Mousapelli’s Fanfiction » Harry Potter, Strap Yourself In

Harry Potter, Strap Yourself In

Title: Strap Yourself In [Draco/Surprise]
Rating/Warnings: R. Dubious consent.
Summary: You don’t cuddle with Draco Malfoy. You strap yourself in and feel the gs.
AN: Written for the 24-Hour Ficathon. nopejr wanted a pairing which I can’t tell you because it’ll ruin the ending. ten points to your house if you see the copperbadge reference.

Strap Yourself In

Draco Malfoy had wanted Hermione Granger since the day she had slapped him across the face in Third Year for propositioning her. Malfoys didn’t get slapped, it just didn’t happen.

Draco meant to have Hermione one way or another, after a challenge like that.

The resolution had not waned by the summer before Draco’s Seventh Year, when Dumbledore cheerfully informed him that his army of social misfits was trying some sort of ill-advised Polyjuice spy mission and Draco would cheerfully donate lots of hair and then spend the summer locked in the Black family Mansion, or he would be finding himself a new boarding school.

Draco retorted that he didn’t care one way or another, since he was fairly well sick of living in Malfoy Mausoleum with his parents, but if they wanted hair, they’d have to get it from his legs because they weren’t touching his head.

Thus it was that a freshly-waxed Draco Malfoy sat across the table from the object of his affections, and spent a dinner exchanging insults, which those two minions of hers kept chortling at like idiots.

Draco did miss his minions a little bit.

He was positive that she returned his affections with equal fervor, if the glares she was returning him were any indication. He only had to wait until after everyone had gone to sleep to enact his perfectly planned seduction.

When the house was quiet, except for the creaking of the walls and the scurrying of doxies, Draco crept out of his room and made his way stealthily towards Hermione’s, counting doors carefully. At the right door, he opened the door silently and slid inside; when he pushed the door shut behind him, the room was covered in darkness.

He made his way forward into the room carefully, feeling his way towards the bed, which he cracked his shin on hard very suddenly. Sucking in a breath to keep from screaming, Draco groped in the darkness for clues as to the position of the bed’s occupant.

His hand first encountered a mass of tubular, squishy things, and it took Draco a long moment to recognize Muggle curlers by touch. He’d only seen them from afar at school; several of the girls wore them, but Draco was unsure why, speculating perhaps that they helped to frighten off rapists.

It certainly explains the usual state of Granger’s hair, Draco thought as he crawled into the bed, now that he was oriented. The occupant of the bed shifted slightly, but didn’t wake up.

Granger was a bit curvier than Draco remembered, but then again, her clothes weren’t exactly cut for Parisian fashion models, so honestly it was anybody’s guess what went on under them. Draco found lips and kissed them; they parted underneath his and Draco asserted control of the situation via his tongue.

There was some sighing and some shifting, some nightclothes pushed hastily out of the way, and Draco had already been inside Granger for more than few seconds before he realized that she was actually still dead asleep. He paused, thinking that perhaps this might be awkward if she should suddenly wake up.

Eh, cross that bridge when we come to it, Draco shrugged, and carried on.

Afterwards, Granger rolled towards the recumbent Draco, throwing an arm over him, and Draco took this as his sign to leave.

“You don’t cuddle with Draco Malfoy,” he told Granger affectionately as he extricated himself from her limbs and patted the top of her squishy head, “you strap yourself in and feel the G’s.”

* * * * * *

At breakfast the next morning, Draco was calmly eating his cereal when Granger rolled in and sneered at him as usual. Draco took this as a positive sign that if he played his cards right, he could get what he wanted from Granger at night without having to deal with all the schmoopy details of a relationship during daylight hours.

“Did you sleep at all, dear?” the insufferable mother of all those Weasleys asked, handing Granger a mug of tea. Draco let out a soft snicker.

“Some,” Hermione said, eyeing Draco suspiciously when he snorted again. “Eventually. Did you?”

“I did actually,” Mrs. Weasley commented. “Arthur was snoring so badly, that I had to leave the room and go find an empty bed, but then I slept like a rock. I had strange dreams though.”

“Oh?” Granger asked. “Nightmares?”

“Er, no,” Mrs. Weasley went a bit pink and Draco eyed her with bland distaste as he took another bite of cereal. “Not nightmares, but they were very realâ€¦and then this morning, my curlers were all over the place, like someone had been running their hands through them!”

“Mm,” Granger commented. “I ended up on the sofa.”

With dignity and grace that bespoke of generations of proper Malfoy breeding, Draco shot cornflakes out his nose.