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Sex Ed	By : Alcoholic_Rootbeer Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 39682 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I don't own the characters, the ideas, or the books. I just like to imagine in JK's world for a bit. I am not making a profit from this story.

Chapter List
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I am sorry if there are any spelling/grammar errors. It's late, and I haven't fully checked everything. But I will in the morning. Thanks for the love! Sending mine back in waves.
A.

My life started the day I got caught
Under the covers
With secondhand lovers
Oh, tied up in pretty young things
In a state of emergency
Who was I trying to be
Then the time for being sad is over
And you miss them like you miss no other
And being blue is better than being over it (over it)

“Hallelujah” by Panic! At The Disco

Saturday came at a dismally slow pace at the end of the week, but when it did Hermione was filled with relief. A month had come and gone since this new rivalry between Malfoy and her had begun. Each week held a new class, and finally all of the questions were answered. It had been a tad awkward sitting across from him last night, sifting through the remaining questions and jotting down answers to the best of their ability. Forcing themselves to sit together in the cramped space of her dormitory had proved to be difficult for both of them. Malfoy had been particularly foul, pointing out that the room matched her personality to a T (stuffy and not particularly anything to look at). After half a night of agitated quips and looks that could kill, she had kicked him out and told him that he was the rudest man she had ever met in her life.

Needless to say, Saturday would need to be a phenomenal day to make up for last night. It was the annual Hogsmeade trip for the third years and up, but she wouldn’t be joining them. Instead, Hermione planned on finding a quiet place in the Library to sort out her ever growing lustful thoughts of the insufferable Hogwarts Potions Professor. During the days they didn’t share a classroom together, it was easy to forget he existed outside of breakfast and dinner (she took her lunches into her classroom to avoid seeing him three times a day). Neville kept her busy with conversations at the Professors’ table, so at least that was something.

She found herself instead roaming through the halls, reminiscing on nostalgia and broken memories. When she arrived at a changing staircase that would lead up to the old Gryffindor Dorms, she heard a prideful cough as if to say ‘look over here’; she turned her head over her shoulder to find Professor Malfoy, dressed in a stuffy yet simple button up and vest combo about ten feet behind her. “How long have you been stalking me?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Oh. Not long.” He grinned. “But I had to wonder what such a busy Professor such as yourself did on her time off? And then I thought, ‘surely she couldn’t be grading papers all day.’ And then I thought, ‘well, surely she could. This is Granger.’ And then I thought-”

“-You’d stalk me.” She finished him, turning on her heel.

Malfoy shrugged. “Following isn’t stalking. Stalking means I made a conscience effort to-”

“Follow. It’s synonymous with stalking.”

“Do stop interrupting me.”

“Or what?” She raised a cool eyebrow and took a step up one of the changing staircases just as it was about to pull away. It veered off and away from Malfoy, but that didn’t stop either of them from glaring at each other as it landed up near a balcony that led down a small hall. Hermione waited patiently for the next staircase she would need to get to as Malfoy stepped onto a nearby staircase and let it take him up to her balcony. He arrived with a thick smile on his face, triumphant. “Go away.”

“No.” He tucked his hands behind his back and waited with her for a new staircase.

“Why not?”

“Am I annoying you?”

“Thoroughly.”

“Then you have your answer.”

“Arrrgh!” She seethed out, aggravated, as her fists turned to balls. “Why must you be such a twit?”

“Ooh, speaking of twits, how is Twatter doing?”

She blinked at him. Even though it was a highly insulting nickname, she had to give him credit. It was creative. “If you’re referring to Harry, he’s doing quite well, actually. He’s a successful Auror. Probably makes loads more money than you.”

Draco -er, Malfoy snorted a laugh. “What do I care about money? I’m rich, remember?”

“Yes. I quite remember.” A new staircase arrived, and Hermione stepped onto the bottom step. Malfoy followed in her footsteps, but as the stairs made to move off she stepped back, leaving him alone on the staircase to follow its journey across the hall. He spun around, realizing his mistake, and narrowed his eyes as she called out to him, “So it is quite obvious you don’t do this for the money! Why do you do it then?”

“Do what?” He sneered.

“Teach!”

His staircase arrived at a lower level adjacent to her own balcony. As he stepped off, he shrugged and put his hands up theatrically. “I enjoy Potions. Being somewhere where I get paid to do my hobby just seems practical. Even if I have to put up with insufferable brats.”

“Don’t play coy. We both know you love them all.”

“Yeah? Says who.”

“You know every single one of their names by heart.”

“Well of course I do. It’s my job.”

“And you’re hard on them. But I get the feeling it’s because you don’t want to see them fail.”

“Of course I don’t. The Professor with the highest test scores at the end of the year gets a bonus.”

“You said it yourself -you’re not in it for the money.”

“Hmph.” He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “What about you? Why are you here?”

“I’ve told you. Headmistress McGonagall--”

“-Yes, yes. But before all that. The students tell me you were a Healer before this. But last I’d heard, you were making it as some big time legal-council for magical creatures’ rights.”

Hermione had to bite down on her lower lip to keep from laughing as she stepped onto the stairs and allowed them to take her towards the blonde. He looked surprised when she stepped off next to him, arms tucked behind her hips, only a foot away from him. “Yes. I did all that. But I decided a change of scenery was best.”

“Yeah?” He quirked up an eyebrow. “Well… me too.”

She turned her eyes away from him momentarily, processing his words. She knew what she had meant by a change of scenery; it was a way of escaping the inevitable awkwardness of seeing an ex-lover every day for the rest of her career. She was very curious to know what Malfoy meant. So she asked him. “I feel a story coming on!”

“No you don’t,” he shut her down, stepping off to another set of stairs to escape her. She followed him, jumping across the threshold at the last moment. The back of her left heel hit the end of the stairs, toddling her off balance as the staircase swung sideways. Her eyes went wide as she felt herself falling back—firm hands reached out and snatched her by the wrist, tugging her forward and smack dab into the chest of their owner. Malfoy’s frame was harder than what she would have imagined, and it knocked the wind out of her as she fell into his arms, face smacking against his sternum. She took a moment to gain her barring, eyes trailing as slowly as possible up his chest, his neck (which was adorably speckled with white-blonde stubble, she noticed), his chin (which also held that sexy stubble) and finally all the way up to his silver-flecked eyes as they bore down on her with an unhospitable glare.

“Hi,” she managed to squeak out.

He cleared his throat, hands still wrapped around the wrist that he had grabbed on to as to keep her from falling. “Hello.”

Hermione noted, with a quick inhale of nervous breath, that not only did Draco Malfoy wear morning stubble well, but he also smelled nice. Of course, two years of only dreaming of being within intimate space with a man that she didn’t think of as a brother (like Harry) could have had a hand in the way her body reacted as she melted into the scents of rosewood and parchment. She never really understood why the smell of crisp parchment got her going, but it did. Had he been grading papers all night? Had he worked into the early hours of the morning? Did he have a good wank with himself to keep from falling asleep? What would Draco Malfoy fantasize about?

“Ahem. Granger. You can get off of me now.”

Oh. Right. She was still leaned on him. Drats. She wasn’t entirely sure she could pull away. But she forced herself to, pushing off of him to stand straight. Her hair went every which way, and when he released her wrist she threw her hands up to her hair to settle it. “Right. So… I believe you were going to tell me a story.”

“You ever wonder why people don’t like you?”

“Not really.”

“This. Right here. No means no, Professor.” He gave her a quick smirk that made her knees shake (only a little).

“You know, you might find yourself with less enemies and more friends if you did open up a bit more,” she offered. “I’ll start, if it makes you feel more comfortable.” He did nothing but stare at her with a blank expression, so she continued. “I left the Ministry because seeing my ex-boyfriend every day hurt too much to do it anymore.”

Malfoy blinked twice and then turned his head down to the staircase. It had landed moments ago, but they stayed on until it shifted again. “So you and Weasley didn’t work out?”

“How did you know it was Ron?”

“Oh please, Granger. Who else would date you?” He grinned at his quip, blocking her hand as it came up to sock him in the shoulder. His long fingers (pianist fingers, much like the faceless man in Hermione’s fantasies) cradled her fist like a vice. He released her hand after a moment and shrugged. “Also, your relationship was the talk of the papers for weeks after the War ended.”

Hermione felt her stomach pull slightly. Were they really having conversations concerning the War? When had things taken such an intimate turn? “Oh.” It was all she could say until he spoke again.

“I guess I have a story behind my arrival here as well.” His smile this time wasn’t full of arrogance; it was pensive. “Follow me?” He stepped off of the staircase and landed in front of the hallway leading towards the Gryffindor dorms. Hermione wondered if he somehow knew this was where she was headed all along as she followed him down the walls of paintings. Some of them waved to her, remembering her bright young mind, while others turned their eyes elsewhere at seeing Professor Malfoy. “I started here about three years ago… it was… taxing, to live with my family anymore.”

“You were living with your family? Still?”

“That’s how it’s done with pureblood families,” he replied idly, stopping to observe a Gryffindor tapestry. “Until we marry, we don’t veer far from our roots.” He was silent for a time. “I got tired of my parents trying to barter me off to this pureblood witch or that. A bunch of twittering girls with sawdust in their heads and babies on the brain.”

Hermione was nearly rendered speechless at his candidness, and simply responded, “Yes, that would make anyone flee to the outskirts of Scotland and hide behind the shackles of education.”

He smirked, eyes still trained on the banner. “Yes. Quite.”

They stood there like that, staring at the tapestry in all of its normal wonder, not saying much of anything. Hermione felt the peace crash into her like an ocean wave; it was refreshing. All of this bickering had taken its toll on her soul. This… this was pleasant. Even if it was with Malfoy.

“Hermione?” Came a soft, masculine voice from down the hall. She and Draco -no, Malfoy. Malfoy, Hermione. Anyways, she and the blonde Slytherin alumni turned their gaze to Neville Longbottom, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans. “Hey, thought that was you.” Neville’s eyes trailed up to the smug looking Malfoy and scrunched his lips together. “Professor Malfoy.”

“Professor Longbottom.”

“Oh, really now, Malfoy.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s just childish.”

“We are constantly surrounded by children,” he said to her, “How do you expect them not to rub off on us sooner or later?”

“You’ve always been this way,” Neville pointed out.

“Whatever. No one asked your opinion.” Malfoy turned to walk away. Hermione called out to him.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes.” He smirked to her. “I know just how much you’ll miss me.” His words were sarcastic, but his wink was not. “Stalk you soon?” He left them, strutting down the hall with his arrogant Malfoy head held high.

“Do I even want to know?” asked Neville.

Hermione let out a laugh. “I would first have to figure out what happened myself to be able to tell you anything. -Neville?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re a bloke.”

“Yes.” He paled ever so slightly. “I am.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” She wasn’t sure what possessed her to ask, but after bringing up the subject of Ron, it had sparked an insecurity in her. She had been too vulnerable with Malfoy she soon realized.

The corners of Neville’s eyes squinted, and his ears flushed very pink. “Of course I do, Hermione. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” She glanced back up at the tapestry again, really admiring it for the first time this morning. Hues of reds and golds glistened back at her. “Do you ever seen Ron?”

“From time to time,” he answered honestly. “He still asks about you sometimes.”

“Does he?”

“Don’t you think you should hear him out?”

“There’s nothing to hear out anymore.” She felt her cheeks warm. “We’re both grown adults who made a choice. And I’m living by my choice. So should he.” She reached up and patted Neville on the cheek. “Thanks for trying, though. You’re a really good friend.”

“Yeah.” Neville smiled. “Friend.”

She withdrew her hand, not sure if she misread the way he grinned back at her, or if Neville Longbottom was holding a metaphoric candle for her. Quickly, she made up an excuse that she had forgotten to pick up a book in the library and skittered quickly away. No, there was no way Neville had a crush on her. She was simply Hermione Granger, the ever loving bookworm with frizzy hair and… was she though?

She stepped back into the hall with the changing staircases, relieved to be alone again. Too bad it would be short lived by the evening.

Draco paced his dormitory, frustrated and irritated both at the same time. And no, they were most certainly not the same thing. His irritation stemmed from being so buddy-buddy with Professor Granger. He didn’t know why holding her in his arms briefly had set afire a want for kindred conversation with her. She was just the stupid, annoying, book loving, frizzy haired mess she always had been. But was she though? She seemed… different, somehow. And he didn’t know why he even cared to notice it.

Maybe it was because when she had been pressed so tight up against him, he could swore he could have smelled the pheromones in the air between them. Perhaps it was all wishful thinking, but he nearly got the impression that Granger wanted him. Like… wanted him. Images scurried through his mind of her knocking on his door right now, shoving him down on the bed, and ripping apart his clothing as she whipped his cock out into the cool air to drop her head between his legs and-

“Fuck.” He took a seat on his bed and fidgeted with his hands. This mild infatuation with fantasy-Granger was taking a turn for the obsession. He needed some kind of physical release soon, and his hand just wasn’t cutting it these days. Draco wondered what she would do if he came up to her room and slipped into bed with her. He could imagine himself slipping his hand between those athletic legs and caressing her thighs before- before what? Just what did he think was going to happen? That she’d just willingly let him fool around with her for no other reason than he was pent up and curious? Fat chance. But perhaps she was curious too? Years of mocking her certainly hadn’t helped their rapport, but it did add a bit of sexual tension between them. He wondered when the last time was that anyone had gotten her off besides herself. Did her and Weasley still have little trysts in the middle of the night? Or had that ship sailed along with their relationship? Did she have gentlemen callers? Was she as abstained from sex as he had been for what seemed like forever? When was the last time he had been laid? That saucy little minx from the bar had been… well, pushing on a year, at least. And that had been such awful sex. Draco didn’t much enjoy it when women would lay there like dead fish. Was Granger a dead fish? Or was she feisty? Did she like to bounce up and down while riding a man, or did she like to be ridden? “Fuck,” he said again.

Just because Draco Malfoy didn’t like to talk about sex didn’t mean he didn’t like to think about it. And his curiosity was getting the best of him. Maybe it really did kill the cat, so to speak.

So he did what any sexually charged, hormonal man in a desperate need to see a woman did; he made up a terrible excuse to see her.

A knock came to Hermione’s door a little after eleven at night, dragging her eyes away from her book and over to the door. She was getting to the point that she just about suspected Malfoy every time she heard a knock. Even if it was just a House Elf coming to fluff the pillows, or even if it was just Neville coming to give her a cup of tea before bed. But this time, at this hour, she knew. She scrambled out of bed, nearly falling out of it as she fumbled out of her burrito blanket cocoon. Hermione jumped to slip her pajama pants back on (it had been rather stuffy this evening in her room) and she checked herself in the mirror, making sure that her nipples couldn’t be seen under her black silk camisole she had decided to wear to bed because, well, sometimes a woman just needed to feel pretty. Even if it was by herself. Alone. With her hand.

She opened the door with a lazy swing, not surprised at all when she came face to face with Professor Malfoy. What did surprise her, however, was the way he was panting breathlessly, as if he had climbed her staircase at a run. “Professor?”

“Oh, to Hell with the formalities, Granger,” he snapped at her, waving his arm around as he struggled to catch his breath. His face was already rather pink, but when he said his next words, its hue upped the ante to a brilliant shade of scarlet. “What exactly is a condom?”

Hermione burst out laughing. She had to reach out to grip the doorframe just to stop herself from doubling over in a fit of giggles. “Did you really just climb all those stairs to ask me that?”

He narrowed his eyes, his chin set. “Yes.”

Her laughter died away. “Oh. I see.” Nervously, she fiddled with a curl of her hair and motioned to her room. “Come in.”

Malfoy stepped into her room and stood quietly in the center. Hermione rolled her eyes, placed her hands on his shoulders, and ushered him to the bed. “Sit down. I won’t bite.” Not unless you want me to. Oh. Bad Hermione. Simply bad.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” he chided, avoiding her eyes and flashing a nervous smirk. Hermione attempted to ignore the flirtatious taunt as best she could (not even trying to think about what he could have possibly meant, because let’s face it, that was just too much to think about in one sitting) while going over to her briefcase and rummaging through till she pulled out a little foil square. “What’s that?”

“It’s a condom.” She said, noting the redness crawling up his neck as well.

“That’s a condom?” He scoffed. “That’s not what I expected.”

“Well, the condom is inside the foil, actually.” She carefully approached him like he was a horse about to spook and sat down next to him on her bed. It wasn’t as terrible as she imagined, having Draco Malfoy in her bed. Of course, when she had imagined it, there were less clothes involved. “Do you know what a condom is for?”

Draco glanced down at the foil wrapper, up to her eyes, and then tore his gaze away while shaking his head.

“It’s to prevent pregnancies. And sexually transmitted diseases.” She was so clinical with her answers, but that’s all she knew how to do. The words ‘you stick it on your cock so that you don’t come inside of a woman’ just weren’t words that she could utter. Not even to someone as rude as Malfoy. “You, erm, slip it on a penis when its erect. It’s like a sheath.”

Draco smirked, a bit of the red dying away in his face. “Takes the term sword play to a new level.”

Hermione giggled, setting her hand down on the side of the bed and accidently brushing her fingers against his. She moved away quickly, settling her hands on her knees, condom still tucked between the tips of her thumb and forefinger. “You came all this way to ask me about a condom?”

“I… had to know,” he replied lamely. “So that flavored condom thing you were talking about in class… that’s a real thing?”

“Quite real.”

“Is that one a…?”

“No. This one’s just a normal one. I have flavored ones in my bag as well, though.”

He cracked a smile. “Look at you, you saucy witch.”

She laughed and shoved him in the arm. “It’s not saucy! It’s practical. I teach children about safer ways to approach their bodies. I better have all of my artillery loaded and ready to go.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, glancing over to her bag. “Oh yeah?” He stood up and approached the bag. Hermione jumped up playfully between him and her desk, where the bag resided, and put a hand to his chest.

“I distinctly recall you telling me that what I teach is filthy, Professor Malfoy. Now you want to know more about it?”

“I’m just curious,” he shrugged, slipping his fingers around her wrist as she pressed firmer against his sternum. “Why? You have something in there you don’t want me to see?”

“Considering you’re one of the most prude men I’ve ever met-”

“-I told you,” he interrupted her, “I’m not a prude.” He jerked her closer, so that she was once again up against him and in his personal space. But this time, it hadn’t been out of a want for her safety. This time… this time was much different. Hermione noticed his blown pupils and insatiable smirk as he grazed his eyes over her lips while licking his own. There was a hint of lust that shimmered over his skin like a heat wave. And he was giving her those ‘fuck-me-Professor’ eyes that the boys in class did. So now what will you do? She wondered.

“So.. there are flavored condoms in that bag of yours?” His voice dripped with a hint of desperation.

“Yes.” Her voice grew quiet. “But I thought you said you thought my curriculum was inappropriate.”

He breathed heavily, scowling to himself before releasing her and backing away. “That’s… because it is.” If she didn’t know any better, she thought that he might be forcing those words from his lips without believing them.

“I could show you!” The words fell out of her mouth before she could retract them. They just sort of hung in the air for a moment, the tension so thick between them it was like a fog. A frustrating, enormous fog that engulfed the entire room. Until he spoke.

“Yeah. Alright.” He nodded, flexing his hands. “Show me.”
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