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“Did you see him at dinner? The way he bit into that peach was absolutely criminal.”
“No, I was too busy trying to catch Zabini’s eye. He’s ignored me all day, the wanker.”
Hermione let out a long suffering sigh and placed her quill down on the table. “Are you two quite finished? I thought we were studying.”
Across the other side of the library table, Ginny and Pansy turned their heads towards her. Their own work had been long forsaken for gossip, and Pansy was using her wand to file her nails, while Ginny lounged back almost horizontally in her chair.
“Come on, Hermione, we’ve been at this for ages now.” Ginny indicated the pile of books and parchment stacked between them. “Can’t we give it a rest and talk about something interesting?”
“I’ll have you know that I’m finding the life of Falco Aeson very interesting. Did you know he was the first recorded Animagus?”
Ginny groaned and dropped her head back into her seat. Pansy paused in the filing of her left pointer finger and regarded Hermione with a flat expression. “Wow, Granger, you sure know how to live.”
Hermione slammed her book closed. “Fine, I suppose I’ve gone as far as I can go today. What do you want to talk about?”
Which, as soon as the words left her mouth, Hermione knew was completely the wrong thing to say to these two witches. There was only one thing that they ever wanted to talk about.
Ginny bolted up straight, suddenly eager. “Well,” she announced. “I did what you said to do last night, Pansy, and didn’t even give him the time of day. I thought that meant he’d be all over me at breakfast, asking me why I didn’t meet him as usual, but he didn’t even look at me. He just sat there eating his toast.”
Pansy cocked her head and resumed her filing. “Just give him time. Blaise won’t want to be left with blue balls for two nights in a row.”
Hermione grimaced. “Not what I want to be thinking about; thank you very much.”
Ginny threw her head into her hands with an exaggerated wail. “Why has he got to be so fit! He didn’t have his robes on, and his sleeves were rolled up, and it was just so unfair!” She held her fists up to the sky and shook them in mock anger.
“Don’t,” Pansy sighed wistfully. “You can tell the warmer weather is coming because suddenly there are just bare forearms everywhere.”
Hermione laughed. “What are you on about? Bare forearms?”
Ginny dropped her fists, and both she and Pansy levelled her with a look that could only be described as incredulous.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never appreciated how good a guy looks when he rolls his sleeves up?” Pansy sighed, nail filing firmly abandoned. “Honestly, Granger, have you been walking around this school with your eyes closed?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re on about,” Hermione stated.
Ginny gaped at her. “Merlin, you’ve been missing out on a lot then.”
Hermione rolled her eyes at them. She was used to the teasing they gave her about her lack of a love life. The truth was, after the war and a misguided attempt at a summer romance with Ron, Hermione had just wanted to focus on her studies since returning to Hogwarts. Boys, and their sleeves, whether they be rolled up or down, just hadn’t been on her mind recently.
"Well, I never thought that something I’ve been missing out on was bare forearms,” she scoffed. “It’s not exactly a private part of the body, is it?”
Ginny's eyes glinted. "No, but it’s just the way in which it looks. Like, they’re ready for action, or, y’know, activities.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“Activities.” Hermione repeated, unconvinced.
“It just makes them instantly fitter,” Pansy added in. “Sort of... manlier, I guess. It’s just really fucking hot, ok?”
“You think rolled-up shirt sleeves look good?” Ginny fanned herself. “Just wait until you see rolled-up Quidditch jerseys. Honestly, when Wood was on the team, I could barely concentrate on the game.”
“I’m going to have to take your word for it, I guess,” Hermione replied, amused but still unsure if she’d even ever noticed this apparent phenomenon.
Suddenly, there was the sound of someone’s shoes on the library floor, and Draco Malfoy rounded the bookshelf. He was dressed in his white school shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, his hands pushed deep in his trousers pockets, with a small book tucked under his armpit. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed the three witches looking at him.
“Ladies,” he greeted, before his brows furrowed together in a slight frown at their unabashed stares. “Are you all okay?”
Pansy and Ginny swung their heads at Hermione in unison, wide grins stretching almost manically across their faces. Hermione shut her eyes wearily, knowing exactly what it was they were so happy about.
Draco’s sleeves were rolled, the fabric pushed up to his elbows.
It shouldn’t have felt any different. They were just sleeves, after all, but after all the talk on manliness and hotness and activities, it suddenly felt as if he was standing there naked, and Hermione opened her eyes as she felt her cheeks warm.
Draco’s gaze moved over to her, and he stepped forward until he was standing right by her side. “Granger?”
Hermione looked up at him, keeping her eyes firmly on his face. Puzzled grey eyes regarded her. “Mmm?” she replied, as casually as she could muster.
“I bought you this book back.”
One hand came out of his pocket to pull the book from under his opposite shoulder, his bicep flexing slightly under the white fabric of his shirt. He almost seemed to move in slow motion as his forearm, strong and sinewy, with a light dusting of very pale blond hair, stretched out directly in front of her face. Her gaze dropped to it as he placed the book on the table and then slowly withdrew back, returning the hand to his trouser pocket.
“Merlin,” she mumbled, and he blinked down at her.
“Pardon?”
“I… erm… thank you, Malfoy,” Hermione replied hastily. “For returning the book.”
He gave a curt nod at them all, and then, with one more confused glance back at Hermione, disappeared from the way in which he’d come.
Pansy and Ginny eyed her expectantly.
Hermione studiously ignored them and yanked her book back, flicking the pages open and returning to her work. “I have no idea what you’re on about,” she clipped, eyes firmly on the text. “Bare forearms, how silly.”
Ginny and Pansy gave each other a ridiculously amused look and then burst into peals of laughter.
___________________
The thing is, once they had been pointed out to her, Hermione couldn’t stop thinking about them.
Forearms.
Well, one certain wizard’s forearms in particular, that was.
The crux of the matter was, however, that since that day in the library, Draco’s sleeves had remained pointedly rolled down. This irked Hermione no end. How was she meant to resolve this silly matter about forearms in her mind if she didn’t have the full spectrum of evidence? The fact that she’d found it - found him - attractive, was something that would just not stop plaguing her thoughts. It just couldn’t be possible that something as simple as a rolled sleeve suddenly meant she found Draco Malfoy alluring, could it?
It wasn’t like she didn’t get along with Draco, per se. After she’d testified for him over the summer and he’d given her a concise apology, they’d started eighth year with a kind of grudging respect for each other. That was almost ten months ago, and their current relationship mainly involved simultaneously debating each other and rolling their eyes at their friends’ antics.
So, as a witch who liked to have the full, researched information available to her before she drew any sort of conclusion on a matter, Hermione decided to make a plan.
“I need your help,” she said as she sat down on the grass in front of the lake.
Pansy and Ginny were lying on their backs, side by side, school shirts shucked up to expose their stomachs and the hem of their skirts inched high up their bare legs.
“We’re sunbathing,” Pansy stated, eyes firmly closed behind a pair of sunglasses.
Hermione tutted. “It’s barely eighteen degrees. And Ginny, you know your complexion doesn’t do well in the sun.”
“A girl can dream,” Ginny sighed. She pushed herself up to her elbows and regarded the little notebook that Hermione had in her hands. “What’s that for?”
“I was thinking about what you said,” Hermione replied.
“About?”
“About forearms.”
Ginny bit back a laugh. “About all forearms, or someone’s particular forearms?”
Hermione waved her hand dismissively. “About all forearms, of course. About whether rolling up sleeves actually makes a person more attractive.”
Pansy groaned loudly. “Trust you to make this into something swotty.”
Hermione glared over at her. “It’s not swotty, thank you; it’s just science. You can’t just go around stating willy-nilly that someone rolling up their sleeves definitely makes them more appealing. A hypothesis like that needs to be studied, to be researched.”
“Willy what?” Pansy asked, flicking her sunglasses up, her eyes snapping open.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Focus.” She waved her wand over the first page of her notebook, produced an exact copy of the text, and handed it over to Pansy and Ginny.
“Granger, this looks very much like extra school work,” Pansy said through gritted teeth.
Ginny was frowning down at the paper. “Testable question,” she read out loud. “Does a male rolling up their sleeves increase their attractiveness?” She brought the paper closer to her face; her eyes narrowed as she tried to decipher something. “What’s that squiggly crossed-out bit before the word ‘male’? Does that say Malfoy?”
“Of course not,” Hermione whisked the paper back out from under Ginny’s nose and crumpled it in her fist. “Anyway, you don’t need that to be part of my research team.”
“How about if I don’t want to be part of your research team?” Pansy infact looked very much like she did not want to be part of any of this.
"Well, I’m afraid I’ve already factored you in. I’m only using a small number of girls from seventh and eighth year, and since you two are so convinced about this silly little thing, I thought you’d better be a part of it.”
“And how exactly are you planning on testing this out?” Ginny asked.
“It’s quite simple, really. We will gather a male with his sleeves rolled down to start with. We will give him a score on attractiveness, and then ask him to roll his sleeves up. We will then score his attractiveness again, and see the difference in the scores.”
Pansy burst out laughing at this. “This is hilarious. Fine, you’ve twisted my wand; I’ll be part of your swotty little study.” She sat upright, a big grin on her face. “Who’s our first victim?”
___________________
Neville audibly gulped at the line of witches sat expectantly on the sofas in front of where he stood in the middle of the common room.
Since slicing the head off a giant snake (and growing five inches and a beard), Neville had become some what of a reluctant heartthrob around school, so each girl was holding a small questionnaire, a quill, and an ardent look.
“Can you state your name, please?” Hermione called out from the middle of the group.
Neville coughed. “Erm, Neville. Neville Longbottom.”
The girls studiously copied this down on their paper.
“Hello there, Neville.” Pansy flashed a salacious wink.
Neville turned bright red. Hermione nudged Pansy with her elbow. “No flirting with the test subjects, please. I don’t want to bias the results.” She turned to the other girls. “Can you please write down your ‘before score’ in the box?”
The girls all complied, leaving Neville feeling very uncomfortable under their scrutiny.
She turned back to Neville and gave him an encouraging smile. “Okay, then, Neville, when you’re ready, please begin.”
Neville took a deep breath, readied himself, and grabbed at one of his shirt sleeves, unbuttoning it quickly. “Like, erm, this?” He made as if to shove the garment up his arm.
Hermione held out a hand. “Woah, steady, please, Neville. Not too fast.”
Neville blushed again. “Oh, sorry. I’m not really sure of the speed at which you want me to do this.”
“The terms and conditions were all written in your informed consent form.” Hermione sighed impatiently and waved a hand. “Anyway, just slowly, please.”
“Right, okay.” Neville took the unbuttoned sleeve, and while keeping an eye on Hermione to ensure he was complying with her rules on the speed of fabric folding, he slowly hiked it up his arm, baring his forearm inch by inch. He settled it firmly at his elbow, and then began on the other side.
“There!” He announced proudly, once his forearms were bared to the world, and ten heads dropped instantly to scribble their score down.
“Good job, Longbottom.” Pansy smiled coquettishly at him, and Neville shrugged, bashful.
“What in Merlin’s name is going on here, then?”
Theo Nott flung himself into an empty chair at the side of the group and grinned flirtatiously at the girls. One of the seventh years giggled and then smothered it back behind her questionnaire at Hermione’s reproachful look.
“We’re just doing some research.” Hermione looked down at her notebook. “In fact, you were next on my list.”
“This is yours, or rather, my lucky day, then.” Theo jumped to his feet and rubbed his hands together. “What do I have to do?”
Draco and Blaise ambled up to the group and stood idly by, watching the proceedings. Hermione, of course, didn’t make a mental note that Draco’s robes covered his full arms. Not at all.
Hermione quickly explained the expectations of joining in the study and produced a contract in the air, which Theo magically signed, and pointed towards the centre of the group. “Just there, please. Thank you for your co-operation, Neville.”
Neville dutifully shuffled off to the side, and Theo shucked off his outer robes before bounding into the vacated space. He stated his full name, artfully mussed up his short, brown curls, and shot a heated look at the eager audience, who wasted no time in jotting down their ‘before score’. His hand went to his cuff and then paused. “Hold on, we’re missing something.”
He pulled his wand out of his back pocket and muttered something. Music came from nowhere, surrounding the group with its low, sensual beat. “Perfect.”
It had to be said, Theo was much better at rolling sleeves than Neville. He took his time, graceful fingers flicking open the button and delicately peeling back the fabric, hips swaying rhythmically to the music. Hermione wondered if he practised this in his spare time.
Time stopped still. The audience held their breath. Theo finished his second sleeve and held out his arms with a flourish and a provocative wink. Hermione blinked.
To her left, Draco gave a sharp wave of his wand, and the music stopped with a screech. Hermione was snapped back into the room and gave a quick cough. “Great, erm, thanks, Theo.”
Theo gave a theatrical bow as the girls scribbled down their ‘after score’. “I’m not really sure how I could score much higher, to be honest. I’m obviously fit with or without rolled sleeves.” He paused for a second. “In fact, would it help if I took off my shirt?”
“Yes!” shouted an indistinguishable number of voices, at the same time as Hermione and Draco said, “No!”
“Your turn, Blaise!” Pansy trilled.
Blaise glanced over at Ginny, who gave a rather good impression of disinterest, refusing to meet his eyes.
Blaise shrugged nonchalantly, signed Hermione’s consent form, and wandered into the middle, lightly shoving Theo out the way with his shoulder. Theo dropped into the middle of the sofa, practically sitting on some girl’s lap, and grabbed at her questionnaire. He penned his own ‘before score’ and waggled his eyebrows at Blaise.
Hermione had always thought that Blaise Zabini was the epitome of laziness. Everything he did, he did with an air of indolence, like everything was just too much effort for him to fully commit. This, too, apparently extended to sleeve rolling. Hermione was reminded of a sloth as Blaise gradually shucked up his shirt sleeves with a yawn. Hermione didn’t see the appeal, but Ginny seemed to enjoy the show as she leaned forward to take a better look.
“Draco, you next,” Pansy called as Blaise finished up and headed out of the circle.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Ginny snap a look towards her, but she paid her friend no attention.
Draco scoffed. “I will not be participating in this ridiculous experiment.”
Hermione frowned. How was she meant to form a solid conclusion if the person who had her questioning everything all along wouldn’t take part? She felt herself growing annoyed and glared over at him. “It’s really not that hard, Malfoy; surely you can manage rolling up a sleeve. You do know how to dress yourself, don’t you?”
Draco flashed her a look. “I know perfectly well how to dress myself, thank you, Granger. If you want to see how I do it, that’s something we can certainly undertake privately.”
Hermione felt her face flame and heard Ginny’s squeak of excited surprise. “That’s not necessary for the research,” she replied quickly. “Just a quick rolled sleeve, if you may.”
“Come on, Draco,” Theo called out from between the girls. “Get those ghostly forearms of yours out.”
Draco leaned against the back of the chair and looked increasingly bored. “No, thank you.”
Hermione threw her hands in the air. “I should’ve known that you would do anything you could to butcher my research,” she scowled. “Fine, we don’t need you anyway; you may go and find someone else to bother.”
Draco smirked. “But it’s such fun bothering you.”
Hermione jumped to her feet. “Well then I’ll just go elsewhere. Consider today’s research over.”
She went along the line of girls and collected their papers, ignoring their disappointed groans of protest. She tucked it all under her arm and, without gratifying Draco with another word, stomped out of the common room.
She ignored the delighted chuckle from Draco as she went.
___________________
Over the next two weeks, Hermione researched with gusto. She worked her way through the rest of the seventh and eighth year cohort, with only a few reluctant participants who were soon corralled into joining by one of Ginny, Pansy, or Theo (who had decided that it was unfair to have a whole female testing team and had appointed himself the sole male representative because he was, quote, “someone who enjoys any and every gender”).
And, even though they took great delight in calling her “absolutely mental", she encouraged Harry and Ron to take part, getting them to stick their arms through the Floo during a recent call. Hermione wasn’t sure how she felt about the fact that Ron’s attractiveness had jumped up two points on her scale once he’d rolled his sleeve, but she tried to put the thought out of her mind as best she could.
Hermione also thought to branch out her research and decided to test the variable of age, meaning she needed to ask various members of the faculty team to assist. Hagrid, who would do anything for Hermione, gladly obliged, and stood outside in the sunshine, surrounded by a semi-circle of girls, as they all watched him roll up his sleeves. Even Flitwick got involved, chasing Hermione around school, saying he had heard about her research and was willing to show her his forearms there and then.
The only snag was Draco Malfoy.
He still resisted, of course, and seemed to relish every time he could say “no” to either Pansy, Ginny, or Theo. Hermione herself refused to give Draco the satisfaction of being able to reject her pleas, so she instead decided that if he refused to join in their experiment, then she would just have to find an alternative method to collect his data.
First, she decided to try her luck in the Potions classroom.
Now, there were three reasons why Hermione was very confident that Draco would be absentmindedly rolling his long shirt sleeves up by the lesson's end:
1. It was a well-known fact that brewing over fire in the dungeons meant that the temperature of the classroom often inched higher and higher as the day progressed.
2. Eighth year Potions was the last lesson of the day on Tuesdays, and it had been a particularly balmy few days.
3. It was now standard safety practice to remove outer robes before brewing, due to a pre-war incident where a third year’s flowing sleeve had accidentally dipped into his Wideye Potion, causing a whole host of chaos as it splattered into the faces of the other students. This meant that Draco would be clad only in his school shirt, with little option but to roll his sleeves as a means to cool down.
And, so, Hermione was in a very happy mood for the whole lesson, humming casually to herself as she brewed her Mandrake Restorative Draught, knowing it was only a matter of time before she would be adding to her evidence.
Much to her delight, as the lesson progressed, Draco seemed to be having a torrid time. His cheeks were tinging pink, and he kept pushing back his hair frustratedly as he leant over his cauldron. Small beads of sweat began to gather on his brow, and he cast a cooling charm over himself, but it seemed to have little effect.
Hermione practically skipped past him on her way to the store cupboard, sending him a beaming smile, which he returned with a grimace.
She collected up her ingredients and turned to leave the cupboard, almost smacking straight into Draco as he stood looming in the doorway.
“You ok there, Malfoy?” she asked him, acting as if she were very concerned for his welfare.
Draco subtly wiped off his forehead with the back of his hand and gave her a little shrug. “I’m feeling absolutely fine; why do you ask?”
“Oh, you’re just looking a little warm, is all.” Hermione mused, tapping a finger on her chin.
“Me, warm?” Draco scoffed. “Malfoy’s run rather cold, I’ll have you know.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to do something to cool yourself down?” She reached up and placed the back of her hand on his forehead, causing him to jolt. “You do feel rather hot.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed on her for a brief moment of inspection, and she ripped her hand away from him. He took a step towards her. “I know what your game is here, Granger.”
Hermione gave a light laugh, which she hoped conveyed some sort of innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Another small step forward, and they were toe-to-toe. Draco looked down at her, his face flashing into a grin. “Now that you mention it, I am starting to feel slightly warm.”
Slowly, he moved both his hands up to the knot of his green and silver Slytherin tie and began to unknot it. Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off of his fingers as they deftly unravelled the tie and pulled it through his collar and off. He then moved to the top button of his collar, threading it back through the loop and popping it open.
Hermione swallowed, feeling like she had her own knot tied inside her throat.
The corner of Draco’s mouth lifted as he opened the second button, and the smooth expanse of his throat started to peek past the white cotton. “Are you ok there, Granger? Looking a little warm yourself.”
A third button was opened, and for a moment, Hermione thought he was going to continue on the path all the way down. An image of Draco with his lithe body bared to her through his open shirt flashed through her mind, and she shifted on the spot.
“Yes,” she said faintly. “I’m fine.”
Draco wafted the collar of his shirt, his eyes never leaving hers. His hand moved to reach out towards her when there was a sudden movement behind him, and he dropped it quickly.
“Out the way, you two, stop clogging up the door.” Theo shouldered past Draco, who was knocked back out of the doorway and into the classroom.
Hermione whirled around, scrabbling through the phials as if she were searching for something in particular and hiding her heated face from Theo’s prying eye. When she walked back out into the classroom, arms full of random ingredients she didn’t really need, Draco gave her a sarcastic wave from his own cauldron.
She shot him a glare and deigned to reply.
___________________
Frustratingly, Ginny turned out to be absolutely correct about one thing:
Quidditch was a goldmine of forearms.
Which meant that Hermione needed to add another variable to her experiment, that of clothing choice. Did it matter if a male was wearing a school shirt or a Quidditch jersey? Did the type of clothing change the before and after scores? In fact, Hermione had so many questions running through her head that she was starting to wonder if she could submit this experiment as extra credit towards her NEWTs, seeing as it was taking up so much of her time.
Not that any of these variables mattered, however, when Draco still refused to be a part of any of them.
Hermione sat on the edge of the Quidditch pitch, watching as the eighth years messed around playing. There weren't enough of them to be able to do an inter-house competition, so they tended to all join in together and just play for fun. Pansy was beside her, using her wand to test out different nail colours and completely ignoring anything sports related happening around them. Ginny was in the air, apparently choosing flirtation by way of batting a Bludger in Blaise’s direction as her activity for the afternoon.
“Hey, Granger!” It was Theo, hovering on his broom a few feet above them. He held out an arm and indicated his long sleeve. “I’m about to roll this up, want to score me?”
Theo had become obsessed with seeing what item of clothing increased his attractiveness according to the experiment, constantly encouraging everyone to “score him” as he paraded around in different shirts. He’d even strutted around in a dress of Pansy’s, forcing everyone to “score him” before and after he’d rolled the long sleeves of the evening gown up (although this had come to an abrupt end when Draco had scored him a lower ‘after score’ and Theo called him a “pompous pale pygmy puff” in return).
“Fuck off, Theo!” Pansy shouted, not even looking up from where she was changing her nails from a dark blue to a fuschia pink. She still hadn’t forgiven him for stretching said dress the previous evening.
Theo floated away, pouting, and Hermione turned her attention to where Draco was looping in and around the other players. His face was bright and beautiful, mouth etched in a permanent smile as he weaved his way around the pitch. Hermione drank him in, entranced by how carefree and happy he seemed.
“Score him,” Pansy said, following her line of sight.
Hermione flustered. “I am not going to just score him when he doesn’t even know about it. That seems very problematic.”
“Don’t worry, I think I guessed your score just from the look on your face,” Pansy grinned. “You could just tell him, you know.”
“Tell him what?”
“That you’re doing this swotty little experiment so that you can try and prove something in that big brain of yours. I mean, Merlin forbid you just admit you like him.”
“That’s not what’s going on at all!”
Pansy waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, it’s all for silence, whatever.”
“Science,” Hermione hissed, her voice dropping as the others started landing nearby, game finished. “It’s all for science.”
Pansy looked like she was mentally rolling her eyeballs to the very back of her head. “Sure.” She climbed to her feet and joined the others in walking back towards the castle.
Hermione stood and dusted the grass off of her skirt before realising that Draco was the only one left behind her. His back was turned as he used his wand to whisk the balls back into a large bag.
He switched to levitate the bag and, as he did so, absentmindedly pushed the long sleeve of his Quidditch jersey up his wand arm. Hermione gripped her little notebook for dear life.
He turned, bare forearm outstretched as he pointed his wand towards the bag, eyes widening as he realised she was standing there and exactly where her own eyes were zeroed in on.
“Ha!” she cried triumphantly.
He tumbled the sleeve down, the bag thudded to the floor, and the Quidditch balls rolled out on the grass around them.
“I saw it!”
He looked furious.
Hermione flung the notebook open, but he was quicker, launching towards her in two big strides to pluck it out of her hand. “Give me that back!”
“Absolutely not.” He held it up in the air, moving backwards out of her reach.
“Malfoy!” Now she was furious. She scrambled after him, arms outstretched.
“You are not scoring this; it doesn’t count.”
“Give me my notebook back this instance!”
She was practically climbing him, one hand on his shoulder, as she tried to push herself on her tip-toes to grab at the book. The arm of his not waving about in the air came to rest at her hip to steady them, fingers digging into her skin as he held her back.
He laughed down at how annoyed she looked; her protests only meant he pushed on to the balls of his feet, inching the notebook further away from her.
“You couldn’t possibly use this as any sort of data; it would go completely against the rules of the experiment.”
“Don’t pretend you care about my data now, you insufferable prat.” Hermione grit her teeth and pushed hard on his shoulder as she made a jump for the notebook.
Draco’s hand slid further around her back as she almost knocked them both over, causing them to press against each other, chest to chest. The huff of his laugh tickled the shell of her ear as she continued to jump, and she tried with all her might not to shiver in his arms.
“You didn’t do a ‘before score’,” he pointed out. “The data would be skewed. Plus, I only had one sleeve pushed up, and you were the only tester. It doesn’t count.”
Hermione mourned the fact that she should have gone along with Pansy’s earlier insistence that she randomly score him.
This, and the fact that he was aggravatingly right about everything, encouraged her to try one last time to jump as high as she could to get that stupid notebook.
She pushed up in the circle of his arm, and he wobbled unsteadily, his legs catching on the discarded Quidditch ball bag. Before either of them could stop it, the momentum carried them both backwards over the top of the bag, and Draco’s back hit the ground with a thump.
“Fuck.” He grimaced, his head going back on to the grass.
Seizing her chance, Hermione scrambled up his body from where she had landed on his chest and snatched the book back out of his hand. It was then that she realised just what position they were in. Her legs were straddling his hips while she had bent forward, bringing their faces exceedingly close together.
He opened his eyes and blinked at her, running his gaze over her face. His pale hair flopped over his face, and her fingers itched at his shoulder to push it away.
“Fine,” she said. “I won’t score you this time, but only because you’d be bad for my data.” She went to move away, but a hand ran up her back to the bottom of her shoulder blades, keeping her firmly in place.
Then, he kissed her.
She was shocked at first, giving a little squeak of surprise as his mouth met hers. It was firm and almost determined, as if he were trying to prove something. She snapped her eyes shut and relaxed into it, relaxed into him, gripping his jersey across the front of his shoulders.
He smoothed his hands over her back before moving one into her hair, grasping at her as she opened her mouth above his and allowed him to deepen the kiss.
She shifted over him, knees sinking into the grass, when it hit her with the force of an Erumpent stampede that she was snogging Draco Malfoy in the middle of the Quidditch pitch.
She tore her mouth away with a gasp, pitching over the side of him so that she slid off of his body and onto the field. Her mouth felt numb, and she couldn’t help but run her fingers over her lips as he too bolted upright.
They sat in silence for a brief moment, looking almost incredulously at each other, before Hermione gave herself a mental shake and jumped to her feet. “You’ll take part properly for me, then?”
Draco’s face blanked, and he gave a hollow laugh as he stood up. “You’re joking. You’re still carrying on with that?”
“I still have evidence to collect.”
“Granger, we just kissed for Merlin’s sake.” He gave her a look that suggested he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her level of stupidity.
“Yes, and it was… erm - ,” she paused. “ - nice -“
“Nice!” he spluttered.
“- but I still have other variables to consider and a hypothesis to conclude.”
Draco threw his arms up in the air and shook his head. “This is mental.”
She gave an indignant snort. “Are you going to roll your sleeves up or not, Malfoy?”
He picked his wand up from the floor, sending the balls flying back into the bag at their feet. Hermione jolted as a Quaffle almost took out her ankles. With a sharp whisk of his wand, a knot was tied in the drawstring, and the bag pitched up into the air.
“No,” he said adamantly. “I am not.”
And with that, he strode away, the bag bumping Hermione abruptly on the shoulder as they passed.
___________________
Infuriatingly, Draco’s shirt sleeves stayed firmly rolled down for the rest of the week, and he seemed to take great enjoyment in stretching out his cotton clad arms whenever he spotted Hermione, just to really hammer home the point.
“Do you think it’s a Dark Mark thing?” She asked Ginny and Pansy one evening as they slouched on the common room sofas. The thought had suddenly occurred to her, and she felt a mild sense of panic that she’d been harassing Draco to show off something that he probably liked to keep hidden for very traumatic reasons.
Ginny followed Hermione’s gaze over to where the Slytherin boys were occupying their own little set of sofas across the room. Draco’s arm was outstretched as he absentmindedly twirled his wand around in his fingers and laughed at something Theo was saying. “Is what a Dark Mark thing?”
“Malfoy’s refusal to roll up his sleeves.”
Pansy snorted. “I think it’s more a Flirting With Granger thing.”
Hermione snapped her eyes over to her. “What? That’s not what’s happening.”
Ginny joined in with the laughter, then. “Sure.”
“You don’t think that he doesn’t want to join in the research because of his Dark Mark then?” Hermione ploughed on, determined to ignore whatever strange point her friends were trying to make.
Pansy shook her head, turning serious. “No, not at all. He normally rolls his sleeves up all the time; we’ve all seen that mark a hundred times over the last few months, haven’t we?”
Hermione considered this for a moment and then realised that yes, it used to be something Draco did quite regularly until she’d actually requested that he roll his sleeves up. Even that day in the library, when all of this was first discussed, he’d passed her the book back with bare forearms.
Satisfied that she wasn’t actually forcing Draco into some sort of distressing act, she gestured at the evidence they had already compiled. “I feel he’s the last piece of the puzzle. I can’t form a solid conclusion until he’s been tested.”
Pansy gave her one of her trademark wicked grins. “I may have just the place to solve that.”
___________________
Hermione paused outside of the Prefect bathroom, wondering what in Merlin’s name she thought she was doing.
“Get in there!” Ginny hissed at her.
Hermione attempted to dig her heels into the flagstones, but it was no use, as for a small girl, Ginny Weasley was deceptively powerful. She used her Chaser strength to strong arm Hermione through the door and into the bathroom.
Draco turned around from the sink he was standing at, casting her a weary eye.
Hermione gripped her little notebook as she realised his shirt was completely unbuttoned, hanging open, and that he looked nothing like what she had imagined previously.
No, he looked better.
Hermione couldn’t stop herself from openly staring at him. He had come back from last summer thin, almost scrawny, but now, all these months later, that lithe Seeker’s body he’d sported during sixth year had made a reappearance.
His chest was lean, the porcelain skin stretching over the hard planes of his stomach. From the hollow of his throat, a jagged scar dashed diagonally across his body, and her eyes tracked its path where it disappeared over the curve of his hip and dipped under the waistband of his trousers.
He stared back at her, and her legs carried her forward before she even realised what was happening. What was it that Pansy had said she should do? Oh yes - “be calm and confident and demand that he does what you want”.
Hermione cleared her throat. “I need you to take part in my research.”
He smirked at her. “You know, I’ve decided to pose a question and do my own research.”
She frowned. “And what might that be?”
“Does a girl unbuttoning her shirt make her more attractive?” He said casually.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” She snapped at him. “How… perverted of you. Are you going to go around asking girls to take their tops off for you?”
“Says the one who is marching around school, trapping people in cupboards and bathrooms, and asking them to undress.”
She let out a frustrated scoff. “I did not trap you in any cupboard. If anything, you trapped me in there. And I’m not asking you to undress, there is absolutely no piece of clothing that needs to be removed for my research whatsoever.”
“Pity,” he muttered.
Hermione wasn’t sure she’d ever been so annoyed with him. “Stop being so obstinate and just roll your bloody sleeves up, Malfoy!”
“I’ll take part in your research if you take part in mine,” he replied, nonchalantly leaning back on one of the sinks.
“Fine, you know what? You win,” she seethed, throwing her notebook on the floor and bringing her hands up to scramble at the collar of her blouse. “You pompous arsehole, here’s your research!” She made quick work of the buttons and snapped her shirt open.
It wasn’t until she looked back up at him that she fully realised what she had done. Her shirt hung open, giving Draco a full show of her light pink bra. He barely blinked, his eyes firmly fixed on where her chest was heaving slightly from anger.
Hermione gave herself a mental shake. “Your turn.”
“Pick the notebook up, Granger.”
She wasn’t expecting that. “What?”
He motioned to where the notebook had been disregarded on the tiles. “If I know you at all, you’ll want to do this properly, won’t you? You need to do your ‘before score’.”
Oh. He had a point. She wanted the data to be conclusive, after all. She scooped the notebook up quickly, untucked the Muggle pen from inside it, and hovered the nib over the page. She paused, uncertain, suddenly.
She looked back up at Draco, who outstretched his arms as if giving her a full show. The pale skin of his chest almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the room.
“Score me, Granger.”
She took a deep breath and scribbled down the only score she could possibly give him. Then she snapped the notebook shut.
“Come closer,” he said, voice low.
She stepped towards him. He straightened from his lounge on the sink and took the cuff of one of his shirt sleeves in hand. Slowly, and without breaking their eye contact, he flicked the button through the cuff and then carefully folded it at the seam.
Hermione was the first to break, her eyes flitting down to where the black ink of his Dark Mark was gradually being revealed with each fold. Once the entire skull was exposed, he repeated the motion on the other side, snapping back the fabric until both forearms were bare.
Hermione greedily tracked every single movement, drinking in how indecent he looked with the combination of shirt hanging open and sleeves rolled up. There was silence in the bathroom as the two of them scrutinised each other.
He reached forward with one hand, his palm sliding over her jaw and into the curls at the side of her head. He tugged at her gently, using his hand to guide her forward. One tiny step, and she had no option but to brace herself on his bare chest, hands palming over his warm, pale skin.
“Don’t forget your after score,” he murmured, and then, with one more light tug, his mouth was meeting hers.
Hermione didn’t think she’d ever been kissed so decisively, as he certainly wasn’t holding anything back. His hand flexed in her curls, the other gliding under and up her loose blouse to splay across the bare skin of her back. She opened her mouth under his, and he deepened it immediately, wrenching from her a muffled groan that ordinarily would’ve embarrassed the hell out of her.
She scraped her nails lightly across his chest, outlining the scars that twisted over his skin, and in return, he ran the hand from her back around her side and up, smoothing it over the top of her bra. His fingers dipped inside the cups, twisting over her nipples, and she pressed further into him.
He spun her, then, pressing her against the lip of the sink. It dug into her lower back, but she barely noticed, so caught up in how Draco was kissing her almost devoutly, like they had all the time in the world.
He dropped his mouth to her neck, pressing searing kisses along the column of her throat, and she tipped her head back with a gasp. She could feel the hard length of him pressing against her thigh, and she widened her legs slightly so that he lined up with her centre.
“Fuck, Granger,” he cursed into her skin, pressing harder against her.
Hermione gasped at the feel of him. His hand ran up the inside of her thigh, pushing at her skirt.
“Do you want me to do this?” He asked between kisses, clever fingers following the edge of her underwear.
“Yes,” she breathed, and he wasted no time in sinking his fingers inside and straight over her core.
Hermione felt like she’d burst into flames. His fingers swirled rhythmically against her, and she scrabbled at the button on his trousers, wanting to feel him in her hands. She inched inside, revelling in the noise he made when she slid her hand up and down his length.
He cursed again, moving his hand to seek out what she liked. He watched her face, and it felt so intimate that she wanted to turn away and bury her head in his shoulder. Instead, she pushed to kiss him again as his fingers slid inside of her.
They became desperate, pushing and pulling, their hips rolling and fingers working, coaxing gasps and moans from each other. Hermione felt the pressure build low in her stomach, and all it took was the added few flicks of his thumb to send her careening over the edge. She shuddered against him, and he held her tightly through her release as she gripped her hands over him, until he was meeting his own all over her hands and skirt.
They stood stock still for a minute, almost shocked at what had happened. Hermione could only hear their ragged breathing in the echoing chamber of the bathroom, and she quickly whispered a cleaning charm over them both, vanishing any evidence of the event.
Draco stepped back, giving her some room, and she pushed away from the sink, wincing slightly at the soreness in her back. She felt awkward, and quickly buttoned her blouse back up and righted her skirt, eyes away from where he was also straightening out his clothes.
He spoke first. “You got what you came for, then?”
Well. She blinked at him, uncertain if he meant the orgasm.
He held his arms out. “Your research.”
“Oh, yes,” She gave a light chuckle, trying to act confident. “I guess I can write my conclusion now, and we can write this off as an experiment that got carried away.”
She regretted it as soon as it came out of her mouth.
It was his turn to look confused for a second, but his face quickly masked it and morphed into one of those cool and casual Draco Malfoy looks that she was so used to seeing on him when he bantered with her.
“It was the point of the test,” Hermione said, unsure if it was herself or Draco that she was trying to convince. “To see if rolling up sleeves made somebody more attractive, and obviously,” she gestured a hand towards him, “it did make you seem more attractive to me.”
He nodded slowly. “Right. Same. I mean, with my research, of course.”
“Right. It’s just science, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he agreed, fixing his gaze somewhere over her left shoulder, unable to meet her eyes any longer. “Just science.”
___________________
“- and then that’s when we kissed.”
Hermione paced up and down in front of Pansy and Ginny, who were sitting cross-legged on Hermione’s bed, surrounded by all the paperwork from her research. They both let out a squeal of delight at her words.
“And?” Pansy pressed.
“And then... activities.”
Ginny screamed, and Pansy clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Wow,” Ginny looked triumphant. “You and Malfoy.”
“No.” Hermione held a hand up as she paced. “There is no me and Malfoy.”
Pansy frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we just chalked it up to getting carried away with the experiment and agreed to forget about it and move on.”
“Those were his words?” Pansy asked, brow furrowing in disbelief.
“Not exactly, but that’s what he meant.”
“And what did you say?”
Hermione threw her hands in the air. “That obviously I only acted like that because of his rolled sleeves and bare sodding forearms.”
Pansy and Ginny glanced at each other before turning back to Hermione.
“And that’s what you believe?” Pansy replied.
“Yes, of course it’s what I believe; it’s science; it has to be! There’s simply no other explanation.” Hermione halted her pacing and jabbed her finger down at the paperwork. “That’s the only reason I find Malfoy attractive; it’s in the data!”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Is it? What was your ‘before score’ for Malfoy? I couldn’t see it written down anywhere.”
“I decided to disregard Malfoy’s data, as obviously it wasn’t a fair test. Far too many different variables, you know, the location, the single tester, the fact that he already had his shirt wide open—they all will have had an impact on the result.”
Nothing got past Ginny Weasley. She repeated, “The score, Hermione,” through gritted teeth.
Hermione winced and then sighed at Ginny’s expectant look. She opened her mouth to speak, snapped her jaw shut, and then tried again. “I gave him a ten.” She said quietly.
Ginny’s eyebrows couldn’t reach further up her forehead if they tried. “Ok. And what was the after score?”
“Well, see, this is the failing in the scoring system that actually, the highest possible score on the scale is ten.”
Ginny implored her with a look that suggested she’d never known Hermione to be so stupid, and she jumped off the bed to stand. “So, let’s get this straight. Before he rolled his sleeves up, you had already given him a ten on the scale of attractiveness.”
Hermione bit her lip and gave an infinitesimal nod.
“And then, after he rolled his sleeves up, you gave him another ten for attractiveness.”
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and nodded again.
Ginny’s arm movements were getting bigger and bigger. “So, we could conclude from this that Malfoy rolling his sleeves doesn’t actually make him any more attractive to you, because he is already at the top end of the scale of attractiveness for you.”
“Sounds about right,” Hermione replied weakly.
“So,” Ginny continued. “We could say that the science quite obviously points to one thing.”
“Yes,” Hermione concluded, putting her head into her hands. “That I’ve been an absolute idiot.”
___________________
The next evening, Hermione stood nervously in the common room, surrounded by the seventh and eighth years that had taken part in her research. They seemed quite upset, actually, when she told them that they no longer needed to continue with the experiment, and that she had collected all the data she needed to form a solid conclusion.
Her eyes twitched over to the set of sofas next along, where Draco was sitting with Theo and Blaise, and she saw him shift his head a little in their direction at the sound of her voice.
“So, it appears,” Hermione called out, “That the data does show that the scale of attractiveness can be improved by someone rolling their sleeves up. However, it was also quite clear that if the tester already found someone very attractive, then them rolling their sleeves up in the prefect’s bathroom - just for example - couldn’t possibly improve that person’s attractiveness score any more.”
Draco’s stare whipped straight towards her.
“But, saying that,” she announced, her voice rising over the din of the room. “I think I’ve got a new experiment to try out. It’s actually to do with kissing.”
Straight away Theo, who had not hidden the fact that he was listening in, tossed himself over the back of the sofa.
“Kissing, you say? Perfect.” He flashed them a wink.
“Well, it’s actually about kissing me,” Hermione said, biting back a smile.
Theo made a show of doing a few stretches as if warming up. “Say no more, Granger; I’m here for whatever you need.”
“Sit the fuck down, Theo,” Draco grumbled, shoving him firmly out of the way. He turned to Hermione. “Granger, please, stop with these bloody experiments, I beg you.”
“But you haven’t heard what my testable question is.”
“No, stop; I don’t want to know. I just want this absolute madness to be finished with,” he groaned, running fingers through his hair. “Kissing, for Merlin’s sake.”
“Draco,” Pansy snapped. “Just let her finish the fucking question.”
Hermione looked at him hopefully, and he sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. “Fine, what’s the bloody question?”
Hermione reached down to the small coffee table and rifled around in the paperwork. Pulling out her notebook, she rummaged through it until she found what she was looking for. She cleared her throat, looked straight at Draco, and said “What would Draco Malfoy do if I asked him to kiss me?”
Twelve pairs of eyes shot around to land on Draco, who looked like he had been completely thrown a loop. “That’s your question?”
She nodded firmly. “That’s my question.”
He threw his head back and laughed, then, striding towards her in a few quick steps, said, “You’re absolutely insane; you know that, right?”
“Is that your answer, Malfoy?”
“Ask me again.”
“What would Draco Malfoy do if I asked him to kiss me?” She repeated, the anticipation starting to make her head feel light.
Draco moved one hand to the cuff of his long sleeve, snapping the button through its hole. “He would roll up his sleeves,” he said. “And say yes. Always yes.”
He shoved up his sleeves, not even caring to fold the fabric in any sort of dignified way. Then, in the middle of their friends, surrounded by piles of scientific research, he took Hermione by the hand and tugged her into him, catching her mouth with his own.
Yes, Hermione thought, hands grasping at him firmly and tongue sliding against his. There was one thing she was right about - it was definitely science.
It was chemistry.
