Fic Request #27

FIC REQUEST #27:



Title: Paralysis
Summary: Draco's been behaving rather oddly, but Hermione put that down to his recent accident. But when he finds that she's so emotionally closed that not even the most drunken declaration of love can move her, he has to resort to more creative methods of seduction.
Rating: NC-17
Author's Note: Some of the criteria I’ve stuck to word for word, others simply to the spirit of. I didn’t want to stick word-for-word and in-the-spirit to the criteria. For example: there is no graduation at British schools, and so no Graduation Ball. Instead, there’s a leavers ball, which (in most schools) takes place before the two evil months of exams, in about May... So this is probably not quite what the requester expected, but hopefully it’s still liked. It’s supposed to be a little bit silly, a little bit snarky, and a little bit saucy.

Special thanks to *Minerva Solo* minervasolo who volunteered to write us this fic gift, filling in for the original assigned author.




PARALYSIS


Hermione was somewhat surprised to hear that Draco Malfoy had been found with a broken spine beneath her window. She wasn’t sure what to think of it. After all, she was seven stories up, so the chances that he was… But on the other hand, where else would he have been heading? Perhaps he forgot the password to the higher prefect’s turret.

Oh, magic was handy for broken bones, but spines still took their time and Malfoy was basically paralysed. Hermione moaned about it to her friends, naturally. He was always wanting her to get him a drink, to help him to their bathroom or help him into bed and she had to fulfil all of his headboy duties as well as her own headgirl ones. Fine, there wasn’t actually anything to do without deatheater threats and escaped murderers any more, but it was the principle of the thing. She seemed to spend her life waiting on Draco Malfoy. It made her regret SPEW.

And so it was, while she was sitting on his bed and discussing Leaver’s Ball issues, like decorations (it was hard to find colours that didn’t belong to at least one house) and food (she hadn’t known there were so many different allergies to take into account) and entertainment (god knows), that she came to a realisation many months after the event. What had he asked her for, after all, that he had been able to do for himself? Nothing. Hermione couldn’t really fault him for that. In fact, she felt slightly guilty. If their positions were reserved (though beneath his window was the lake, so perhaps not) then she’d have had him answering to her every whim. Just a little payback, that was all, for being treated like an inferior citizen by him.

“We should have an entertainment audition,” he told her while she stared into space. She nodded. “Between us we probably represent the polar opposites of the student body. That was probably why they chose us.” She nodded. “After all, neither of us have exactly spotless records.” She nodded. “What with me being a giant fire breathing koala and you a small pink and scarlet grasshopper.” She nodded.

Malfoy gave up, and it took several minutes for Hermione to register that he’s stopped talking. He fought the urge to tell her that they could sit her on the back of magic carpets so her nodding would hypnotise small children, like those Muggle toy dogs. Eventually, her eyes regained focus.

“Malfoy,” she said slowly, “what precisely were you doing climbing up beneath my window?”

He had been dreading that question, but at least it had taken her this long to get around to asking it. He had three different scripted replies tucked in his bedside table draw. He chose number two, off the top of his head.

“I forgot the password.”

“Oh. That’s what I thought.” She sounded a bit disappointed. Hermione grimaced internally. Still it was far better than a lot disappointed, which was where her emotional magnet was swinging right now.

“So, the audition?”

“If you want,” Hermione shrugged.

“I can organise that,” Malfoy said firmly. “I know all of the right people. If you wouldn’t mind…”

“Oh,” said Hermione. “Wingardium Leviosa.” She waved her wand in the vague direction of the fireplace. “It’s a pity you dropped charms. We did self-levitation last year.”

“There’s a reason I dropped charms,” Malfoy said darkly.

“Oh,” Hermione shrugged. “You okay down there?”

“Fine,” he told her as he knelt in front of the fire. “I’ll call you when I need you.”

“As usual.”

“As usual.”

“How long before you can walk again?” Hermione paused in the doorway.

“A long time,” Malfoy groaned. “Except, apparently, I’ll have forgotten how to by then.”

“Ouch,” Hermione said unsympathetically, and wandered out.

* * *

The Leaver’s Ball went well. Only the Slytherins had bought new dresses after the Yule Ball. Funnily enough, most of the others weren’t willing to spend another hundred galleons on another set of robes they’d never wear another time. So Hermione was anxious about her ankles, of which a lot more was visible than last time, and Malfoy was sulking in his shiny new robes because he was stuck riding his broom all evening.

And the date thing. There had been some suggestion to incorporate that again. Only Blaise had ended up bringing three girls, while Neville, Harry and Ron were forced to come together. The only ones who really acted like couples actually were couples. Hermione hoped the boys would each find someone. Anyone, really. As long as Neville stopped looking at her like that. It was a bit creepy.

She hovered next to Malfoy while Dumbledore announced the evening’s prizes. They included ‘most original method of transport’, which went to Malfoy since he was the only one who hadn’t actually walked, ‘most original colour’, which went to Ron, who was absolutely mortified, ‘most amount of flesh showing’, which went to Pansy, naturally, and ‘most likely to declare undying love to the head girl later that night after copious amounts of alcohol’ which went jointly to Malfoy and Harry. Hermione hid in the corner until people left her alone again.

For a staff supervised event, there was rather a lot of alcohol. Mostly butterbeer, but then Blaise had one of his bee-atches (who were answering to that, which disturbed Hermione even more than their inability to pronounce bitch) spike it. What with, Hermione wasn’t sure. As head girl she felt obliged to taste test it, naturally. Pity she hadn’t thought to warn Malfoy that she’d done so, because he seemed to feel obliged to check each cup before he let anyone have any. So it was maybe half an hour in the ball, while most people will still easily sober enough to remember it, that he fulfilled Dumbledore’s prophecy hovering above the drinks table and falling off his broom half way through her name. Which was better than Harry, who towards the very tail end of the evening managed to mumble something unintelligible to an almost entirely empty room while Hagrid carried him away.

Hermione was picking at the buffet table when Malfoy joined her.

“You’re so drunk,” she sighed.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Needed to be.”

“Did you do that just because Dumbledore said you would?” she asked.

“I’m not that stupid,” he said dismissively. “Come away from that,” he gestured at the half eaten food. “Everyone else is gone. The house elves will clear up. It’s what they’re paid for.”

Hermione smiled wistfully at the reminder. “It just all looks too delicious.” She held out a sponge finger for Draco to nibble on. He licked the end.

“I was serious,” he told her as they worked their way along the table.

“I know,” she smiled weakly. “I figured that out a few weeks ago. Honestly, what were you planning to do outside my window?”

He blushed. “Sing?” he offered.

“How long?” she asked softly, toying with a strawberry slice.

“Just this last year, really,” he admitted. “I mean, the whole mudblood-pureblood thing rather ceased to be an issue, and we were spending so much time together. You’re not that bad looking-”

“Thanks,” Hermione inserted dryly.

“- and you can be interesting to talk to occasionally.” He shrugged. “You’re the best of a bad lot, really.”

“Is that macho boy talk for ‘I reawy twuly luv woo’?” Hermione teased.

“Well, yeah,” Draco admitted uncomfortably. “I thought I’d already covered that bit.”

Hermione smiled. “Well, true, but I need to be able to tease you. I can’t exactly scream dark hatred at you any more, can I?”

“Well, I did save your life,” he pointed out. “By accident.”

“Ye-es,” Hermione smirked.

Draco poked a finger through a pineapple ring. “So…” he said slowly, “Wanna have sex?”

“What, here?” Hermione stared at him. “How much did you have to drink?” she demanded.

“Not too much,” he pouted, leaning casually against the table. Hermione poked him in the middle of his chest and he collapsed sideways on to the table, broom shooting across the room. “I got Jelly…” he trailed off.

“That’s nice,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

* * *

Hermione stumbled out of their bathroom the next morning to see a Regency spread laid out before her. Well, Malfoy lying starkers on a table decorated with all of the leftover Leavers Ball food. Some woman two or three centuries ago had once done it at a banquet to shock her guests and please her husband. Hermione could understand both the guests’ and the husband’s reaction.

“So?” he said. “I’m sober now.”

“Unfortunately so am I,” Hermione managed.

“Look at me,” Draco insisted. “I’m delicious.”

“In…deed,” Hermione gulped. Damn strawberries. She’s always had a weakness for strawberries. And he was so blatantly aware of that.

“You know, I never heard you return my sentiments last night,” he prompted.

“Well, I didn’t,” Hermione said awkwardly. There was a stupidly long silence. Damn. “I don’t,” she said, more firmly. And then there was an even longer, stupider silence.

“Would you…” Draco said eventually, trying to prop himself up on underused arms.

“No,” Hermione said firmly.

“Oh,” he said weakly, flopping back on to the table.

“Look,” Hermione said calmly, “just because I’m not in love with you, which I’m not sure I could ever be with someone who spent so many years making my life so miserable, doesn’t mean I don’t want to screw you.”

“Fuck,” Draco said. “The word is fuck. Come one, if you’re going to be forward at least swear a little.”

Hermione sniffed. “I’m doing my best. It’s seven o’clock in the morning. I’m not so much horny as hungry right now.”

Draco propped himself up on one elbow. “So eat,” he said smoothly.

Hermione undid her dressing gown and sat on the table in her nightgown. It was white and lacy and had once been kneelength and loose, back in the first year. Now it clung in the all the places she didn’t want it to and showed all the things she’d rather it hid. Draco seemed to appreciate the amount of leg she was flashing though.

She left the artfully arranged strawberries for last, no matter how tempting. Instead she began with the cream surrounding his nipples. It got some interesting sounds out of him. And then she picked the pineapple out of his hair, lying almost prone on top of him. She could feel strawberries moving beneath her. There’d be some interesting stains on her nighty tomorrow.

Thinking was hard when hands were roaming, and Hermione found herself making sounds she hadn’t associated with herself previously. Slight whines, soft moans and the occasional hiccupy squeak. While his legs were still mostly out of action, Draco’s hands worked just fine, thank you very much, and his fingers were particularly long and thin and nimble.

Hermione straddled him, propped up by one hand on either side of his head. She relaxed her neck and let her head fall, meeting his eyes through a damp veil of hair. Her nightgown was damp as well, and Draco was still moving his fingers down there. Was this going to be all about her?

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Can you…” she panicked.

Draco smirked. “That’s not a banana, sweetheart.”

Hermione grinned. “You wouldn’t still be here if you couldn’t get it up, would you?”

He pouted. “While yes, I’m a teenage boy, no, I’m not that sad. There’s more to life than sex.”

“Like strawberries,” Hermione purred, reaching down to a very warm area between them and retrieving a piece of the offending fruit, she fed it to a smiling Draco. They ground together for a little while longer, Hermione feeding the two of them from the remains of Draco’s display. He licked fruit juices of her finger and sucked and the soft skin between them. She could feel his teeth on tender flesh, but he never bit.

Hermione pulled back and sat up, wriggling out of her stained nightgown and dropping it on the floor. Draco took a deep breath. One tentative hand reached up, and Hermione watched as he nervously fondled one breast, eyes on hers, waiting for some sign of approval or rejection. Hermione offered him a coy smile, and his other hand came up as well. She hadn’t thought her naked body could have such a humbling affect. It made her hot and tight inside.

She moved back along the table, shuffling on her knees. Draco actually whimpered as she disappeared from his reach. She giggled slightly and looked down pointedly. Smeared with fruit juice and still half surrounded by bits of crushed strawberry, Draco’s penis stood. And Hermione had always liked strawberries.

Half the castle must have heard that first ecstatic moan. Hermione almost fell off of the table as Draco’s hips began to buck and thrust. Once the fruit juice was gone and Hermione could taste the salt of his skin she pulled her head back, making him gasp as cold air touched it. She pouted at him, which made him laugh.

“That expression wasn’t made for your face,” he told her. “I know, I‘ve been watching you closely enough for a long time now.”

“You never said anything,” Hermione sighed. She ran her finger down his chest, toying with the sweat-damped hair that trailed down it.

“What was I supposed to say? ‘Hi, Hermione, you know how I insulted you and bullied you for six years? Well, now I want to shag your socks off because I accidentally fell in love with you.’” He smirked, and reached up again to fondle her breasts now she was leaning close enough again.

“You know, just because I’m not wearing socks doesn’t mean we can’t shag,” Hermione laughed. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Draco said firmly. “All the required charms and everything.”

“I thought you couldn’t do charms,” Hermione said dubiously.

“Funnily enough, I mastered this one quite quickly,” Draco rolled his eyes. He reached out and managed to grab Hermione’s hips. He squeezed slightly, pressing his thumbs into the soft flesh. Carefully pulling her forwards he guided her slowly, leaving her time to adjust to this new presence inside her. When she tired of the excruciatingly slow pace she forced herself down, and Draco screamed silently.

Hermione concluded that she liked being on top, even if Draco complained afterwards about back ache. Hermione had control on top. Things could be Done Right. Not that she didn’t trust Draco to do them right, just that, well, who knew what his idea of right was?

“Love you,” Draco sighed, closing his eyes.

“I know,” Hermione smiled, shaking her head. Her stomach was hurting, but not from anything they’d done. Why was it so hard to say those words, even if it had to be a lie? Why was it so hard to feel anything at all? Every time he said that phrase she went into some kind of emotional paralysis, coasting through the conversation until he took it back or left her alone.

Untangling herself, she made for their bathroom. She had always blanched at the idea of sharing a bathroom with a boy, especially one without a lock, but after he saw her tampons stacked inside the cabinet for the first time he hadn’t bothered her. Well, until this time, when she was startled into a brief shriek as he stepped up behind her in the shower and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“You’re all sticky,” he informed her.

“That’s why I’m in the shower,” Hermione told him. “How did you get here?”

“Walked.” And Hermione could here the smugness in that voice.

“Don’t tell me sex cured your paralysis,” she said sceptically.

“Well, no,” Draco chuckled. “But it would be fun to let people think that.”

“I’d end up worked in St Mungo’s,” Hermione said. “The first medical prostitute. Do you want that?”

“God, no,” Draco held her tightly. “I don’t share my things.”

“Not a thing,” Hermione huffed.

“But still mine,” Draco smiled into her hair.

“Are you just waiting for me to say ‘I love you too’?” Hermione asked quietly.

Draco stiffened against her back and Hermione turned around in the loop of his arms. It was strange, being naked with someone else, especially when it wasn’t sexual. And it wasn’t, now, because both were too thoroughly satisfied to consider making any move. The last food stains were slipping from their bodies and being replaced with foam. Clean and pure again, like everything could be washed away that easily.

“Yes and no,” Draco said eventually. “By now people who don’t even know who we are know how I feel about you. Am I a bastard for wanting you to say it just so I don’t look like an idiot?”

“Yes,” Hermione said firmly, “but then, you’re Draco Malfoy, so I never really expected much else from you.”

“I want you to say it for other, proper reasons as well,” Draco frowned.

“Of course you do,” Hermione told him, “but I’m not going to say it for any of your reasons, proper or not.”

“Right,” Draco grinned wryly. “I’ll just be going then, shall I? Great sex, by the way. We should do it again some time.” He stepped out of the shower and snatched the Slytherin towel from the warm rail. Next to it hung the Gryffindor towel, and on an impulse he grabbed that too and wrapped it around his head. He could hear Hermione’s amused sigh as he stepped out of the steamy room.

“Malfoy,” Hermione called after him.

“You can’t have it back now,” he called back.

“I’ve got my reasons too.”

He paused just outside the door. “I’m sure you do,” he said sadly.

“I love you. For my reasons.”

He stood frozen in the doorway. Each second was a second longer he could savour the moment. Only when Hermione whipped her towel from his head and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek did the paralysis wear off for the final time.



End.

* * *

The following fic is in response to Fic Request #27 which stated the following conditions:

Rating(s) of the Fic: R to NC-17

3-5 Things to Include in the Fic:
1) SERIOUS injury to Draco or Hermione (preferably Draco) that can't be mended magically, or it can, but it is a lengthy process
2) 7th year at Hogwarts, post Voldie
3) Hermione and Draco are Head boy and girl and they share a dormitory/bathroom
4) Graphic Sex and playing with food
5) Declaration of love in front of entire school at the Graduation ball

What Not to Include:
1) Incest or slash
2) Evil Lucius
3) Jealous Harry or Ron
4) Death (injury is good...)
5) Female Blaise Zabini (male is okay)



* * *

Note: The D/Hr Valentine Master List has been updated to include the link for the following fic.