Author: Meltha
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Yes, thank you. Meltha
Spoilers: None really
Distribution: Fanfiction.net and the Bunny Warren. If you're interested, please let me know.
Summary: Draco and Hermione are at the pub when he suddenly gets An Idea.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by J.K. Rowling, a wonderfully creative author whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Author Note: Written for challenge 11, round 3 of Dramione_ldws. This required a mistaken judgement, Draco in a wet shirt, and no more than 499 words.

Just a Little Wager

“I most certainly will not!”

Hermione felt her face turning bright red as Draco grinned at her.

“Why not?” he taunted her.

“You’ve got to be joking!” Hermione said loudly.

“Half the bar is already staring at you after that outburst,” Draco said, chuckling. “I don’t see the difference.”

“It’s a wet t-shirt contest,” she said with disgust. “They’re the epitome of chauvinistic male fantasies.”

Hermione glared at the men hooting enthusiastically at a twenty-something blonde prancing across the top of the bar and wearing a soaked pink shirt.

“Pigs,” she sniffed.

“You think they’re reacting like that only because they’re male?” he asked.

“Women wouldn’t be shrieking their lungs hoarse over some bloke in a wet button-down,” she said.

“You,” he said, smiling wickedly, “are prejudiced. I think I’ll have to disprove your theory with a little wager.”

“What are the terms?” she asked suspiciously.

“If I prove women can turn into salivating, animalistic, blithering idiots too, you’ll put on your own little show,” he said.

“And if they don’t?” she said, folding her arms defiantly.

“I’ll do anything you want,” he said, then repeated with heavy emphasis, “anything.”

Hermione knew she was asking for trouble, but that last word crumbled her self-control.

“Fine,” she said, and he turned abruptly, walking towards the bar.

“He wouldn’t,” she murmured, assuming Malfoy pride would stop public displays of indecorous behavior.

As the DJ nodded at Draco and started playing “It’s Raining Men,” Hermione realized assuming anything about a Malfoy was deeply stupid.

With a flourish of well-toned muscle, Draco vaulted onto the bar in time with the music, grabbed a bucket of water, and emptied it over his head, turning his pale blond hair a dark honey color. His white cotton business shirt was immediately soaked through, displaying the sharply defined contours of his chest, the material clinging to him like a second skin.

He looked like the personification of sex.

As he loosened his tie, a chorus of squealing, screaming voices greeted him. He threw the tie into the audience, where it immediately caused a stampede of crazed women fighting over it, and Hermione noticed an odd look cross his face. The women continued pushing forward, their arms waving almost violently, clawing at his trousers and starting a chant of “More! More! More!”

“That’s it for tonight, ladies!” he called, jumping behind the bar and exiting quickly through the door to the kitchen as the women groaned disappointedly.

Seconds later, he Apparated beside her, his shirt completely dry.

“You won,” she admitted, taking a tentative step towards the bar, “and I don’t back out of a bet.”

“Are you out of your mind, woman?” he whispered ferociously. “That was the most degrading thing I’ve ever experienced! Bloody creepy, that was.”

“So I’m off the hook?” she asked, relieved.

“Not quite,” Draco said, ushering her from the pub. “You still need to pay up, but only with an audience of one.”

“I can manage that,” she said, returning his smirk.