Title: And There Is Crookshanks Laced With Xs

Author: Human_Amusement

Rating: PG-13ish

Summary: It's all unintelligible cuss words and rough awkward movements.

Hello again, fandom! I haven't written D/Hr in a while- writer's block is evil. Really, it is. This is, like most of my writing, a piece of experimentation on the style. Feedback is good. Especially constructive criticism. Especially that. If it gets confusing, forgive me.

and there is crookshanks laced with Xs

x

"When will Father get out?"

"Soon, Draco, soon."

"You’ve said that for ages now. It’s all stupid Harry Potter’s fault. I hope the Dark L-"

"Hush, boy. Someone will hear you."

"Mum, it’s been two years and the Death E-"

"Just stop it. He’ll be back soon."

"I hope so I quite-"

"That’s enough."

x

"You give that back, Granger." He reaches out for the pile of papers she’d just taken from him, fingers flying forward only to be received with a hard swat that causes him to pull back quickly.

She looks at him through narrowed eyes, a long finger wagging condescendingly in his direction. "I wouldn’t have taken it in the first place, Malfoy, had it actually belonged to you."

"Yes, but you see, there wasn’t a name on it when I found it, therefore it can’t quite possibly be yours." The expression of superiority falters from her features and he can’t help but smirk, delighting in this sudden triumph. "Now, hand it over," and he stretches an arm out towards her, palm up, waiting for the papers to drop into his open hand.

This doesn’t happen.

Lips pinched together and eyes now so narrowed they’re slits, it seems as if she would very much like to spit on him but trying exceptionally hard not to do so. "Make me," she hisses.

Four things occurred in the scuffle for the homework:

1) Draco grabbed hold of Hermione’s arm

2) Hermione screamed

3) Draco stepped forward and pressed his mouth over Hermione’s to shut her up

4) It {the homework} was dropped

Hours later, in the darkness of his bedroom, under sheets of forest green, Draco finds that’s all he can remember about kissing Hermione Granger in the bright and warm glow of the lit fireplace in the Head Boy and Girl common room, lips and body still shaking with annoyance and fury as sheets of yellowish parchment with small neat handwriting scattered the floor.

x

Pansy scoffs when Draco tells her. "Why is she Head Girl? She gets in trouble all the time, what with her hanging around Potter and Weasley every second."

"Maybe that’s why, Parkinson, (you stupid cow he wants to say). You know how much everyone loves the Golden Trio." He scans the doors to the Great Hall, eyes falling on a figure with a tangle wood of hair. "It’s just lucky I made Head Boy, really. But I suppose Weasley’s too poor and Potter’s in the hospital wing half the time anyway."

"I hope she won’t rub off on you." Pansy says as she links her arm with his and gets close, nuzzling her head on his chest. "She won’t will she, Draco?"

He looks at the Head Girl again, her head now suddenly thrown back laughing at something her black and red haired companions have said. Unfamiliar it is when she catches his stare, looking at him for a moment with laughing eyes. He turns back to Pansy hurriedly. "What do you think?"

x

They fuck in February. Two months after the kiss, in the common room again, after an argument about House points along with Why on earth are you so insufferable? and You just notice it more because you’re such a prude. Hermione raises an arm and Draco immediately closes his eyes, prepared for a thwack, clearly thinking about that time in third year when she’d slapped him. Except, instead of hearing the sharp sound of hand meeting face, he hears an angry Urgg, a foot stomp, and the feel of two warm palms tight against his cheeks and another head, mouth, bumping, crashing down on his.

It’s all unintelligible cuss words and rough awkward movements. Fingers scratching pulling and teeth marks on skin. Draco’s not sure what to do with his hands at first but Hermione’s are frantic angry hurried and his clothes are off before he can even unzip her skirt.

Prude, indeed.

x

"Why does that boy have dots on his face, Father?"

"You get freckles, Draco, when you associate with filth. There is a family, the Weasleys, who have them all over."

"I don’t want freckles."

"Which is why you must watch the company you keep."

x

Draco notices, that night in February, Hermione Granger has paper cuts and ink stains all over her fingers. So messy and brutal they are he thinks, perhaps, she intentionally puts them there.

"They’re from all the writing and reading I’ve been doing lately, you git," she whispers breathlessly, the last part not matching at all with her tone of voice. "Now keep kissing me there," she continues, meaning her shoulder, and this time it fits perfectly.

While there are paper cuts and ink stains all over her fingers, there are also freckles, the lightest of brown, along the bridge of her nose and sprayed across her shoulder blade.

"Keep kissing me there," she whispers again, throatier, almost desperately.

He thinks of how one gets freckles and his father in Azkaban, how she put him there along with the pauper and golden boy.

"You’re disgusting," he says all of a sudden, fingers curling into fists, getting up and away from her. "Dirty Mudblood, I hate you."

Hermione is silent.

x

The first time Draco hears about Purebloods and Mudbloods is when he's six year old and sitting down on the lounge chair of the Malfoy library. The way it is, there are portraits in the library, and the books arranged so carefully, perfectly so, if you picked one up and put it in the wrong place, your ears would be capable of bleeding all the way down to your toes of the yelling and screeching of the portraits.

When he's six and in the library, Draco doesn't touch the books. The portraits gossip and say he's a handsome addition to the Malfoy family so that's really all he's there for.

"A fine Pureblood, you'll be- never will go along with the atrocious Mudblood loving sort." They tell him, pointing him out to each other. Being six and big headed already, he nods and smiles proudly, even if he's not sure what a Pureblood or a Mudblood is quite yet.

x

There were two months between the first kiss and the first fuck and now it's two months approaching three but all Draco has is hand to keep him. It's afternoon in the common room and he stands watching a quill in Hermione's fingers move rapidly across a piece of paper. "You're avoiding me."

She taps her foot as if to say, Here I Am! But her eyes don't reach his even though her hand stops moving. "I'm not avoiding you Malfoy. I'm right here, aren't I?"

Well.

"What are you writing? A note to Weasley?" There's more to that, he knows. "By the way, Goyle says he's sorry for bruising up your boyfriend," and his voice doesn't sound as sarcastic as he'd like it to- suddenly catching in his throat like a stopped bell. Boyfriend. Is he?

"He should tell that to Ron."

"Not everyone goes around apologizing so easily, Granger. Maybe you and those dolts you're always with but certainly not-"

Hermione stands up and throws her quill down on the desk, an odd clanking sound between their heavy breathes. He thinks, hopes, she might come up to him and kiss him again but she says, "I'm not hearing any more of this," and Draco realizes slammed doors are quite capable of making ears bleed.

x

When it's three months and ten days, there's an article in the Daily Prophet about the Death Eaters in Azkaban.

"Have you read it?" Pansy whispers during breakfast, a small hint of nervousness in her voice. "The Prophet says-"

"They've escaped haven't they?" There's a sense of pride already beginning to swell in his temple. "I knew it, I've been telling you all these-"

"No," Pansy says even more quietly, her head turning away and her hand moving off from his to pick out something invisible on the table. "It's really not very helpful I just thought you'd-"

"I don't," he answers and Pansy changes the subject.

x

"My father’s getting out soon, you know," he says that night, watching Hermione closely as the ugliest cat he’s ever seen sits on her lap. "He’s coming out, and you better remind Potter to watch out when he does."

She looks up from her book to gaze at him with steady calculation, a strange something trembling in her voice when she speaks. "You shouldn’t have such high hopes, Malfoy." The words are simple and easy, and he almost wishes she sounded malicious so he could have a valid reason to yell at her.

"They’re not high hopes, Granger," he practically spits. Don’t tell me things like that, he wants to shout. "He and the rest of them in Azkaban are just bidding their time. There aren’t dementors there anymore- it’ll be easy for them to escape. Potter almost died last year, remember? That was with one Death Eater and The Dark Lord. Imagine with all of them? Ha."

"They caught that Death Eater, Malfoy. Harry was fine except for a few cuts that were easily healed. You just keep telling yourself all these-"

"Shut up. Just shut up, Mudblood. They’re getting out. My father is getting out and."

He can’t finish because she keeps shaking her head and even to him the words sound empty. He’s taking a few steps forward and towering above her in her seat by the fireplace, ugly cat slinking away to the side.

"I hate you, you know? I hate you Granger and you can just-"

x

It’s June and soon they'll be graduating. Draco knows he can’t ever get freckles and his Father won’t come home as soon as he hopes. Three months and ten days and there are still ink stains and paper cuts all over Hermione’s fingers and her breath is warm against his skin.