Chapter Text
Monday evening.
Draco entered the eighth-year common room to hushed voices.
He stopped. A group of girls were huddled in the corner giggling into a scroll. Pansy was among them. Draco approached the armchair next to Theo, nodding over at them.
“What are they up to?”
Theo stretched out his legs in front of him. “They’ve devised an awfully creative prank for April Fool’s Day.”
“A prank?” Draco took a seat. “Pansy, I would’ve thought it beneath you.”
Pansy pursed her lips, glaring playfully at him. “Oh, but Draco, this is purely delicious .”
Millicent Bulstrode could barely contain her laughter. “It’s probably the funniest thing that’s ever happened to the school, zero exaggeration.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll bite. What’s the prank?”
With a scrape of her long nails, Pansy passed him the scroll. It was a lengthy and rather sophisticated incantation. He picked up most of the latin. Revelare . Pura . Something about revealing purity. Draco furrowed his brow and shook his head. “What are you testing? Pureblood status?”
Collins, some Ravenclaw girl, shook her head, a shit-eating grin plastering itself across her face. “Read it again.”
Revelio quod est pura. Signo est intactus.
“Reveal that which is pure. Signal that which is untouched.”
Draco frowned. “I don’t have time for games, Pans. Get to the point.”
“It’s a spell that reveals virgins!” Pansy could barely hide her amusement. “We’re going to set it to go off at breakfast on Friday over the entire eighth year. All the virgins will end up with a giant V etched into their forehead until midday!”
Draco did not react. “Why?”
Pansy smirked, glancing around at the other girls. “Why not?”
“Exactly, why not? It’s exceedingly funny.” Theo pursed his lips, trying to suppress a laugh.
Zabini glanced up from his Charms homework, rolling his eyes. “Imagine being our age and still a virgin.”
Draco laughed, leaning back over the armchair. “You’re right. This does sound funny. Carry on.”
The girls buried their heads back into the parchment. The conversation shifted elsewhere, and lasted a good forty minutes longer. Draco declared himself ready for a shower, and excused himself.
He made it all the way into the dorm before he burst into a choked panic.
At the advanced, truly ancient age of almost-nineteen, he had not yet had the privilege of having a witch scream and moan his name at earth-shattering decibels on his cock then tell everyone how incredible he was in bed.
He hadn’t even touched a boob.
He had had exactly one sexual experience with another person in his entire life, and it was so awkward that he couldn’t bring himself to think about it. While everyone else was busy getting busy, he’d been, well, doing the whole Death Eater thing. Kind of like a gap year, but for blindly serving a dark overlord who wanted to bring about the apocalypse.
And, at the end of all of it, he’d lowered his wand. Which might have been the single stupidest thing he’d ever done.
Having returned to Hogwarts– he had not heard the end of it. The jabs. The jinxes in the back. The actual punches in the face by students who were half his size on a good day. ‘Coward’ , they muttered. The Hufflepuffs spiked his tea with herbs that gave him various ailments he wouldn’t discuss in a public forum, but had him sighing in Pomfrey’s office with a bucket in front of him at least once a week. The Ravenclaws hexed him as he passed in the halls. The Gryffindors just spat on him. He was grateful for that. Spit he could wipe off. Forgiving lot, those Gryffindors. He should’ve been proud that the worst, most intricately targeted torment came from within his own house. It was the minimum he would’ve expected had it been him on the bully side.
A clever fourth year had made a connection– a joke– and it had been so unbelievably witty and euphemistic and clever that it had stuck to him worse than any Gryffindor spit ever could.
You see, the joke was very, very funny. And it had the added impact of being extremely appealing to both teenage boys and mature witches alike.
Draco Malfoy can’t ‘keep his wand up’.
Wanking gestures, followed by regretful hands over hearts. Tricky enchantments on broadswords to make them droop as he walked past. Outwardly asking him if he was capable of getting hard as he walked by a group of seventh year witches.
That little Slytherin brat had figured out exactly where to hit him.
His goddamn ego.
And if the entire school were to just so happen to find out he was still a virgin–
Yes. You see the problem.
He was completely, utterly, and wholly fucked.
No, wait, that was the problem. He wasn’t fucked.
Fuck.
Tuesday Evening
The next night, he made his way to the library, looking thoroughly and wholly and unequivocally normal and not-at-all like he was desperately researching how to reverse a spell that hadn’t even existed twenty-four hours before. Very much not struggling to swallow the vomit that was kicking the base of his throat.
He pushed his way into the library’s restricted section, because what was Pince going to do about it, give him detention? Good. It might save him from three hours more jokes speculating that he couldn’t get hard.
He pushed through book after book about spell reversals, including some referencing blood magic. It was Tuesday– did he have time to have the resources sent from the Malfoy library? Of course, then his mother would worry. She’d ask him why he needed them, and he’d lie, and she’d know, and then he’d tell her something dancing close to the truth and she’d say not to worry, then she’d owl and say there was a family emergency and make him come home and then everyone would be suspicious and make fun of him even more.
Gods, was his entire life this predictable?
He was neck deep in a book about the protections against revelio when it happened.
A spitball. But it wasn’t a spitball. It was paper, and it was wet, but it wasn’t human saliva. It wasn’t even creature saliva. It was godsdamn fucking Tentacula venom. The Hufflepuffs again. Puffs and their godsdamn plants .
He suppressed a hiss of agony as he brushed the acrid burning paper ball off the back of his shoulder, knowing it had already burned through three layers of clothing and about twelve layers of his skin. His fingers burned as he flicked it away. But then another ball hit; this time in the chest. Another. This one on his neck. Then another one. Then suddenly, they were pelting him. He turned around.
He paled.
There must’ve been a dozen students, hiding in the shelves with enchanted slingshots of tiny, acidic bullets.
It was an ambush.
He covered himself in the enormous tome as a wall of acid balls flew from the shelves, enchanted to dart over and under and around the leather-bound obstacle like wasps after a predator. And Gods, it stung . Every one of them, biting his flesh. Acrid. Acid. Sizzling and searing and burning him as he tried not to cry out at the pain.
Jeering. Sneering. ‘How’s that feel, Malfoy?’ s and hollering laughter as he tried to stop himself from squirming. He took it. He didn’t often feel grateful for having been cruicoed so many times, but it had given him a rather high tolerance for pain. So he submitted to it. Disassociated. Let his mind drift. Letting the pain happen to him as he occluded it away. It was all he could do. It was the only thing he could do.
When, out of nowhere, it stopped.
Draco snapped back, and peeked out from behind his book, and for the love of the Gods, if he thought the bullying was bad before, he was going to be well and truly in for it now. Because standing over the top of him, protecting him with an inhumanely powerful shield, was Hermione godsdamn motherfucking Granger.
She looked as intimidating as ever, rage in her hands and fire in her eyes. Gods, he was almost glad she’d never been sorted as a Slytherin. Silent fury could never look as good on her as burning, passionate rage did.
He resisted the urge to think she looked extremely fucking hot right now. Resisted it completely.
“Are you serious?” she said, her face primal with anger. “Are you serious?”
Draco watched as she pointed her terrifying wand arm in the direction of the shelves.
“Attacking a man while his back is turned?” She spat. “Are you serious ? Have you got absolutely no spines whatsoever ?”
If he hadn’t been trying not to groan from the lingering burns, Draco would’ve laughed. Of all the people in the world to stick up for— him? Just because his back was turned? Gryffindors were nothing if not predictable.
“Boon, Hesledon, Challock, I can see you! You have exactly five seconds to get out of the library before I report every single one of you to–”
She was interrupted by the thundering of a dozen pairs of school shoes as they bolted from her rage. Granger watched them go, her hair crackling and sparkling with something akin to fury. Hell clearly hath none left to spare. They’d infiltrated her precious library, even he had to admit she did look rather scornful.
“And you!” She turned to him, her mouth open as if to scream bloody murder at him for being in the Restricted Section. But instead of anger, her sneer suddenly turned into blank concern. “Jesus, Malfoy, your skin. ”
He had no idea who jesus was or why they would care about Draco’s skin, but he had the good sense not to point out the muggleness of it. He nodded, sarcastically thanking her for pointing it out, and took a deep breath.
“I know,” he said, pulling the collar of his shirt down a little. “It goes a rather unattractive purple, doesn’t it? Tentacula venom plus sensitive skin? Decisively awful mix. I don’t recommend it.”
“How do you know it was Tentacula venom?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
He huffed a laugh. “Believe it or not, Granger, this is not my first ambush.” He turned back to his book, not really minding if she had anything to say about it.
But out of nowhere and quite rudely, the book left his hands and ended up flat and wide on the table, Granger’s hand across the open pages.
“Are you saying this happens often?”
He laughed. “Tentacula spitballs? No, that’s a new one. But acid attacks? Probably twice a week? More frequently since Longbottom got that weekend job in the Herbology labs, but I’m almost certain that’s a coincidence...”
Oh, the horror on Granger’s face was delicious. “You’re messing with me.”
“For once in my life, Granger, I can assure you, I am not.”
She studied his face for anything, anything close to a lie, but there was none to be found. “People are attacking you?”
“I wouldn’t call it attacking,” he said, reaching forward and lifting her hand from the page he was reading. “More like, using me as a mechanism to process their feelings on the war in a risk-free environment.”
“And no one’s done anything?” Granger said. “McGonagall, the prefects, your mother?”
Malfoy cleared his throat. “None are aware, and I should like to keep it that way.”
Ahh. That pissed her off. “What– You– You haven’t told anyone?”
“No.”
“Why not?!”
“Because if the roles were reversed, I’d be angry too.”
There was a long silence, and he looked at her. She looked at him, too floored to say anything in response. It was probably for the best that the conversation ended there. This might be the longest actual conversation they’d ever had. And if it went on any longer, he was certain someone would see her and accuse her of treating him like a human being or something equally horrid and unthinkable. Not that it mattered. Her reputation could recover from anything. His would benefit from being seen with her. And the conscience he’d recently started listening to didn’t like that he’d thought that.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me—“ He lifted her hand off the page, finger by finger. “There are some parts of this page that haven’t been fully dissolved by acid, and I’d quite like to read them.” He gave her a terse, dismissive smile.
Granger said nothing. She just looked down at the book.
“Why are you trying to reverse a physical manifestation of Revelio ? Who’s casting one?” Her eyes flitted to his arm. “Is this to do with your mark?”
Draco sighed. “No.”
“Well, then, why are you reading it?”
“Must you involve yourself in all of my business?” He said, his eye roll only hidden behind his utter desperation for Granger to not find out why he was reading it.
She studied his face, unperturbed. He supposed that calling her a swot under his breath probably didn’t come close to things she’d been called the last few years.
Granger read over the page at an inhuman speed, and turned to face him. “Something’s going to happen, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“But I will,” she glared. “Once it happens, I’ll remember that you were reading this book. I’ll know that you knew, and that you were in on it, and didn’t tell me.”
“You’re not a prefect, Granger, I don’t have to run to you and grass up a bunch of miscreants for breaking the rules. We’re both adults.”
“Fine,” she said. “Whatever. I don’t care. Given your tenuous hold on your freedom, I do not think you’re stupid enough to do something illegal anyway.”
“You don’t? Oh, how nice for me to have your approval.”
Granger glared at him. “God, you’re a wanker.”
Well. That struck… a little close to home. And as if she realised what she’d said, she met his gaze and then immediately dropped it and turned away.
Just like he had absolutely not done, when—
Draco frowned. She’d never said anything about… that . About the incident. Not a word. To anyone. Not even when it could’ve shut him right up when he was being a colossal twat to her. And he suddenly found himself wondering if… potentially… Granger might be in the same boat as him.
He didn’t even realise he was following her until he’d already curled his hand around her elbow and guided her into a row of books. He held her steady for a moment and looked down at her.
“What?” She asked.
He huffed, scowling to himself as his former self kicked him in the back of the knees for still being a little nervous about talking to her.
“Thank you. For… stepping in.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “You had to drag me into a dark row of shelves so no one would see you thank me? Gods, Malfoy you are–.”
“That’s—“ he scowled. “No.”
“Well, then, what do you want?”
He took a deep breath. “I am about to tell you something.”
“Is it that you’re a prat?”
“No.”
“Then spit it out, Malfoy.”
Well. He didn’t have to save her from being humiliated. He was actually being uncharacteristically considerate of her feelings. He glared.
“Did you ever let the Weasel fuck you? McLaggen? Krum?”
There was a beat of silence. Her mouth fell open. He caught her wrist mid-air as the slap came very close to actually getting him.
“How fucking dare –”
“Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t really care either way. Just… listen. ”
He was sure it was out of nothing more than pure curiosity. But for once in her godsdamn life, Granger fell silent.
“Pansy, Bulstrode, and some of the other eighth year girls have a prank planned for April Fool’s day. It’s a curse. Temporary, but rather visible.”
“Cursing who?”
Draco swallowed. “It appears they will be drawing a large mark on any eighth years that are… as yet untouched .”
Granger, for all her brilliance, did not catch on. She stared at him, one eyebrow raised. “Untouched by… what?”
He stumbled for a moment, wondering how to put it delicately.
She just kept going. “By... Voldemort? Dark magic? By the long arm of the law–”
“Virgins, Granger,” he whispered, trying not to sound sarcastic. “They will be marking all the virgins.”
Granger’s breath caught, and she blushed bright crimson. She looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He felt the sudden, most overwhelming urge to put both of them out of their misery.
“No, no, Granger, don’t you worry,” he swallowed, hard. “They’ll be outing us boys, too.”
And then came the part he was dreading. The moment when Hermione Granger looked up at him and realised–
“You’re a virgin?” she said, unbelievably fucking loudly .
“ Oh, my God , Granger?! ” He said, spitting it at her. “Why don’t you shout it next time?! ”
“Are you really? ” She said, her eyes widening as she studied him. His entire being. Down. Down. Lingering for a moment.
He watched her wonder if the stupid fucking petty sing-song joke was true.
“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not true,” he spat. “I should think you would remember that?”
Granger’s cheeks went so scarlet that he almost wondered if she’d burst into flames. It was the same shade of red she’d gone when he—
“Malfoy, don’t,” she whispered. “I’d almost completely forgotten about it.”
“So had I,” he hissed back. Possibly the biggest lie he’d ever told.
But she covered her face, groaning loudly.
“So what’s going to happen?” she asked.
“A giant ‘V’ on the forehead. Until midday.”
“Oh, God,” she groaned into her hands, quietly. “Oh, god!”
“Yes. So, if you have any ideas on how to block a revelio spell before it’s been cast, I would appreciate all the help I can get.”
Granger nodded. “Right. Right. Yes. I’ll have a think. Oh God. This is so humiliating.”
He furrowed his brow, almost mockingly. “Humiliating? For you? If anything it’s just going to add to the inscrutability of the golden girl. Besides, I refuse to believe you couldn’t just look sideways at the Weasel and have him pounce on you.”
Granger looked up at him, knives in her eyes. “Ron and I broke up.”
“Oh, did you?” He said, feigning interest. “Condolences, et cetera.”
Granger took an exasperated sigh, and frowned at him again. She was going to get wrinkles if she kept doing that. “I’ll do some reading. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
He nodded, and went to step out of the row.
“Malfoy,” she caught his robe. “Why did you tell me?”
He shot her a look that showed how immensely it annoyed him that she did not understand the concept of quid pro quo .
“You stepped in for me. You didn’t have to do that. Now we are even.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours?”
Malfoy turned away from her. The idea of having scratches down his back was a little too timely and sounded a little too fucking good for him to deal with it.
“That,” he cleared his throat. “And… I already know that you are…” he chose his words carefully. “Trustworthy. With things of this nature .”
Her breath caught, and once again, she went bright red, but he couldn’t stop to stare at it like he wanted to. She bade him goodnight, and turned on her heel. He resisted the urge to let his eyes fall to her arse as she walked away. Jeans. Beautiful, beautiful jeans. He was so good for resisting.
If he hadn’t been covered in literal acid burns, he would’ve slapped himself. Instead he just shook his head and swallowed his gaze.
He had reading to do.
Wednesday Evening
Draco was sat in the common room, his stomach knotting. He was reading through the spell sections he’d copied, pretending to be tidying his Potions notes, but he could barely hear himself think over the girls squealing. They’d made a list of all the eighth years and were going through it one by one.
“Hannah Abbott has to be,” Collins said.
“She isn’t,” Pansy glared, clearly annoyed at knowing this fact. “Nev told me.”
“Lucky girl. But I still don’t believe you that he’s that big.”
“I’m telling you. It is otherworldly . No wonder he could kill Voldie’s snake. He’s been handling them that size since he was–”
Theo threw a cushion at them, and they burst into giggles. “Pans, you are making me achingly jealous, Gods, have mercy!?”
Pansy threw the cushion back. Draco rustled his notes.
“Potter, then,” Bulstrode said. “Cho Chang, maybe?”
“No, he barely had the courage to kiss her. It was me that got to Cho first.” Theo said, giving up and sliding over to join the girls. “And apparently Ginny Weasley got worried about her Quidditch thighs during the war so picked something else to ride. Potter is decisively out .”
The girls burst into furious squeals again. Draco resisted the urge to bury his face in his fucking hands. Draco had beaten Potter at many things, but as it stood, Potter had had sex and Draco had not.
Fuck.
“Lavender Brown.” Susan Bones read off.
“Weasley. Years ago. And even if they hadn’t, he and Granger just broke up and you can hear Lavender screaming for her Won-Won from bloody Hogsmeade,” Collins said, smirking.
The realisation settled over all the girls at once.
“ Granger .”
“Oh, bullseye. Guaranteed she’s frigid.”
Theo sighed. “Poor Weasley. Blue balls would clash so poorly with the red hair.”
The girls erupted into cackles.
Susan sighed. “Fucking golden girl. She’s probably never even kissed a guy.”
“Maybe she’s not into guys,” Theo winked. “Maybe one of you should test her out.”
“As long as you get to come along and watch, right?” Pansy glared knowingly at him.
“Oh, Pans, my darling, you know me so well. I’m happy to sit on the sidelines and wank myself to oblivion if it means I get to watch your pretty mouth suck on Granger’s perky little t–”
“Nott,” Draco scolded, his eyes a little more fiery than he intended. “Let’s keep some decorum in here, shall we?”
Theo rolled his eyes and flopped back onto the cushions with a groan. “Draco, you never let me have any fun.”
The girls distracted themselves over commiserating with Theo to such an extent that Draco thought he might be off the hook. He suddenly felt a bit grateful that he was actually known as a stuck up prat. Better than them knowing that he was at half-mast thinking about anyone’s lips near Granger’s perky little t–
He stood, gathered his notes, and made his way down to the library. He snuck past Pince. Her hearing wasn’t so good since the explosions during the war, so it wasn’t hard. The restricted section door barely squeaked.
But he hadn’t passed a single shelf before he was pulled into a row with a hand over his mouth.
This was it. He was dead. They finally had him with his hands full. He couldn’t reach his wand, and he couldn’t do wandless magic without his mouth. He was done. This was the end of Draco Malfoy. Until he realised how small and singular and not very murderous the hand was.
He glanced down, letting his eyes adjust to the dark, and rolled his eyes. Shifting his books to one arm, he pulled her hand down.
“Granger.”
“Malfoy. Have you found anything?”
He placed his books on an empty shelf space, and turned to face her, frankly quite glad that he would not be dying right that very moment. His self-preservation instincts were rather good, but he wouldn’t like to use them again.
He shook his head.
“Neither have I. And we have a problem,” Granger said. Her voice was shaking. And suddenly, that urge was back. Self preservation, but not for himself. For her . There was a pang of protectiveness in his throat that he didn’t recognise, and didn’t quite like. He glared down at her.
“What is it?”
Granger looked up at him, wide-eyed, her jaw shaking. “I’ve done… a bit of a… check.”
“A check?” he frowned. “Of–”
“Of the rest of the eighth years. I cross referenced, I accounted for rumours, and devised a mathematical probability based on where the rumour had come from, then incorporated that into–”
He caught her eye, and raised his eyebrows. “Granger, focus.”
“ We’re the only two. ”
A chill went down his spine. A chill so cold he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from it. Dread.
“We… Are you sure? ”
She nodded, her body shaking as if she was chilled straight to the bone. “We’re the only two left. We’re the only two who haven’t. Everyone else has.”
Granger watched him. Draco’s breath caught. “Ah.”
“Yeah.”
He nodded. “That’s… bad.”
“Yeah, I should say so.”
He swallowed. He was the only boy in his year who hadn’t had sex. Fuck. Fuck. But he barely even had a chance to be worried about it.
Because Granger looked like she was going to cry.
Draco frowned, and for absolutely no reason, definitely not the now-simmering sense of protectiveness he now had bubbling in his gut, he placed a hand on her arm. “Hey– are you alright?”
She shook her head. “No. Honestly? No. This is so humiliating.”
He shot her another exasperated look. “Granger, it’s not humiliating for you. You’ve been busy. Neither Potter nor Weasley could’ve had a chance at saving the world if it wasn’t for you. Everyone knows that. So what if you haven’t had time to get laid ? No one’s going to judge you .”
She looked up at him with such grateful eyes that his stomach wrenched a little. Shit. She–
He pursed his lips. She looked rather vulnerable .
He had lied, obviously, the girls were already judging her. But in that very moment he decided he’d sooner suffer the rest of the year being called a limp-dicked virgin than let them send even a smirk in Granger’s direction.
“Can I ask why you are so worried?” he said, quietly.
Granger looked at him as if it was a trap. She frowned. “No. You’ll be an arse about it.”
“Well, you know what? I was going to be, but just because you said that, now I have to prove you wrong. I do so love doing that.”
She huffed a soft laugh, and smiled at his joke. Well. That was rather something. A puff of pride entered his chest. That felt nice.
“Ron–”
“The Weasel.”
“Yes, him. We recently broke up.”
He frowned. “I knew that already.”
She huffed impatiently, and he conceded, letting her finish. “We broke up because he was… getting very insistent about it.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “ What?”
“Insistent. Rather pushy , if I’m honest.”
“And you didn’t want to?”
“I did, but… he… he made it out to be this big thing . He’d already lost his. Lavender Brown. And he was either really good at making her come, or she was just good enough of an actress to constantly and enthusiastically fake it.”
Draco smirked. “I have a lot of money. And I’d be willing to bet all of it–”
Granger shushed him. “Anyway. Maybe she just found it really easy to, or something. Because every time he… touched me… or did anything to me, he got a bit frustrated when I didn’t, you know, come four times in a row and scream loud enough to bring the roof down. ” She licked her lips nervously, before pulling them into her teeth to nibble. “And when he wanted to go further, I just kept feeling like I was going to disappoint him.” She swallowed, hard, wringing her hands over the fabric of her robes. “And it was just too much pressure.”
“So you dumped him?”
“No,” she twirled her robes into a knot. “He… um. He was the one who ended it.”
“ WHAT?!” Draco hissed, leaning in. “He dumped you because you wouldn’t put out?”
Granger’s lips parted as if to defend Weasley, but her lips curled into a soft ‘o’. Then a line. Then a frown. Then, if he was being perfectly honest, a rather terrifying scowl.
“Yes, I suppose he did.”
Draco looked her up and down. “And you call me an arse?”
The conversation ended there, but Granger’s face did not leave that frown. Not as they silently worked together to pick up the books from the shelves, not as they wordlessly transcribed the sections of text they’d need to read separately, and not as they nodded each other goodnight.
He glanced at her as he walked toward the door of the restricted section. He watched her lean in a little closer to her book. He watched her lip quiver a little.
He watched her wipe her eyes on her sleeve.
Hmm.
Draco glared at the distance between them, marching over to her table with a determination and anger that were pulled from somewhere he didn’t recognise. He glanced both ways to make sure no one was watching her associate with him, and approached her table.
He placed both hands flat in front of her, leaning in.
“Granger,” he said, quietly commanding her to look up at him.
“What?” she hissed, still frowning, but refusing to show him she had been crying.
He frowned, and leaned in closer, so that no one but her could hear.
“He was punching up anyway.”
Granger’s eyes snapped up to meet his gaze, glistening and a little surprised. But he didn’t say anything else.
He nodded her a final goodnight, and walked off.