Hermione learns

The Hufflepuff girl tugged Draco's sleeve, "Draco, what's going on. Who is this?"

Draco sniggered violently, while Hermione stood in shock and horror, frozen with fear and shame.

"This is Potter's favorite, Marcie, Hermione Granger. A little less pristine than we had all been led to believe, but what do you expect from a mudblood."

The girl, Marcie, started giggling, "A mudblood? What's she doing here? You said you had a stash of treats here."

Draco couldn't take his eyes off the budding curves of Hermione's exposed skin, "I had no idea."

Regaining her senses for a moment, Hermione stepped back and tried to slam the door shut, but some **** held it open. Nothing she could do would budge it, and the effort brought a stifled cackle from Malfoy.

"You're in Slitheryn territory now, Granger. We always get right of way down here."

"Get out of here Malfoy," Hermione stammered, "I'll tell McGonnegal."

"In that getup? I don't think so." Marcie was tugging at Malfoy's robes, "Draco, we'd better go."

Draco didn't look away from Hermione for a second, "Go then. I'm going to have some fun." Grinning he advanced on Hermione, who retreated, terrified into the room.

"Draco." Malfoy turned on the small second year, "Stay or go. It's your choice. Come on. We can have fun with the smartest girl in school." Hermione barked, "Draco, I'm warning you." Draco turned back to Hermione, his eyes aglow, his words like honey, "Why don't you have a seat on the bed, and I'll light a fire."

Like a mist had fallen over her, Hermione found her willpower slipping. It seemed the most comfortable thing in the world, that luxurious bed. She felt the edges of a smile creeping onto her lips, and she turned, and took a step towards the bed. But she felt something wrong. She knew there was something going on in her head, but a fire sounded so good, and that bed looked so inviting. A hand touched her, just above the hip, on the open flesh under the corset,

"It's all right, Hermione," she heard Draco's honey voice in her ear, his hot breath on her neck, his hand sliding down, slipping easily under the gauzy fabric that covered her backside, fingertips running along the curve of her cheek, "You're not half bad for a mudblood."

But the veil seemed to shatter over her. Suddenly she realized what was happening, a suggestion spell, a trigger word, or phrase, not true mind-control, just enough to influence. Professor Moody had taught them how to fight this.