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Looking back, Hermione wouldn't have drawn her wand in the corridor, and she certainly wouldn't have drawn it if she'd known Professor Snape was behind her.
And if she had a second go, she would not have cast the Jelly-Legs Jinx in the corridor with Professor Snape standing right behind her.
Of course all of this to say, she would prefer not to have been caught casting the Jelly-Legs Jinx in the corridor with Professor Snape behind her.
The victim of her jinx, however—
"Why do you breathe like that?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes and snapped her head over her shoulder to glare at him. "Like what?"
"Like you have Bubotuber Pus in your chest."
She cleared her throat and turned back to staring uselessly at Flitwick's unmoving office door. "I told you I'm getting over a cold."
A mutter from behind her that sounded quite a bit like "yuck."
The victim of her Jelly-Legs Jinx, in the corridor, in front of Professor Snape… No, she wouldn't trade that for the world. Draco Malfoy had wobbled like a deer on a frozen lake, his legs crumpling beneath him and his eyes bugging out of his head as he flailed. His hands had reached for anything to steady himself on, which happened to be Goyle's belt buckle. He took his friend's trousers down with a scream, and the whole school had seen it.
Including Professor Snape. Hence, detention.
But of course, as Draco Malfoy had yelped at the sight of his friend's Quidditch boxers, patterned with Bludgers and bats and the phrase "Beat This" just above his groin, he'd drawn his own wand and snarled a Babbling Curse at her—just as McGonagall came to see what the commotion was.
And that was how the two of them had ended up in detention together.
No, she wouldn't take back any of that. It was what happened when they'd started cleaning Flitwick's shelves that she would trade Crookshanks for at this point.
"Sit down, Granger. Stay awhile."
She shifted her feet, pressing her nose against the glass in the hopes that she could break through it if only she wished hard enough.
He'd refused to assist her in cleaning the shelves—wandless, of course—and when she'd finally stamped her foot and demanded he join her lest they'd be stuck cleaning tomorrow evening again, that was when he'd found the snow globe.
"What's this?" he'd said, tossing it between his hands like a Quaffle.
When she'd told him to be careful—snow globes were fragile—he began to toss it high in the air, smirking at her. They'd bickered and squabbled over the collectible, and he'd held it up over his head, forcing her to rise on her toes to reach.
It had been futile, and it made her skin break out in shivers to press so close to him. (Shivers of revulsion, she was sure.) She'd shrieked for him to respect Professor Flitwick's property and her time, and he'd hollered back about her knickers being in a twist, and faster than a flash, her feet had stumbled on uneven ground.
She'd looked out at Flitwick's room from a strange distance, a dome over her.
They were inside the snow globe, happily seated back on Flitwick's shelves. Malfoy had tried breaking the glass, kicking and punching until his knuckles were blue. She'd screamed and screamed until her throat was hoarse. And all the while the snowflakes inside swirled and drifted more and more.
Malfoy had given up twenty minutes ago, sitting and leaning back against the curved glass without a care in the world.
As the fight had drained out of her, and she'd switched to simply waiting for a Professor to come looking for them, she was doing her best to ignore the other person stuck with her.
"What is that horrid thing you're wearing?"
But it was becoming increasingly difficult.
She stared down at herself. "My jumper?"
"You call that a jumper?"
Her eyes narrowed at him. "It's handmade." And when he lifted a brow, she added, "Molly Weasley gave it to me."
"Ah," said Malfoy, tilting his head back on the glass. "That explains it. It's Weasley-made."
She crossed her arms. "Molly Weasley makes jumpers every year. It's—it's an incredible honor to be included in her list of recipients."
"An honor?" He laughed. "A humiliation, I'd say."
She rolled her eyes and tugged at her hem, returning to her vigil of staring at the door. "Do shut up, Malfoy. We wouldn't even be in this position if it weren't for you."
"Me? How do you figure? You're the one who started throwing jinxes—"
"If you hadn't gotten in my way—"
"Is that a punishable offense now?"
"And insulted Ron."
"Ah, yes. I did deserve it if that's the case," he said, sarcasm dripping from his vowels. "Merlin forbid I besmirch the name of your penniless boyfriend."
Hermione's jaw tightened, her molars grinding as she batted away the snowflakes that had kicked up around them. She didn't give him the satisfaction of a response or a glance.
"So… she doesn't deny it."
"Deny what?" Hermione tugged at her jumper again.
"You're dating Weasley."
Flicking off a flake from her elbow, she said, "I refuse to answer your questions about my personal life, Malfoy."
"Now the ugly jumper makes sense—"
She whipped around and stomped the two feet to him. "It's not ugly. Ron and I are none of your business. His mother knows we're close, so she—she knitted me this. It's the first time I've received one so—so just leave it alone, Malfoy!"
Her heart was pounding with the fight in her. She glared down at him, and he simply smirked up at her.
"So, you're finally part of the family, Granger? Is that it?" He ran his tongue over his teeth. "That hideous jumper is a sign from the matriarch that you're allowed to date her son?"
Heat flared in her cheeks. "This is why you get jinxed in the corridor, Malfoy. You're an arse."
The snow began to swirl, brushing over her cheeks and drifting down into his hair.
"I've hit a nerve, haven't I?" He chuckled and batted away the flakes in his eyes.
"You're intentionally riling me up by insulting my clothes, my breathing—"
"I'm 'riling you up,' Granger? Is that so?" His eyes flashed at her, barely visible through the tumbling snow. "I'm sure Weasley appreciates how easy you are. To 'rile,' I mean."
Her lips opened to snarl at him—
"Miss Granger?" a voice called from a distance, distorted strangely. "Mr. Malfoy?"
Her head snapped to the door. Professor Flitwick was looking about the room. Malfoy stood swiftly.
"Professor!" she called. "Professor, in here!"
Her fists pummeled the glass. Malfoy jumped up and down, waving his hands.
"FLITWICK, YOU BLIND BAT. LOOK HERE!"
Professor Flitwick scratched his chin and mumbled to himself, "Snuck out early? Not like them at all."
As the two of them screamed and pounded, Flitwick left the way he came, shutting the door behind him.
The snow in the globe spiraled wildly. Hermione continued calling for him even as Malfoy's arms dropped in resignation.
"Help! Help me!"
"Granger, stop."
"I have to get out!"
"You're making it worse. The snow—"
"Professor Fl—" She coughed, plastic snow in her throat. "Flitwick!"
Flakes whipped at her face, but she kept battering the glass.
Malfoy grabbed her pounding fists and pinned them to her side before spinning them both around. "Look, Granger!" His breath was hot against her ear. "You have to stop. It responds to noise and movement!"
She couldn't even see the other side of the glass—there was a blizzard in the dome with them. She gasped, and snow flew into her mouth. Coughing and choking, she turned away from the storm, burying her face in his shoulder.
"Stop coughing!"
He slammed a palm against her back, as if she were choking on food. Worthless prick.
Hermione closed her eyes and focused on breathing slowly. Malfoy ducked down, taking her with him to the floor of the dome where the snow wasn't as harsh against their faces.
She concentrated on the air in her lungs and waited for the wind against her cheeks to slow.
When she finally peeled her eyelids open, the snow was drifting slowly around them, thinning.
Malfoy's body was pressed close to hers. In fact, she was seated between his legs—almost in his lap. His chest was rising and falling against her back, and his arms were still wrapped around her middle. She flushed pink, not daring to move, but eager to crawl away.
After a handful of heartbeats, she cleared her throat. "Er, thank you. I suppose we'll need to… stop arguing to keep it from doing that."
"I suppose." His voice rumbled lowly in his chest, sending shivers down her spine.
He didn't move to withdraw his arms from around her. She could barely breathe with the need to get away from him—or perhaps closer? She couldn't quite name it.
Every one of his exhales brushed against her neck, disturbing the hair there and warming her cheeks.
"So, are you with Weasley?" he asked, barely a whisper against her ear.
She felt drunk with something, before clearing her head and huffing. "I told you not to argue with me—"
"I'm not. I'm posing a question again that you never answered."
Hermione felt him shift behind her. It brought his arm tighter around her, his hand drifting lower to her hip on accident.
"We're not," she said quietly. She considered stopping there. "Not yet, at least. His mother thinks we are, but Ron…" Taking a deep breath, she relaxed back infinitesimally. "Ron said he didn't want to interfere with my N.E.W.T. studies—"
Draco chuckled, and the sound vibrated through her middle, swooping low in her belly. "That's dragon dung, Granger. Blokes don't give a fuck about 'your studies.'"
She frowned, opening her mouth to refute him despite the fact that he was voicing out loud her own thoughts on the matter—
His fingertips brushed against the hem of her jumper. "Explains the gift though." The knit had ridden up a bit, and his skin brushed softly over her exposed belly.
Air caught in her lungs. It must have been by mistake. She didn't know how to tell him that he could release her—not when she wasn't sure she wanted him to.
Ron had never held her like this. He said he didn't like cuddling in public. But when she'd boldly suggested that maybe they didn't cuddle in public, he'd averted his eyes and told her maybe they could when the semester was over.
She hadn't wanted sex. She'd just wanted… something like this. Some kind of gentle embrace and heat and—
A soft press of lips behind her ear.
Her eyes fluttered closed. Exactly like this.
The fingertips on her stomach danced under her jumper, just barely an inch.
A sigh fell from her throat, and she tilted her head to the side, opening her neck to him.
His mouth parted on her skin, his tongue flicking over her ear and his teeth nipping at her.
Hermione's lips fell open. "Oh…"
"I can stop," he whispered against her ear.
She couldn't form a response, her mind was foggy with something new and dangerous, and when he pressed his lips to her jaw, she sighed again.
His teeth and tongue worked together on her skin, nipping and soothing, tasting and sucking. Her hands were clammy as she reached for his knees, bracing herself.
Her head fell back against his shoulder, her mouth open and her throat dry as he dropped kisses everywhere. Her breath was quick in her chest when his hand slid under her jumper, his palm scorching hot against her belly.
She shifted her hips, searching for more, and that was when she felt him hard against her backside. Her eyes snapped open, realizing that Draco Malfoy was aroused and was getting her aroused.
The snow had stopped falling.
This was all wrong, wasn't it?
"Malfoy, wait!"
She scrambled away from him, turning quickly on her knees to face him with wide eyes. His skin was pink, his lips red, and his eyes dark. Pressing her fingers to neck, she stared at him in horror, avoiding the sight of his groin.
"It's the snow globe," she whispered. A solitary flake fell at the sound of her voice. "It's making us… er, it's making you want things you wouldn't… um—"
Malfoy's brow furrowed. "It's… It's not the snow globe." His cheeks flushed even deeper, and he said, "Not for me, at least."
Her heart was pounding. "How do you know?"
"Granger," he whispered, "do you really think Flitwick would have a horny snow globe on his office shelves?"
"I… no, I suppose not, but—"
"I wanted to peel that jumper off you before we got trapped in here."
Her eyes widened, and her stomach flipped. She felt her blood racing. "Oh."
He pushed a hand through his hair. "Sorry. We don't have to… We can forget this happened."
She thought of the times she'd tried to kiss Ron in the shadows while on Prefect rounds, and how small he'd made her feel when he told her it wasn't very responsible of her. The way she'd tried to wear little bows in her hair like Lavender had, and how that same day he'd watched Hannah Abbott's legs as she stood from the Hufflepuff table. The way Ron had told her that maybe visiting the Burrow for Christmas wasn't such a good idea.
She swallowed. "Right."
And then she realized that Draco Malfoy had an erection from kissing her neck. And that just his hand on her bare skin had sent liquid fire rocketing through her blood.
She crawled forward, kneeling between his open legs, then steadied herself against his chest and leaned forward until her lips hovered over his.
She heard him swallow, and then pressed her mouth against him.
He was warm. His lips, his breath, his hands as they rose to her elbows. Everything was so much different than she'd imagined—
Not that she'd imagined, per se, but— just—
It was different.
He kissed her back, moving his mouth over hers and starting to take the lead. From the handful of kisses she'd had with Ron, Malfoy's kisses lived in a whole new dimension. His lips were soft, not too wet, and it was like a gentle massage against her own. She could feel his mouth opening against hers, encouraging her to do the same, and when her lips parted for him, he sighed. His tongue pressed against hers, and his grip on her elbows tightened.
Then suddenly he was gone, pulling back. She snapped her eyes open, fear shooting through her veins. But he was touching her knees, encouraging her to place one on either side of his hips. She eagerly complied.
Their bodies were close now, and there was something lovely in the way she sat tall over him, looking down on his pink cheeks. His hands could reach for her hips this way. They were scorching her through her jeans.
Lowering her mouth to his again, she placed her hands on his jaw, angling him up to her and drawing a moan from his throat. Soft hair brushed her fingertips, and she slipped her hands into the strands.
His lips were more insistent now, more confident. His tongue was quick and clever, spinning delicious things into her mouth. She was mewling for him before she realized it, small sounds from her throat with every brush of his tongue.
He squeezed her hips, and then his fingertips were stretching upward, inching under the jumper. His mouth moved along her jaw as she panted, lost in the feeling of his hands on her skin.
This was all she had wanted from Ron. But it was now clear—as she shivered from the barest touches from someone unexpected—that he didn't want it with her.
Malfoy's fingers were on her ribs, climbing higher and higher. His mouth was sucking against her neck, and a heady groan poured from her when she realized she'd have marks to hide. But maybe she wouldn't…
"Granger." His voice was deep and breathless. She sighed in return, and he repeated, "Granger, can I?"
It took her several seconds to come out of the haze and realize he had her jumper pulled up her ribs, waiting for permission to take it off. She nodded and stretched her arms above her head. When he threw it to the side, snowflakes swirled with the movement.
She reached for his face to pull him back to her mouth, but he resisted, taking a moment to stare at her bra. Hermione blushed.
"Sorry, it's not nice or anything—"
Malfoy pressed his lips against her sternum, kissing her exposed skin and drifting over to the swell of her right breast. She threaded her fingers into his hair again, and his arm wrapped tightly around her back, locking her into place against him.
She tilted off balance, pressing forward and bracing herself with a hand on the glass behind him. He was biting and soothing the tops of her breasts, and she had the distinct impression that he wanted to mark as much of her skin as possible. The thought made something coil tighter inside of her.
His other hand slid up her waist, his fingers seeking out the curve of her bra. He groaned as his hand cupped her, and she bit down on her lip.
She felt like she was falling through time. Like there was nothing that existed besides the two of them and the soft plastic snowflakes that fell around them as they moaned and shifted.
His fingers squeezed her lightly over her bra, and his mouth sucked at the swell of her other breast. Her nipples were tight and begging to be touched.
Something delicious was building in her core. Something slick and intoxicating.
Her breath was sharp. Her eyes fluttered open when Malfoy grunted like she'd done something wonderful.
And that was when she realized her hips had been moving, grinding against him and seeking something heavenly.
"Oh—"
"You don't have to stop," he rasped against her collar. "You feel amazing like this."
Her skin buzzed with the praise. She pressed her lips together and tried rolling her hips down on him, awkward with consciousness now. But he moaned against her breast, so she did it again. And his tongue flicked out over her skin.
She widened her hips as far as they would go, and Malfoy's head fell back against the glass, his eyes glazed and dark. Her mouth swept down to claim him, and she moved slowly over him as his hands ran up and down her back.
Her tongue mimicked her hips, rolling softly into his mouth and pulling back.
The press of her stomach against his school jumper frustrated her, so she began tugging it up. He helped, tearing everything off over his head. When he pulled their chests together, she sighed.
He reached for the clasp of her bra, and paused, looking up at her. She nodded quickly, unwilling to stop the trajectory they were on. He unhooked the fabric and peeled the straps down her shoulders until his eyes caught on her bare chest.
She blushed at the look on his face—like he'd locked his eyes on the Snitch. He licked his lips.
His hands traveled up her stomach, fingers stretching up to cover her breasts. And when his thumbs started patterns over her nipples, the coil inside twisted tighter. She braced herself on his shoulders and pressed her chest into his hands. Her hips started moving again, rubbing herself on his erection and drawing ragged breaths from his chest.
"Shit, Granger," he murmured. Her eyes opened softly, and she saw him staring up at her face as his fingers played with her breasts, his lips parted, his gaze black. "Don't stop."
She smiled, and he groaned low in the back of his throat.
"Does it feel good?" she asked, hardly recognizing her voice.
"I'm barely holding on," he wheezed. "Just waiting for you."
Her lashes fluttered. She tried to catch up to his meaning, but then he leaned forward and his lips latched onto her breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth.
Her mouth fell open in a gasp. The pressure in her hips was almost unbearable. She rolled them faster against him, the seam of her jeans hitting something in her core perfectly.
Plastic snow was falling on her face but she didn't care. She couldn't stop moving or whimpering.
He sucked and kissed and licked her breasts, and she ground down on him, spiraling closer and closer.
It wasn't enough. She whined and tried to find a new position.
His lips popped off her chest. "Can I help?"
"Yes! God, Malfoy. Yes."
She was falling through the air—snow twisting around them—and then her back landed on the bottom of the snow globe, and Malfoy was slotting himself between her hips, his mouth covering hers with a "Shh. Not too much noise, alright?"
But when he started moving, she cried deep in her throat. It was just like what she'd imagined sex to be. His body was wide and warm over her, his hips thrusting roughly, and his mouth drinking down her sighs and groans.
His weight pinned her down, his hips rutting against her and rubbing against that spot she'd only just discovered.
Her hands were scratching down his back, threading into his hair, grabbing for his backside—
He tore his mouth from her. "Shh, Granger."
Her eyes fluttered open. The snow was kicking up around them. A blizzard again.
She watched him as he stared down at her, his hips pistoning against hers. A cry burst from her throat. The coil was so tight—
He dipped his head and covered her breast with his lips, sucking hard.
She screamed out, white behind her eyes and snow everywhere else. The twisting pressure burst and so much pleasure flooded her veins, she couldn't breathe. Her limbs stretched, her back arching, her core throbbing. A blizzard inside of her.
As she fluttered down like snow, Malfoy was still thrusting, cursing against her ear, his erection hard and thick through his trousers as he muttered, "Perfect, perfect, perfect—"
She whined, her toes not quite done curling, the coil not quite unwound, her fingernails not quite withdrawn from his back.
His hips pounded against her, and her eyes rolled back as she flew into a storm again, her air choking, her throat raw with screaming.
"Fuck, Granger. Oh fuck—"
She couldn't even see him through the snow. She was surrounded by bright white, fluttering over her bare chest, tickling her breasts and running over her skin like a lover's fingertips. She heard him groan, his breath catching, his rhythm stuttering.
And then he was on top of her, pressed tightly to her body. His face resting in her neck. His breath on her skin.
Her body was still throbbing in pleasure, but she felt like she was lying down in the snow, looking up at a storm—with Draco Malfoy there for warmth.
Her knickers were sticky with her release, but she didn't care. Not when he was covering her body, pressing his lips to her jaw, inching closer to her mouth.
He kissed her, his tongue tangling with her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him close.
When he pulled back to stare down at her, the snow had reduced to drifting flakes. His eyes were clear and bright, looking at her with an open, trusting expression.
She reached up to brush away the flakes from his hair.
"Oh, my!" a voice boomed.
She jumped, and twisted to see a larger-than-life Professor Flitwick averting his eyes as he said, "Mr. Malfoy. Miss Granger. If you would please find your clothes." He cleared his throat as they raced to find their clothes. "I see you found the Problem-Solving Snow Globe. Not the… er, conventional use for it, I must say."
Hermione tugged her jumper on backwards, and covered her face with her hands. She peeked through her fingers, and found Malfoy staring at her with a handsome smirk on his face.
When Flitwick released them from the snow globe, they walked together back to their common rooms in silence. Hermione's mind raced. She tried an awkward wave when they had to part ways, but Malfoy reached for her, dragging her into his arms to kiss her goodnight.
She smiled against his lips and kissed him back, wondering when the next snowstorm would be.