pretended to look annoyed even if she was secretly pleased that Draco was jealous.

"Well, I'm not a Malfoy—yet," she said pointedly. "And who's going to ogle me anyway? It's just a costume."

"Everyone, Hermione! Everyone!" Draco shouted. "Especially—Potter and his redheaded cancer. They can never seem to keep their eyes or hands off you."

Hermione blushed faintly.

"Draco," she said evenly. "Harry is gay. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Yeah, right," he said moodily. "I think I'm going to pretend I'm a fairy, so I can hang all over other people's girlfriends too. Bloody Potter."

Hermione shot Draco a warning look, and luckily for him, he changed the subject.

"Didn't he just shack up with loony Lovegood anyway? Isn't that why we're going to this blasted charade in the first place?"

"Draco," Hermione said, her tone menacing. "Her name is Luna, you know that. And you better play nice tonight. No nicknames, no matter how original they are, " she warned, knowing that if she didn't give Draco explicit directions, he would find a loophole and torment her friends.

"Harry and Luna are just friends and very important to me." She sighed heavily. "Besides, since I moved out Harry needed a new roommate. You know that Harry can't just move in with anyone. He needs someone he can trust. He's Harry Potter."

"Right. And a nice arse doesn't hurt," he muttered, barely loudly enough for Hermione to hear.

"What was that, dear?"

"Nothing," Draco replied innocently. "I said and what about Weasley? What's his excuse for always manhandling my girlfriend? Him and half of the Gryffindors."

Hermione turned bright red; it wasn't often that someone caught her off guard, but her boyfriend had a remarkable talent for doing just that. It was absolutely infuriating.

"Well—I…erm."

"Exactly," he said, smirking with that all too familiar I-told-you-so look on his arrogant, but devastatingly handsome face.

"Come on—don't be like that," she said softly. "You're just bitter because you have to dress up as a vampire."

Draco sighed and locked eyes with Hermione, his grey eyes bright and earnest. "It's not just that. You can do whatever you'd like." He paused for a second and looked away. "It's just that—I don't think it's a good idea for you to wear that costume. It's not you," he said reasonably and met her gaze again.

"Draco—"

"No, let me finish. You're not that type of girl, and I'm surprised you're not against it anyway—men forcing women to dress up in scantily clad maid outfits. It seems quite sexist—misogynistic really—having men objectify women that way. I for one—am completely against it." He smiled at her slightly. "The Hermione I know, she would never compromise her morals that way—especially not to fit in with the other skanky bints."

Hermione was getting annoyed now. This was a costume party, and if she wanted to have some fun and dress up as sexy maid, no one—especially, not her uptight, stuck in the last century boyfriend was going to stop her.

"Stop being jealous," she snapped. "It doesn't become you. I'll see you there at 9, and don't sulk too much. Harry promised he'd invite some Slytherins, so you wouldn't feel out of place. Wasn't that nice of him? The portkey is in the kitchen, and I can't wait for you to show off your costume."

"La-fucking-da. Saint Potter strikes again," he said, glowering.

"What was that?"

"Oh,nothing—I just said I'll miss you."

She smiled at her boyfriend and rewarded him with a quick kiss.

"I'll miss you too. But—I really need to leave now. Don't forget there's a ribbon for your hair."

She ruffled his hair and disappeared with a crack.

: : :

Draco carefully tied the red ribbon in his long hair; over the last year, his hair had grown so long that it was starting to curl at the ends. He looked in the mirror and glowered.

"I look like a fucking girl! I can't go out like this," he shouted at his reflection.

He attempted to smooth out his puffy sleeves, but failed again. "Bugger it. I need help!"

He scrawled a note to Pansy and hoped that she would get there quickly. Hopefully she wasn't in the middle of getting her hair done or something important like that.

Pansy,

I have a fashion emergency and need you ASAP!

Love,

—D

Within minutes, Pansy showed up in his living room. She was one of the few guests who had immediate access to Draco and Hermione's complex wards. She was looking a little dishevelled, but quite pleased with herself. Her usually immaculate hair was sticking up in the back, and he could've sworn that her lipstick was smudged. Her pale cheeks were quite flushed—all in all, it was very unlike Pansy.

"Pans—it's great to see you, but it looks like I caught you at a bad time." He regarded her closely, taking in her wrinkled skirt and messy appearance. "Did I interrupt something?" he asked pointedly.

"No, not at all, darling," Pansy answered coolly, as she tried to flatten her feathery hair.

"Actually—you saved me from having to reciprocate a favour that I wasn't looking forward to," she said smirking.

Draco chuckled at his best friend and leaned over to give her a quick peck on the lips, as was their customary greeting.

"My little minx," he teased affectionately. "You always were rather selfish in bed—if I recall." He leered at her knowingly.

She punched him in the arm and returned his smirk. "You're one to talk, my dear. Although—from what I hear from Loopy Luna, Granger has no complaints in that department. In fact, I hear—"

"Pans—that's enough."

"No, it's not—but OH MY SALAZAR! What the fuck are you wearing?" she squealed, obviously scandalised as she flailed her arms dramatically.

"Uh—I"

"Don't tell me that hideous ensemble is your costume?" she accused, her dark eyes widening.

Draco remained silent.

"Merlin, Draco. I knew that shacking up with a Gryffindor would have some adverse effects on you—but I didn't know it would ruin your already horrid fashion sense."

She ran a perfectly manicured hand through her messy hair and shook her head at Draco.

"Ha ha—really funny, Pans," Draco rebuked, scowling. "I lost a bet, which is why I'm stuck in—this." He gestured exaggeratedly at the costume much in the same manner as Pansy had done earlier.

"And what exactly is wrong with my fashion sense?" he accused, glaring at his best friend.

Pansy avoided the question and decided to change the subject.

"What are you supposed to be anyway?"

"A vampire."

"Ohhhh—I thought you were a fashionably challenged French nobleman."

Draco shrugged. "Close enough. I'm Count Dracula."

"Well, that just won't do. You can't show up wearing that; you'll be eaten alive." She looked at him solemnly. "All the Slytherins are going to be there."

"Really?" Draco asked. "I thought only a few were invited."

Pansy frowned. "Let me rephrase this for you, darling—in simpler terms, so that pretty blond head of yours will understand. ALL of the important Slytherins are going to be there. The rest—simply don't matter." She put her hand on his shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes, her dark eyes sombre. "And—if you're not careful, you might wind up in that latter group. A fate worse than death, my dear."

"Fuck. What am I going to do? I can't show up like this." Draco sighed and covered his face with his hands. "My life is over."

Pansy smiled at her best friend sympathetically.

"Well, what were the exact terms of the bet? Did she say you had to dress up as Count Dracula or just a vampire?"

Draco smiled at Pansy, one of his dazzling, rare smiles that he only shared with a select few. She's brilliant. A loophole,of course. Why didn't I think of that?

"Just a vampire," he said, still grinning.

"Marvellous. Now, let's get to work. There must be some better dressed vampires." She threw her cloak and purse on the couch, and then rolled up the sleeves of her silk blouse. "Now, let's do some research. Doesn't Granger have one of those internet boxy thingies?"

Draco's smile faded, and he scowled at his friend. "Yes, she does. But—don't tell me that you know how to use it? What's happened to you, Pans? That's so—Muggle," he spat, making sure to say Muggle as distastefully as possible.

"Oh, just shut up and get with the times."

She pulled the collar of his robe and forcefully yanked the ribbon out of his hair.

"Oww! What was that for?"

"One—it was for insulting me," she replied, her gaze baleful. "And two—it 's because you look like a bloody girl with that hairstyle! Now, do you want my help or not?"

: : :

After what seemed like hours, but was actually only a few minutes later, Pansy squealed.

"I found it, Draco! I found the perfect vampire costume for you." She grinned at him proudly.

"I suppose that box is useful after all," Draco admitted , reluctantly. "What is it?"

Pansy motioned to a picture of Stuart Townsend dressed in tight leather trousers and a sheer clingy tee-shirt. Oh my, please tell me that all Muggles look like this.

"No fucking way, Pans! I don't know what that is, but that's not a vampire." His grey eyes were intense and narrowing at her. He's such a swot, so devastatingly boring. Granger must rubbing off on him.

"Sure it is, love," Pansy said calmly. "That—my dear Draco—is the Vampire-That-Must-Not-Be-Named¹. He's perfect." She grinned even wider than before and continued prattling. "It says right here that he's a vampire turned rock star."

She locked eyes with Draco and laughed. "For once, you could use that pouty look and scowl to your advantage."

: : :

Draco sneered at his friend; she was absolutely bonkers if she thought he was going to dress up like that. Still, he couldn't stop staring at the screen; in a weird way, this Stuart something or other was a sexy, sexy man.

"I'm a genius, I know. You're speechless."

"NO! Absolutely not. He's indecent and wearing leather. Malfoys don't wear leather," he said gravely, crossing his arms.

Pansy sighed loudly; while he knew that she was only trying to help, it wasn't his fault that all of her ideas were utterly absurd.

"Well, you can wear dragonhide if the leather bothers you. It's not as sexy, but certainly less Muggle." She smiled at him trying to coax him into accepting her suggestion. "Besides, you always look dashing in green." I will not fall for your flattery. Again.

Draco continued to stare at Pansy with his arms uncomfortably crossed, but he remained silent. Fucking Sleeves. Note to self: destroy all Muggle peasant shirts. Immediately.

"Now, get over here. We have to cut your hair," she said, completely ignoring his scowl. "You need that sexy, tousled just shagged look he's rocking."

"No fucking way. I can see that you've gone barmy, but still that's no excuse for forcing your bat-shit craziness on me." He paused. "Look, I know it's all the rage in Wizarding Vogue right now to embrace Muggle traditions—but we're purebloods," he insisted. "This—is going much too far. Think of what my mother would say. She's been through enough already."

Pansy pulled him by his hideous collar again, choking him harshly.

Draco gasped. "Owww—what is wrong with you? You seriously are mental."

"I'm just trying to choke some sense into you, you self-righteous twat." She glowered at him fiercely. "Draco—darling, get with the times! You are a young 22-year-old wizard, not a 50-year-old man." She shuddered. "Or worse yet—your father or my father. Pureblood tradition is out—it's so yesterday. Accept it."

"Pans—you can't be serious—"

This time she smacked him upside the head and pulled a strand of his fair hair out. Not my hair. My poor, poor hair!

"Shut up, I was speaking," she said through gritted teeth. "Fuck pureblood tradition—where did all that rubbish get us anyhow?"

She grabbed his arm forcibly and rolled up his left sleeve exposing the cause of so many nightmares and blood spill. He couldnt' help but wince as he was confronted with the slightly faded but entirely recognisable Dark Mark. He had tried everything to get rid of the Mark, including covering it with a Muggle tattoo, but nothing affected it. The Mark was completely unalterable; it would always serve as an immutable reminder of the darkness that had almost devoured him, an unyielding scar of his everlasting penance that he could never complete. Why the fuck was she bringing this up now?

"Stop squirming, Draco. Look at what your precious pureblood ideas got you!" She was laughing manically now and never relinquished her grip on his arm. Draco was terrified.

"Let's see," she continued, her voice dark and high-pitched, "it got you a hideous, permanent tattoo, and your father and my father thrown into Azkaban for the rest of their sad, pathetic lives!" She was fuming now, her pale cheeks flushing.

"But—"

She shot him her don't you dare fuck with me glare and Draco gulped; never cross a fellow Slytherin if you can help it. It always ends badly.

"As for our mothers," she continued, her tone more casual now, "well, let's just say, I ran into our mothers all dolled up in tight Muggle dresses; it was just the other night."

Draco bit his tongue, hard; he needed to keep from commenting. His mother out and about in slutty Muggle clothes. That's preposterous!

"They were having the time of their lives, Draco, at the Dragon's Egg Lounge," she said, stressing the name of the lounge carefully.

Draco had tried to keep quiet, but he just couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Liar! My mother would never step foot into that sleazy dance club," he snarled, his eyes blistering and his face even redder than Pansy's. "She has standards. And at her age—that's indecent!" Mum?!

"Well, indecent or not, she was there. I saw it and I have witnesses too. I was there with Daphne and Blaise. And—even Blaise's mouth dropped when he saw Narcissa and Olivia painted up like 6th year slags. It gets worse though." Pansy took a deep breath. "I don't know how to tell you this, but they were hanging off the arms of two rather fit blokes—that um couldn't have been a day over 25," she finished hastily.

She paused and watched his flabbergasted expression. "I'm sorry."

"25? 25? My mother—with a 25 year old! No. You must've been mistaken. They're just acquaintances. I'm sure of it."

Draco was becoming quite pale now; his flushed cheeks had faded, and he could feel his chest constricting. He started tugging at the collar of his unsightly cape. "Is it getting hot in here?"

"No, it's not. But—trust me, they were more than acquaintances. Later on, I caught Narcissa and her boy toy snogging in the backroom—like teenagers," she squeaked, noticeably scandalised at her admission.

: : :

Before Pansy could continue, Draco fainted and landed on the floor with a loud thud.

Fucking Draco and his histrionics. I knew that I shouldn't have told him. I swear that when we were dating people thought he was the girl in the relationship. Thank Merlin Blaise doesn't have a flair for dramatics.

Pansy waited a few minutes in order to give Draco adequate time to recuperate, and then she threw a glass of water on him; he quickly roused from his daze and dried himself off. Oh good, he's alive. She helped Draco sit down on the couch and then plopped down next to him just in case he passed out again. Fragile boy. She was really trying hard here; she even offered him her most charming smile and patted him on the head.

"Oh, don't worry, darling," she said sweetly. "It wasn't that bad; they were only snogging. I couldn't even find Olivia—Salazar knows where she and her bloke disappeared to." Yeah, she was probably off fucking him in one of the toilet stalls or worse yet the back alley. Fucking Olivia, she's such a hypocrite always telling me that I'm a whore. Aagh.

Draco ignored her comment. "My mother—a tawdry, street whore—a hungry cougar. What—what would Father say? Poor Father."

Sod Lucius. I thought that sorry bastard was done tormenting us.

"Poor Father!" Pansy shrieked, she was more than a little agitated. "Draco, your mother is a grown woman. She can take care of herself, and doesn't she deserve a little bit of happiness after all she's been through? All that you've been through?" She grabbed Draco by the shoulders again.

"Listen to me," she said sternly. "And as for your father and my father too—all they ever did was cause us pain. Or did you forget that little detail?" She averted her eyes from Draco's. "They deserve what they got."

Draco gasped. "You don't mean that. How can you talk about your father like that? He's your father," he argued. "Don't you feel the slightest bit of sympathy for him? Fuck, he's serving a life sentence."

"No, I don't," Pansy replied darkly. "Not even a little bit." She paused. "And you shouldn't either. How can you defend Lucius—after everything? He-he let that monster into your house—Vincent is dead. And so is Theo." Her dark eyes were shining with unshed tears. "How can you forget? I can't forgive them, not ever. And you shouldn't either."

: : :

Tears were actually falling now, streaming down her pale but beautiful face. Her dark eyes usually so vibrant and full of life were empty; now they were just glassy and resigned.

"Draco," she cried, practically choking on the words. "They hurt you so badly. I could've lost you. Merlin—I almost did. I-I—"

Draco couldn't bear seeing his friend in such distress; he hated seeing girls cry, especially girls that were important to him. He threw his arms around her and hugged her fiercely, proving to her that he was tangible and alright. He placed a trail of light kisses on her forehead and tried his best to comfort her. He really was shite at dealing with crying women.

"It's okay," he soothed. "I'm here. Nothing's happened to me. You'll always have me, Pans." He paused for a minute and just rubbed circles on her back. "You're my best friend, you know that," he said as brushed a stray hair from her tear-stained face."You're right—you know," he admitted reluctantly. "You were always more like my family than Lucius ever was." He summoned a handkerchief and wiped the stray tears from her eyes. "I hate to see you so upset, love. What can I do to make you feel better?"

Pansy wiped the remaining moisture from her eyes and tried to fix her smudged mascara.

"Well," she cooed, "you can let me cut your hair and dress you for the costume party," she said innocently. "Styling hair always makes me feel better. Especially—fabulous hair like yours." Her dark eyes were shining brightly again.

Draco groaned and hit himself on the forehead; he had walked straight into Pansy's trap. These women will be the death of me. I'm losing my touch.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "You win, Pans. Do your worst. Just don't cut it too short." He wrinkled his forehead. "And no makeup," he added.

"Oh-but you would look so pretty in drag…"

Draco shot her a warning look, and for once she backed down.

"Alright, no makeup. Just you wait—you'll be smashing, darling. When I'm through with you, you'll be the fittest bloke there."

"Right."

To Be Continued...

: : :

[1] Due to copyright infringement laws I can’t mention a certain Vampire by name because of a certain author, but I’m sure everyone knows who I’m talking about.

Author's note: That's it for part I. Part II will be posted tomorrow or technically later today. In part II, you'll get to see Draco's new and improved costume. All I'm going to say, is that he turns a lot of heads at Harry and Luna's party. I'd love to hear what you think. Comments and questions make me smile and keep me writing.

*Also, I took the liberty of naming Pansy's mother Olivia because her name was never identified in cannon.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers.

~Icicle
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Malfoys Don't Wear Leather