And the mad woman locked inside. That, he could never forget.

She looked wild as she lunged from the table, chained and dirty. Draco had never seen a creature so unkempt. Her deep voice called out “Cissy!” in such tormented sob that Draco had been afraid that the creature was going to hurt his mother, and was astounded to see his father do nothing but look on as the lunatic pawed at Narcissa. She gripped his mother, the woman's dirty nails digging into Narcissa’s shoulders and wept. It was not until she heard his mother choke out a sad string of, “Bella, Bella” that he realized this was his aunt. Tears trailed down her filthy cheeks as she finally crouched down to inspect Draco. Her bony hand reached out, gripping his chin as she turned his head left to right.

“He’s got a bit of Black in him, eh?” She murmured, a crooked smile revealing rotten teeth. She began to card her hands through his hair and Draco froze, locked up in fright. It was all he could do just to breathe. “A little too much Malfoy, but we can work around that.”

“He’s a credit to both houses.” His mother said proudly.

“He’s a Black, Cissy. The last one. He’s got to carry on the legacy.” She looked at him seriously, leaned in to get a better look, and spoke slowly. Dangerously. “When the Dark Lord calls again, he must be ready to answer for the House of Black.”

He felt his mother pull him back, a hard tug on his shoulders, away from his aunt. When their time was up, they made no moves to visit again.

Bellatrix terrified him as a child. The witch she was before Azkaban was not the same as the one now his mother always said. She had always been a bit untethered, unpredictable. But the time in Azkaban, the isolation, the shame of losing her war, it had driven her mad, depraved.  She had once worn silk robes, but now she was draped in chains, stripped rags falling off her shoulder. Snape handed Draco the paper, his aunt holding a placard that read ‘prisoner 93’. She screamed, silent, unheard, as her matted and tangled hair flew around her. Draco swallowed as he tore his eyes away, pushing the paper towards his professor.

“I knew your aunt. In school and from… other associations.” He said evenly. Steady; Unashamed. “She will try to contact your family. She will try to contact you.” Snape looked at him seriously, “You must inform me if she does. I cannot stress the importance of this.”

Draco bit his tongue, did little else but nod. He turned on his heels to head back to the dungeons. He knew all summer that something was going to happen, felt the change in the air. It had been building up, winding towards a climax.

The coil was snapping.

~.~

Draco knew it was his aunt.. But until that moment, she seemed abstract. A portrait hidden away, not a flesh and blood family member. She was not someone he had to claim- not someone he could claim. She was too far removed from his life to be real. Until then.

A few Slytherns clapped him on the back, congratulated him that his aunt was free. Like they had been waiting for it. Like Draco should have been waiting for it.  

“To think they put a pureblood witch in a cell, just because she took up against muggles and mudbloods?” one had said. “Maybe she’ll keep up the work now that she's out again, eh? Good riddance!”

They seemed to have forgotten that she did not set her sights on only muggleborns, but on any wizard who disagreed with their cause. She followed blindly, faithfully.

Longbottom avoided him in the halls, and up until that moment he had always thought him a coward. Bellatrix was safely contained by the dementors, nothing to be afraid of. And yes, maybe their interactions did not leave the kindest impression on him, but Draco had never done more than sling an insult.

He was afraid, and had every right to be. It was easy to lock Aunt Bella away for Draco. She could be tucked nicely into a side drawer and forgotten about.  For Longbottom, she was just as present and cancerous as the day she cast that curse on his parents. Draco had only tasted this fear, and it left him in shambles.

Longbottom- Shit, he lived with it every day. He was stronger than he gave him credit for; not that he’d tell a soul that. Not when his housemates were giving him sly smiles, whispers of congratulations.

He knew he should share in their excitement; It would look odd if he didn’t.

It made him feel ill.

Draco couldn’t help but notice that Hermione looked as sick as he felt as she read the paper over breakfast. She folded it, a deep frown on her face as she stuck it into her bag. A mass breakout, they called it. He could see Potter and Weasley, shoulders hunched and faces pinched. From his spot, he could pick up bits of their conversation, all focused around Sirius Black. The two oafs were not as quiet and discreet as they thought themselves to be. Unsurprisingly, she seemed to be the only one who saw it for what it was.

He wondered if she felt it too, like they were at a precipice. Wished he could tell her how uneasy he felt.

Wished he could do more than steal glances over his morning tea.

~.~

The days passed, and no mention of Bellatrix came for him. Weeks after, he waited for the owl each morning, looking for clues in his mothers letters to let him know what was happening. They didn’t look any different than usual; she still sent sweets and her warm regards.

Draco held out hope that maybe Bellatrix used this opportunity to start over, to lay low.

All he could do was hope.

~.~

She seemed a little more cheerful, smiled a little more.

It was nice to see the color in her cheeks, the liveliness brought back to her. Felt good to focus on her instead of worrying about a psychopathic aunt raising the manor while he was tucked away at school.

He noticed that she was meeting with a larger number of students. Secretly, of course, and never for long. Never would he tell.

It wasn’t just Gryffindors she was associating with. Every house but his own was making contact with Granger, passing her notes, discrete nods in the hallways. The exchanges happened so swiftly, so often, that it was almost infectious. Several times Draco almost found himself nodding in her direction, before he clenched his fists to remind him that no, he and Granger were not involved in whatever she had going on. Fuck, they weren’t even amicable. It was like she was a damn ring leader in a cult with all the attention she was getting. Not that one would notice on the surface. You had to really watch Hermione to see those things going on. But luckily for Draco, that's all he had to do.

Umbridge had officially asked him to trail her, was sure that Hermione was the key to whatever she was trying to riddle out. He smirked as he accepted the mission, “I’ll be on top of her, professor.”

Fuck, he wished he could be.

Or under, or behind. Hell, he’d settle to just be near her, skirt hiked high so he could see her white panties. In the library, against the stacks. Or in his bed, hands twisted into his sheets as he gripped her thighs and drove into her. He’d take her right on Flintwicks desk if she’d let him. Merlin, he would give her anything if she would let him.

She walked by with Weasley, purposefully leaving Potter alone with Chang. She had her petite hand wrapped around her elbow as she whispered something about ‘space’. She was trying to contain a smile- awful at it, really. And looking at Weasley in a way that turned Draco’s stomach. Big, brown doe eyes, stealing glances. She had thick, heavy lashes- how had no one ever mentioned that? Never talked about her bedroom eyes?

Maybe because they were always directed at a bloody weasel, no one could take notice.

He noticed.  What he wouldn’t give to have her look that way at him.

Merlin, they weren’t even amicable.

~.~

It occurred to Draco that he may have a problem.

A small one. People all over the world suffered, people died everyday. He just had an infatuation.

A slight obsession, perhaps.

Mild. Completely mild.

Fucking ludicuris.

He and Hermione were not friends, yet he knew so much about her. Too much, some might say. He memorized her schedule, how she liked her tea. Knew she preferred cappuccinos should they be offered. Knew that when she stretched, she always put her hands high above her head and twisted to the right first. Knew that when she did that, the hem of her shirt would ride up, exposing the slightest amount of skin that left him salivating. Knew she often scoured informational texts, but far preferred fiction. Knew she liked to twist a loose curl around her finger as she read, idle, preoccupied. It drove him mad, made him want to demand her attention. She never fucking noticed.

That wasn’t even the problem. He was perfectly self aware that he was a sick bastard.

The issue was everyone else.

What would Slythern think if they knew Draco Malfoy was half hard every time he watched Hermione Granger take house points away? He’d be exiled, ridiculed. And if the news ever got back to his mother- she wouldn’t be able to handle it. The tears and theatrics that would ensure already gave Draco a headache. Merlin forbid his father found out…

History has shown what happens to pureblood wizards in his family that married beneath station. Marred their bloodlines so badly they were burned out of family records.

And for what?

It’s not like she would choose him anyway.

~.~

Ron Weasley was a terrible prefect. He liked to take house points away as an act of power, a way to boost his ego. Draco found it incredibly pathetic that Weasely needed a silver badge to feel important, but that was not the part that bothered him.

It was that he idiot didn’t even take it seriously! He seemed to make up his own rules, dock points based on his mood. And it became abundantly clear that if your skirt was short and legs toned, Weasley would let you off with a warning.

Even more infuriating was that he was paired with Hermione. He’d have to see them walking together, talking about Merlin knows what. Sometimes he’d make her laugh, but most times, he trailed behind her like a sad puppy.

Not for the first time, Draco wondered how different it would be had Hermione been sorted into Slytherin. He was certain she’d look stunning in green.

~.~

It was a hard pill to swallow, knowing how disgustingly one sided it was. Logically, Draco knew that he and Hermione were never going to happen. Never meant to. Never would be.

That did little to curb his imagination. It was so wild that it was hard to distinguish fact from fiction.

She didn’t want him, not like he wanted her. Hell, Hermione didn’t even like him.

No, not Hermione. Granger.

When had he started referring to her as Hermione? When had she begun to feel comfortable, familiar?

Granger. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Prissy little Granger who was the first to correct someone when they made a mistake. Stuck up Granger who knew better than anyone else in the wizarding world- maybe the muggle one too. High strung Granger, who had one hell of a right hook, didn’t take shit from anyone. Always the boss, had to be the one in charge. It made Draco want to push her down, make her submit. No, that was the wrong train of thought. Prudish-  Granger alway had her oxford buttoned up tight, wore sweaters. He’d bet anything she was wild underneath. Granger, who-

Fuck, he needed to get his mind off of her. Needed to get Hermione out of his head.

Draco took a deep breath and reminded himself that he didn’t know her. Not really.

Granger.

Granger.

Granger.

~.~

Snape had never been the sort of professor who took an interest in his students, let alone those from other houses. At best, Draco could describe his relationship with Snape as awkward, but tolerable.

When Snape had asked him to stay behind after class, his heart nearly stopped beating. It had to be about Bellatrix. He was delivering news to him, passing a message his way. Something too horrid, too secret that his mother could not even code it in her daily message.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Draco.” He said, much to his surprise.

“What?” He scoffed, both relieved and genuinely confused at what the professor meant.

“You may think you are keeping it under wraps, but you stare far too long at the girl.” Draco swallowed hard.

“Its none of your business.” He spat. “And it’s nothing to get upset about.”

“Perhaps.” He drawled, considering Draco’s words, the defensive way he crossed his arms over his chest. “But, if it were… something…. More-”

“-It’s not-”

“Then I should remind you that your aunt has recently escaped Azkaban.”

“I’m well aware of that, thanks.” Draco snapped.

“If she finds that you hold even the slightest bit of affection for Granger-”

“Affection?” He countered. Snape kept steady, kept pressing on.

“She will crave her flesh clean from her bone. Bellatrix will turn her fingers into jewelry. So should this be anything more-”

“How many damn times-”

“BUT SHOULD IT-” Snape's voice rose to a timber he had never heard, made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. “I may be able to help.”

Draco froze, almost too afraid to breathe.

“Help how?”

~.~

Pansy was nothing if not a good distraction. Better than the Greengrass sisters, and aside from them, there were very few options left for Draco.

Yes, there were others available in different houses. Pureblood ones too; but it was expected that Draco would bed and wed a Slythern. Asinine traditions and expectations.

He was becoming increasingly tired of expectations.

Like valentines day.

Whose brilliant idea was it that witches needed the red carpet rolled out for them, just because it was the 14th of February? Chocolates from Switzerland, jewelry that dripped in gems. Cards and romantic gestures, adding layers of intimacy to a relationship. It felt forced and unnecessary; He didn’t give a damn about it.

Pansy, on the other hand, could talk about nothing else. She was good at that, filling the void with conversation. She didn’t prattle on like Astoria did, but kept it going at an easy pace. They were friends, and it somehow made it more bearable to try and replace Hermione’s name with Pansy.

He wanted to hold Pansy. Wanted to lick his way down her neck, grip her curls- no, short, cropped hair, as he brought her head back to bite the junction of her shoulder, suck it until it bruised. It was Pansy he imagined accidently running into in the prefects bath, tanned skin- fuck, pale skin covered up only by a bath towel.

Pansy was the one to enact that with him, but it was Granger on his mind. To be fair, he couldn’t help where his thoughts strayed as he rocked his hips between Pansy’s legs- his blood was flowing away from his brain.

Of course, it left Draco with mixed feelings. The sex was good- of that he had no complaints. But it was unfulfilling. Not enough.

Empty.

At first he had felt guilty about using Pansy, taking his needs out on her while he fantasized about someone else. The first few times the guilt had gnawed at him so completely that he felt sick enough to almost admit it to her. But then he remembered that though Pansy may like him as a person, she liked his Gringotts vault just as much. That without his money behind him, she might not be so keen to take his arm.

They were friends. Cut from the same cloth. They both knew what it was.

When she hinted (heavily, multiple times) that she might like to go out on Valentine's day, Draco didn’t mind taking the trip to Hogsmead. They were official, though no one had publicly said so, and a gentleman must treat his witch right- even if he thought the holiday was total bollocks.

He had met her in the common room, earrings in hand, flowers in the other, bundled and ready to brace the winter's chill. She had accepted the gifts gracefully, tugged on his bottom lip as she kissed him in thanks, and before long, they found themselves strolling through Hogsmead. Pansy looped her arm through his as they headed to Madam Puddifoots for tea, bags from Honeydukes in hand. The day hadn’t been entirely unpleasant, but the throngs of people crowding the street, obnoxious in their love, decked out in reds and pinks set him on edge. Best of all, it was entirely Granger free. A day without running into her. A day without having to see her sandwiched between Potter and Weasely.

That was until they passed The Three Broomsticks.

It wasn’t even his idea to stop in, to freaking spy. But as they walked by the shop Pansy caught sight of Granger and stopped dead in her tracks.

“Is that Granger?” She twisted her neck to get a better look. “At the Three Broomsticks for Valentines day. Oh, that’s rich.” He couldn’t say that she cackled- no wellbred woman would- but the sound was dangerously close.

“Probably just waiting for Weasley.” He answered darkly. He hated the idea of the two of them together. Hated the thought of her waiting for him. Did Weasely know how lucky he was that she even gave him the time of day? What did she see in him anyway? It certainly wasn’t his intelligence. Revolting orange hair, freckles, lanky build, was that really Grangers type? The reason she tied her hair up with red ribbons, wore a red sweater?

“Think Madam Puddifoots was too expensive for a Weasley?” She snickered. “Let’s pop in Draco.”

“In- In there?” He balked. “Whatever for?”

“I want to see what the Golden duo does without their third. I imagine they’re terribly boring. I’d bet Granger quotes from the dictionary and Weasley pretends to understand.”

Draco often wondered the same thing. They had nothing in common. What could the two possibly talk about? He wasn’t eager to find out, felt mouth turning down at the thought of Hermione leaning in to kiss-

“You want to spend our date watching Granger?” He asked.

“And Weasley, yes. Draco, this is loads more interesting!.” She smiled as she tugged him towards the door. “Like dinner and a show!”

Well, she had him there. In his very limited free time, when he wasn’t busy following Granger from one place to the next, he was fantasizing about doing it. Weasley was just never part of it.

No, he was doing this to get away from Granger, not drag others into his obsession.

“Pans, why would we want to subject ourselves to what I’m sure will be a disgusting display?”

“For the laughs, of course.” Pansy tilted her head as she appraised him.

“Seems incredibly juvenile.” He turned his nose up, hoping she would take the bait.

“You used to be more fun, Draco. This sort of thing used to get a rise out of you.” She pulled him forward, dragging him along. Despite having followed her just yesterday, having company made it feel seedy.

He rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be lead forward, quickly claiming a seat near Grangers table. Not too obvious, one would really have to look to catch a glimpse of them- but still close enough to eavesdrop. Draco made sure to get the seat facing away from her. He didn’t fancy seeing her make eyes at a weasel.

“I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine. They do it because it's an honor, and, of course, to see their names in print." He recognized that voice. Draco turned to Pansy and mouthed “Who..?”

“That's loony Lovegood.” She whispered.

"I'm supposed to do this for free?" Skeeter? Why on Earth was Rita Skeeter meeting at Hogsmeade? With Lovegood no less?

"Well, yes.” Draco heard her voice and it sent a shock through him. “Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of Azkaban...."

Draco’s eyes blew wide, taking in the new information. Pansy seemed less interested, though she still listened intently.

"I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?" He could practically hear Skeeter seething.  

Draco couldn’t help the smirk; tried to control it by biting down on his bottom lip. His girl- she was damn good.

~.~

Umbridge is mad. No, that wasn’t even the right word for it. Livid, perhaps. Crawling out of her skin was a rage that was palpable, might be more accurate.

Thanks to his stunt and Hermiones brilliance, students were no longer allowed to read the Quibbler- not that he was anyway. Still, everytime another hammer hung up one of Umbridge's decrees, Draco felt himself suffocated a little more. Nevermind the fact that she was chomping at the bit to get Potter and his accomplices. He had thought that she saw him for what he was, but now he wondered if there was something more. Draco had his own reasons for hating Saint Potter, but Umbridge… it was almost as if she was threatened by him, for how harshly she reacted.

When Goyle had caught him talking with Lovegood and Longbottom in the hallway he had promptly split the trio up, and in the process, Potters glasses may or may not have been cracked.

And because nothing could ever be easy in his life, never achieve any sort of balance, he realized that if Potter was unhappy, so was Hermione. He couldn’t enjoy his nemesis getting what he deserved if he knew it would upset the witch that filled every corner of his thoughts.

He picked a fine time to give a shit about Potters well-being. Umbridge was hungry to make an example of him; it fell on Draco to tell Crabbe and Goyle to ease off.

Life just wasn’t fair.

~.~

He never used to care about what upset her. Used to call her a filthy little mudblood to her face.

Somedays, he missed that. Missed the time in his life when things were so uncomplicated. When he stopped making them complicated. At least if he could touch her, hold her, fucking taste her, it would make it worth it. What was it all for? What was the point of wanting someone so badly, crave them so completely that it made you question everything you thought you knew?

But then Draco would catch sight of her, legs curled as she read one of her blasted books, sunlight catching on her chestnut curls in just the right way that she looked angelic. Unashamed to be herself. Content with her own company. Smiling at whatever nonsense filled the pages. It must be a fiction story; must be one she was familiar with from the way she lazily turned the pages, like she had lived the story more than once. And in that moment, it would feel like Draco could finally breathe; like air was filling his lungs for the first time. It reminded him why it was worth it.

~.~

Why did prefects have to patrol with their houses? Just once- just once, couldn’t Malfoy and Granger be paired on the schedule? Perhaps to patrol someone outside, secluded, away from everyone?

Why was it always Pansy who unfastened his buckle in the empty classrooms, stroking his hard cock instead of Hermione? Pansy, who was caged between his arms, back against the cobblestone wall as she panted into his ear. He’d hike her thigh up higher, grip it tighter to lock her in place as he rocked his hips into hers. And when he’d come down, the ecstasy and joy washing away, he’d wonder “Is this what she’s doing with Weasley? Are they fucking at this very moment?”

The afterglow never lasted long when he was on rounds.  

~.~

They caught them inside the room of requirement. Caught all of them, red handed, wands drawn. Dumbledore’s Army they named themselves. Rule breakers was what Umbridge had said.

Draco had to be there. Crabbe and Goyle were practically giddy with excitement a Umbridge cast spell after spell to dismantle the wall. Pansy, who stood to his side, looked like she was going to burst from the drama. All Draco could do was try to remain calm. He willed the wall to hold, said every counter spell he knew to hold it up. He knew what the other members of the squad were doing, knew the curses and jinxes they gave as punishments. For all the rules plastered throughout the school, it was lawless. Worst, he heard rumors of Umbridge, and what she had done to Potter. He remembered the frightened look Hermione gave him as he tugged down his sleeve. Draco worried if she would see the same fate, once the wall was down.

What would he do? If Umbridge was determined to make an example of the golden trio, how should he react? He couldn’t sit by and watch her be tortured. He couldn’t just stand there and let her come to harm. He would have to do something; there was no scenario in Darco’s mind in which he could bear witness to Hermione hurt and in pain, with him on the sidelines.

He could see it all in his mind, a course of actions ready to be played out. All them leadinging to the rescue of his witch and the shame and isolation that would follow. Not just from friends and family, but also from her. She would never want to see him again if she knew in the inner workings of his mind; knew how desperately he wanted her. All of her. It wasn’t worth denying anymore. He was a sick fucking freak, and she would be better off without him nearby. And that would be the end of it- he would never see Hermione again.

He focused, begged, and willed the castle to listen. The room of requirement was supposed to fulfill a need, and all he was asking that the walls would stay up. It wasn’t good enough.

When Umbridge stepped through, the bright light of the corridor bleeding in, his eyes immediately went to Hermione. His stomach sank low to find she was already looking his way, looking at him.  

Each one was marched down to her office, made ready to give an account. All the while Draco formulated his plans and readied himself for his move.

~.~

On the list of things that Draco Malfoy thought to be unlikely, Dumbledoor taking the fall for Saint Potter and vanishing into thin air with a bird topped the list. He always figured he’d fuse himself to the chair inorder to avoid being cast out of Hogwarts. Leave it to the greatest wizard of all time to add the theatrics.

The whole school was in an uproar. He was certain his father would march down to the castle and pull him out, drag him back to the manor. His mother was over protective on her best days, and she would never stand to have her only child in a school filled with turmoil.

But when his father did not come, and Umbridge settled in behind Dumbledore's desk, he had a dreadful sense of foreboding that something big was about to change- and not for the better.

~.~

The Weasley's may be a menace, but the twins knew how to leave with a grand gesture. The only thing funnier than the entire fiasco was seeing how flustered Hermione had been.

~.~

Draco hadn’t meant to find her asleep in the library. For once, he was too preoccupied with his own studies to follow Granger around- O.W.L.S. were no laughing matter. The amount they were expected to memorize and recite was borderline criminal. No one would ever use half of the charms he was required to know, but he still had to spend his days practicing with wand and quill.

He had meant to get a book- just pop in and out- but as he walked to the stacks he saw her there, at her usual table, head propped on top of her folded arms. Her breathing was heavy, even, as her chest rose and fell with each intake.

Draco lowered himself to the floor and took a seat near her. They couldn’t sit at the same table, of course. But close enough that he could keep an eye on her while she slept. He picked up his wand and practiced charms, making paper birds dance overhead.

It could have been minutes, maybe hours before she woke. Draco wasn’t sure; it was like being caught in a haze to see her so vulnerable. Her lashes fluttered as she blinked herself awake, stretching high overhead, twisting to the right first, like always.

That was when she saw him.

“M-Malfoy?” She stuttered, embarrassed. It made him nervous to look at her so directly.

“Finally awake, Granger?” He snarked. “Thought you were going to spend the night here.”

“Wh-Why? What are you doing?” She was desperately trying to connect the dots, put the pieces together. Draco longed to drag it on, hold her there in the moment forever.

“You were sleeping, dummy.” It was quick, too quick. He should have put more thought into an explanation. “It's dangerous to be so carefree, you know.” He added.

“I must be dreaming,” She said, giving her cheek a gentle slap.

“Then you must have very boring dreams, Granger.” He smirked at her, unable to control it. “I like mine a bit more exciting.”

“I was sleeping-” She started.

“Thought we’ve covered that-”

“And you thought... you were the one to what, look out for me?” She was skeptical, and it was only fair. “Did you do something to me while I slept Malfoy? Do I have ‘idiot’ written across my forehead or something? Just tell me now and get it over with.”

“I didn’t do anything!” He objected.

“Sure, Draco Malfoy would just watch over me while I slept for no reason.”

He answered defensively. “I may be a lot of things Granger, but first and foremost, I am a gentleman. And a gentleman would never leave a witch in such a vulnerable position. You’ve no doubt studied charms. Not all of them are good natured. So yes, I looked out for you. My training as a wellbred wizard wouldn’t allow me to leave a witch alone like that.”

Hermione frantically ran her hands through her hair, trying to control the frizz and volume. Draco wanted to tell her to stop, that she looked fucking beautiful with it wild, untamed. But instead, he cleared his throat awkwardly. “No matter who the witch is.”

She nodded, as if any of the bullshit he said made any sense. As if he wasn’t watching over her for his own satisfaction, for his own peace of mind.

“Why didn’t you just wake me?” She managed, still eyeing him suspiciously.

Draco shrugged. “Have you seen yourself Granger? The bags under your eyes are incredible. You should submit them to a medical textbook.”

“Ha, very witty Malfoy.” She said, collecting her things into her bag. Draco did the same, stretching as he stood from his chair. “I- I just have been preoccupied- with my studies, I mean.” Hermione looked away from him as he rolled his neck; it made Draco immediately straighten, worried that he had become too casual, made her uncomfortable.

Of course he had! He was fucking watching her while she slept for crying out loud.

“Right.” His throat felt dry as he swallowed, then turned to leave. Two steps forward, and she in front of him, chocolate eyes holding him in place.

“Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t- I mean-” Hermione bit her lip as tried to gather her thoughts. It wasn’t often he got to catch her off guard, to watch the wheels work in Hermione’s head. When she spoke, her voice was lower, a sexy timber that shot right to his groin. “Thank you.”

Hermione took off in a brisk walk, leaving him behind.

It was a good day.

~.~

They had caught them by Umbridge's office. All hands were on deck looking for the group. Umbridge made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that nothing, barring death, was off limits. It set the group alight with a hunger for the hunt. Even Draco felt fired up to catch them.

If he didn’t get to Hermione first, who knew what would happen?

It was easy to find her, easy to know which set of footsteps were hers. He had trained for that moment, laid in wait, and now she was his. He’d crucio anyone who thought to put a hand on her. Draco led the charge, determined to be the one in control, needed to be the one.

Her hand reached out, ready to grip the door handle when he found them. They were quiet, even charmed their shoes to not make a sound, so to say Hermione was surprised to find Dracos large hand clamped over her mouth was an understatement. He worried that his ring knocked against her teeth, because the next thing he knew, he could feel her tongue dart out, as if licking a bloody wound. Her breathing came in quick bursts, hot and panicked. Draco’s other hand splayed across her stomach, pulling her in, closer than they had ever been before. The rest of the squad had followed suit, the sound of a struggle behind him.

She was making a strangled noise in the back of her throat, and Draco could feel the fear coursing through her. He leaned in, so small a movement it would be missed, until his lips were near her ear.

“Shh.” He begged, and felt her try to twist to look his way. Weasley let out a mangagled scream as his arm was bent backwards. “I won’t hurt you.” It was barely more than a breath, hardly a whisper. Hermione froze, eyes wide. Longbottom groaned as Crabbe knocked his head against the wall, a small trickle of blood running past his eyes. Hermione's voice began to hitch.

“Shh.” He begged, flexing his fingers that dug into her hips. “Please.”

Hermione was a smart witch- the brightest of their age. Draco silently willed her to understand.

If she made noise, if she struggled, it would have to look like he was hurting her. And for the life of him, Draco had no idea how to do that without traumatizing her. He ran his thumb over her cheek, small enough that it would appear to be a twitch, delicate enough that he prayed it was soothing.

“You got her, mate?” Goyle asked.

“Just brains and no brawn in this one.” He joked. “Granger barely put up a fight.” He squeezed her again, hoping beyond hope that his comment would not make her fight harder.

Remarkably, she stood still, her chest rising and falling as his arm crossed over it.

He didn’t miss the way Pansy looked him up and down, Granger held flush against him. He way his hands lingered on her skin.

“Let’s bring them into Umbridge’s office.” Pansy offered, “that’s where she’s expecting them.”

~.~

He should have kept a tighter hold on her- should have known she’d insert herself into any problem, try to solve everything.

Umrbidge had been tickled pink to see a job well done. More than happy to peg Potter as the main culprit. She wasted no time interrogating him; When Potter would not budge, not give up their secret weapon, she held her wand up, on the brink of the cruciatus curse. Draco felt his muscles weaken, his jaw go slack, felt energy drain. He heard her rumors, but that was nothing in comparison to seeing a professor ready to torture students. Wizards his age. Peers.

And if Harry was first, he could guarantee who was next.

Turns out, he didn’t need to wait for Umbridge to drag her forward; his damned witch offered herself up. Hermione rushed forward, and just like that, she was out of his grip, slipped away from his grasp. She was shouting, claiming that she knew where the secret weapon was, that she could take Umbridge to it.

In the woods. Of course it was in the bloody woods.

The headmistress pushed Potter and Hermione out the door, ordering the squad to keep a close eye on the rest of the group.

~.~

As Draco watched Ron Weasley run out of the office, he knew that the twit would brag to everyone that he had bested him in defense.

Not even in his damn dreams could Ronald Weasley beat him in defensive spells. Did he know that every summer, every holiday, his father made him train in them relentlessly? Did he moron really think he was able to bloody his lip and get that many right hooks in if Draco hadn’t thrown the match? Hell, he leaned in to every punch. When he let the jinxes render him paralyzed, Weasley hovered above him, examining his work. He smiled- wide, far too much gums, as he walked over him, stepping on Draco’s hand along the way.

He was oozing satisfaction, brimming with ego.

He could practically see him puff his chest out as he ran to Hermione to save her.

As long as he saved her.

During the day he whipped up more scenarios than he could count, thinking of all the ways she could wind up at his doorstep, find her way to his bed. At night, alone with his thoughts, he would slide his hand under the covers, beneath the band of his briefs. He imagined the jerky movements of his hands belonged to her, and the thought alone was enough to have him moaning into his green silk pillows.

~.~

Once he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to have her, there was no turning back. The first time he had felt ashamed, guilty. He imagined it rough, fast-paced. An explosion of hatred and sexual tension, all colliding between her thighs.

But it didn’t stay that way.

Draco became greedy. Became hungry to know what sounds she would make, how she would arch her back. Would she come with a scream or a gasp?

What would it be like if he moved his hands to her shoulders, slim and tanned? He would take his time, let his fingers run over her collarbone, stoke their way down lower, lower. He would tease her, play with the hem of her sweater before he slowly bunched it up, gathered the material in his hands, and lifted it over her head. Her curls would fall around her, wild. He liked them that way, missed seeing them so unruly. He would thread his fingers through those curls, knot a handful at the back of her head, exposing her neck. What he wouldn’t give to lick down that long column, taste the sweat on her skin, gently pulling the white straps of her bra down her arms.

The more he looked at Granger, the more certain he was about her proportions. Large, but not overly so. He had imagined them so much he could practically feel their weight in his hands. He was sure they were firm, positive that once he freed her breasts he would uncover pink, perky nipples.

He hadn’t even had a real taste, but he was addicted.

~.~

Summer felt fragile. It was wrapped in sunshine, sweets, and select company, but it felt like rot underneath. Draco knew the pressure was building; something was going to happen, he just wasn’t sure what. He waited for it every day, like a winding coil that would inevitably snap. It made him tense, anxious.

Draco tried to get out, stay active. The lush landscape of the property was easy to get lost in, easy to appreciate. When his new cleansweep arrived, he flew high above the grounds, testing its speed and precision, but it quickly lost its appeal. It was lonesome to fly alone. Isolated. Mostly, he spent his days tucked away in the library, lost in a mountain of books, finding company between the pages.

As he would sink into the leather seats, an old book in his hands, he wondered what Hermione would think of his library. If she would be impressed by the range of books, the ancient texts that were not even found at Hogwarts.

Most of all, he wondered what she was doing with her days.

~.~

When Crabbe and Goyle owled for a visit, Draco had put it off for as long as possible. Draco was hesitant to name them friends, and despite their long history of summertime get-togethers, he always dreaded it. At school, Crabbe and Goyle acted as his lackeys- clung to his side because it made them feel powerful, important. It was nice to have an entourage, but that didn’t mean he wanted to vacation with them either.

He had told his mother as much, but she simply remarked that it was rude to refuse a visit. When Draco tried to plead his case, reminding her that they were twists, she smiled sweetly.

“Mr. Crabbe and Mr.Goyle are old friends. It would be unseemly to snub their sons.”

Draco groaned, “That’s how I ended up stuck with them in the first place, mother.”

“We all make sacrifices for the greater good, dear.”  

The two traveled together, as they usually did. Draco wondered if one could survive without the other. They showed up bright and early, eager to share their arsenal of gossip. Draco had led them to the outside sitting area, counting down the minutes until it was socially acceptable for them to leave.

“You heard that Potter keeps talking about him?” Goyle asked. “The loon keeps telling people he’s alive!”

Crabbe laughed, large cheeks puffing. “I’d like to see him get ahold of Potter, teach him a lesson or two!”

Draco nodded, half-listening to what the two said. It was his default mode when it came to the duo.

“Don’t know how he can show his face at school. Making such a damn spectacle! I’d drop out if I was him. ” Crabbe said, stuffing a cracker in his mouth.

“Granger wouldn’t let him.” Goyle offered. “Probably give him a spanking if he missed a class.” He laughed like he said something witty. Draco felt his muscles tense, felt the sneer snap into place.

“Don’t talk about such vile things.” He leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms.

“Come on now,” Goyle leaned back, crossing his arms as well. “Everyone knows Granger and Potter are together. Even Skeeter picked up on that.”

The rest of the visit passed by in a blur as Draco categorized all the new reasons he hated Harry Potter.

~.~

Draco had it on very good authority that Saint Potter was being questioned for use of unauthorized magic. It wasn’t enough to break every rule in school, but apparently the boy who lived thought he was above the rules outside of the stone walls. Serves him right, after all the fuss he made at the end of the last term.

He who must not be named back, indeed.

Potter had not made it a secret that he thought a certain dark wizard was back from the dead. Draco was sure that it was another stunt, positive that Potter wanted the spotlight yet again. He was making up stories- had to be.

Still, when he had returned home to the manor, he had reluctantly asked his mother if the whispers were true. She leveled him with a cold look and reminded him that well-bred gentlemen do not repeat rumors.

~.~

The letter came at breakfast announcing that he was a prefect. His father gave only the smallest acknowledgment of the achievement, hardly looking up from his paper as Draco read the news out loud.

It was expected that he would be a prefect. Never was a question, really; It would be unacceptable if there was any other outcome. His father reminded him once again how embarrassing it was to lose first place to that mudblood Granger. He took a sip of his tea as he mentioned that head boy was the next rank.

Draco nodded, taking a small bite of his toast, a long silence following.

“Any word on who your female counterpart will be?” His father asked,

“Pansy,” Draco answered. “She owled yesterday.”

“Hmm.” Luscious gracefully folded his paper, placing it down on the long table, finally giving Draco his full attention. “Curious that you did not receive news first. Hm?”

“Yes father.”

“Probably Dumbledore trying to make an example of the Malfoy name.” He spat, “Trying to show the wizarding world that the Malfoys can wait.”

Draco swallowed, unsure what to say. “Sounds like something the old bag would do. I’m sure Potter’s letter was the first to go out.”

Lucious smiled. “Thanks to Potter’s little stunt, he will not be made a prefect. He’s lucky to find himself still enrolled.”

Finally, some justice in the universe. “Serves him right. Can’t imagine how he took that blow.”

“To be a fly on the wall.” Lucious picked up his teacup again but paused before he brought the china to lips. “Who else would be in the running?”

Draco thought for a moment, sifting through the possible Gryffindors. “Dean, maybe. Possibly Longbottom.”

“No doubt Ms.Granger will be a prefect herself, will she not?”

“I’d think so. If anyone likes a rule more than her, I don’t fancy meeting them.” He sneered as if trying to imagine someone more uptight than Granger. “I’m sure she’ll be taking house points away in her sleep.”

It felt natural to talk about her, easy. Talking about Hermione made the conversation flow in a way it had not all morning. It was not lost on Lucious.

“Well, you must put her to shame then, eh? Be the strictest prefect in the history of the school. Now is not a time to have loose morals. The school is already overrun with mudbloods. Even the half-bloods seem less… civilized… than before.”

“Yes, father.” He nodded, excusing himself shortly after.

He spent the rest of the afternoon picturing what it would be like to be a prefect with Granger. There would be meetings- long, tedious meetings. They would patrol at the same times, maybe even have the same rounds. He would be subjected to hearing her take points and lecture all year long. The witch was hard to handle in the best of times. Now that she was to be given a small amount of power, he could only imagine what she would be like. How would he ever get her to shut up and get a moment's peace?

As he envisioned running into her on rounds, the two of them alone, he managed to think up a few ways.

~.~

The next few days were spent in his room, imagination running wild. He dreamed up scenarios that would never happen, never be. Things that were against the very rules they were tasked to enforce.

But what if he caught her in the halls one night? Found her alone, after curfew. Maybe she was checking up on the first years, making sure they were not stepping out of line. He’d find her in the dimly lit corridor, the torchlight glowing on her olive skin.

“I’ll have to dock house points.” He’d say.

She’d look at him defiantly, chocolate eyes burning into his. “You’re not allowed to take house points from another prefect, Malfoy.” She’d say.

He’d lean in, lips grazing her ear as he would whisper, “Maybe we can work something out?”

Merlin, he hoped they could work something out.

~.~

Draco had pinned his silver prefect badge to his robes bright and early, combed his hair back, and checked his reflection three times before he was satisfied. It was decidedly not to look good for her. That would be absurd.

Stepping foot on the train again felt like a relief. He had never considered Hogwarts home- the manor had always treated him well- but the atmosphere felt less charged, a little more normal.

Potter was finally getting the cold shoulder from the student body. It seemed like the crowd parted for him at the platform, everyone eager to put a wide berth between themselves and the person who called Voldermort by name.

On the plus side, he caught his first glimpse of Granger in several months. It was quick, fleeting. At first, he only saw the back of her as she boarded the train, chestnut curls pinned back. Sweet.

He had only passed her once after that, brushing shoulders as they moved in opposite directions down the aisle. Her brown eyes roamed his face quickly, and she nodded in acknowledgment as she squeezed to the side. He felt the knot in his stomach ease for the first time since he left.

It was immediately replaced by a feeling of repulsion when he saw Weasley patrolling, a shiny silver badge pinned like his. Draco's mood was instantly soured.

~.~

Umbridge seemed to see right through Potter. It felt like a victory to finally have a teacher hold him accountable. Snape never hid his opinions on Potter, but he never delivered a punishment quiet as Umbridge did.

She seemed to have a distaste for Granger too. Hermione seems less worried about herself, and more focused on Saint Potter. Every time Draco managed to steal a look her way, her brow was furrowed, her lip between her teeth again.

On the one hand, he felt validated to have Umbridge on his side. On the other, he hated to see the way it affected the witch at his side.

“You have to tell someone Harry.” He heard her whisper. Afraid, almost. If Hermione Granger could be afraid.

He tried to ignore the pit in his stomach. She was probably being over-cautious, over dramatic. She tended to be that way when it came to Tweedledee and Tweedledum. But she kept looking at Potter with those pleading eyes, ripping his hand out of her grasp as he shoved his sleeves down.

Fear was a shade he didn’t like on her.

~.~

He couldn't even say she was as much of a know it all as she had been. She still was the first person to be called on and had an answer and opinion for everything, but it was less obnoxious than before. But then she would say something that would set off the duo at her sides, light the ignition to fire. She didn’t dominate the conversation, but sparked it. Weasley would get loud, Potter would draw attention. And she would be in the middle of it- meditating, trying not to laugh, placing her hand on their shoulders.

She was laughing now, seated by her friends in the great hall. What could be so amusing that she would throw her head back like that? Cover her face with her hands, almost embarrassed. It wasn't exaggerated or loud, wasn’t done in a way that would draw attention. It was private, shared with the people who surrounded her, but still, he saw it, experienced it all. She smiled as she moved her palms up, running her fingers through the mountains of curls, and Draco found it hard to stop staring.  She was so open, so expressive. She hit Weasley on the arm playfully, and the dolt smiled lopsidedly. The way he grinned at her made it clear that there was something there, something he wanted between the two. Potter looked on with an amused expression as he sipped his tea. Draco felt anger boil inside of him. Since when did Weasley have anything interesting to say? Since when was Granger that funny? Since when did she laugh that way? He wished she would stop. Wished he could pluck her out of the small cocoon she was in, wipe the smile right off her face, make her stop laughing at Weasley that way-

Kiss Granger to shut her up. Kiss Granger to make her fucking stop.

It was less about shutting her up. More about getting Weasley's hands off her.

Maybe he could do those things. Storm over to the Gryffindor table, lift her from her seat, and pull her away from them. Leave Weasley behind, face burning red as his idiotic hair. Drag her down the hall, into an empty room. Dark, hardly lit. Just bright enough to see her chest heaving, lips parted-

Brown eyes caught blue, startled him out of his thoughts. He scowled, trying to mask his surprise, then quickly turned to Pansy. He leaned down, cutting the witch off mid-sentence, and kissed her breathless. It was wrong to do, to use Pansy the way he was. Still, as Draco angled his potion, he cut his eyes towards the Gryffindor table, just to confirm. She had turned away, a pretty blush on her cheeks. As he dipped lower to kiss Pansy, he couldn’t help but wonder how she would taste.

~.~

If there was ever a mystery that Draco Malfoy would never unravel, it was why Granger gave Weasley a second of her time.

And why, for the love of Merlin, did she look like she was about to cry every time a witch in a short skirt caught his eye?

~.~

She looked tired, stressed. He feels it, too. Umbridge has pinned a shiny new badge on him, just as she pins tedious new decrees to the cobblestone walls. It was fun, at first, being a part of the inquisitorial squad. Fun to be given power. Validating, to be recognized for his merits, while Saint Potter was seen for what he was.

Bittersweet to see it taking such a toll on her. Not that he would admit it in a thousand years. Not even under the influence of veritaserum would he tell a soul that he worried about Hermione Granger in his free time.

~.~

Draco Malfoy was decidedly not stalking Hermione Granger. And if he was, so was everyone else who walked to potions, then to the great hall, followed by the library. And after that, straight to the Gryffindor staircase. So it couldn't just be him alone.

His new badge and position in the inquisitorial squad allowed him to follow her, all in the interest of fact-finding. Umbridge was interested in knowing their whereabouts, discovering what, specifically, Potter and his group were up to. She saw betrayal around every corner, lurking in every shadow. Draco was more than happy to keep tabs on Hermione. All in the name of fact-finding, of course.

The things he uncovered were probably of little use to Umbridge, unfortunately. Draco discovered that while she would drink tea, if coffee was offered she reached for that first. She would only nibble at her meals- Draco honestly worried if she was eating enough. Some nights he had half a mind to march over to her dinner table and stick a roll down her throat. Why did no one else seem to notice how she pushed the food around her plate?

She was studious, everyone knew that. But as Draco watched her, he didn’t see a witch entrenched in her studies, troubled over her work. In fact, it didn’t look like work at all. Hermione Granger was in love with learning. It filled Draco with an uncomfortable pleasure to watch such an intimate act.

Granger, for all her smarts, did not seem that observant about her surroundings. Even though he was not following her, he would admit that their schedules coincide very often, but she seemed to take no notice of it.

~.~

The more he watched, the more sure he was that Skeeter was full of shit. It didn’t seem like Hermione had any romantic feelings towards Potter, though she did spend a considerable amount of time attached to his hip. In fact, he was fairly certain he had seen her playing wingman for the bastard.

For his part, Potter did not seem interested either. They were friendly, but not in a flirtatious way.

That wasn’t the case for Weasley.

At times, it was clear he didn’t care about her worth a fig. But whenever McLaggen came her way, the red-headed oaf looked at Hermione like he wanted to possess her. It was a fucking pissing war that Granger seemed content to let him win.

~.~

He began to notice the small things. When she concentrated, her brows furrowed together. She would wrinkle there first if she kept up the habit.

She would gather her curls, less bushy than they were last year, and tie them back into a high bun. Defined spirals would slip out as she stood on tiptoes to get a better look in the cauldron. He knew by now that when her hair was back, she meant business. When her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, she became snappy. Weasley and Potter would give her a wide berth, seemingly knowing this inside information as well. Despite the fact that their obvious body language screamed for her to stay away, she would look over her shoulder, nagging them endlessly.

“You’re stirring the wrong way.”

“Did you add one cup or two?”

“Ron, it is not supposed to bubble like that!”

Endless, constant corrections. It drove Draco crazy.

“Enough Granger. Just let them fail already.” He said finally. He hadn’t meant to let that slip out. It was a thought that crept past his lips without thinking- one he needed to rectify. Putting on his best smirk, he added, “Besides, from the looks of it, you might not even be giving them the right information. Sure you’re not trying to off them, Granger?”

She pursed her lips together and breathed through her nose, trying to control her anger. He could practically seem her fuming. As she opened her mouth, ready to pour out a tirade of annoyances and insults, the urge to push her came over him. He didn’t see her as worked up anymore. Fuck, part of him wanted her to punch him the way she had years ago. The flush on her cheeks was so tempting.

In that moment, he wanted to crowd her against the potions table, her frame so much smaller than his. In his mind, she would smile as she gripped his belt buckle, tugging it off with practiced ease as she fell to the floor. She would look so damned pretty on her knees.

“Let it go, Mione.” Weasley tugged at her elbow, drawing her attention away. “He’s not worth it.”

~.~

It seemed like every time Cho Chang was around, Granger was pulling Weasley away. Draco bit his tongue as he marched towards the pair, shouting that educational decree 24 bans student groups. When Granger quickly retorted that two students hardly constituted a group, Draco replied that her hair alone ought to count for at least 3 students and to quickly go their separate ways.

~.~

The song “Weasley is our King” was written largely by Draco, and he was quite proud of it, if anyone cared to ask. The Slytherins sang it in the stands, his teammates chanted it on their broomsticks.

It was great to see Weasley so nervous. When it came to the already distasteful Weasleys, Ron was the worst. Always backing up Potter, constantly flying around Hermione like a gnat. Truly, the git had nothing going for him. His looks were below average, much like his I.Q. Draco knew that if it wasn’t for the fact that Hermione was such a pushover for her friends, Weasley would have had to repeat a year- several times.

And then he had the nerve to snub her. Had the nerve to let his short temper get the best of him and blow up on her.

If a little song riled him up, all the better.

~.~

He lost the match, but Potter still let loose. Such an ugly display of name-calling. He wished Umbridge hadn’t interrupted. He would have loved to break those round glasses and blacken his eyes. Especially because Hermione was screaming, trying to put some sense into him. It infuriated him. Why was it always him? Always Potter? She was forever by his side.

Notice me, not him- Notice me- notice me.

Umbridge banned the Gryffindors from playing. Draco smiled, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

~.~

Was there a reason Granger kept leaving clothes about the castle? It seemed like every other day he saw Granger chasing an elf with some hats or mittens for S.P.E.W.

Dobby had made his way back to the castle. He heard a rumor that it was hard for the elf to find work, and was glad to be in the kitchens, happy to be back with Potter.

He had spent his entire life in the service of the Malfoy family. Dobby could have sought him out as easily as he did Potter. Draco realized that Dobby must not want to.

Maybe Granger was right; maybe the elves were unhappy, wanted their freedom. Perhaps, at the manor, Dobby had been treated unfairly.

More than unfairly. Wrong.

Before he left the castle, Draco made a pitstop in the kitchens. Inside the emerald green package, a soft jumper, shorts, and several pairs of socks were carefully wrapped. The bright red bow red Dobby’s name.

~.~

Christmas at the manor was typically a grand affair. Anything put on by Narcissa Malfoy usually was. Witches and wizards would travel from all over to attend the annual Malfoy parties. They were known to be the social events of the season, and for young, unwed witches and wizards, a perfect matchmaking opportunity. The large evergreen tree was enchanted to twirl, the lights and sparkle from the ornaments making a pretty picture. The gifts under the tree were large in size, large in quantity. Everything seemed like a normal Christmas party, appearance-wise.

Inside, it was tense. It was hushed conversations, heavily veiled hints. There was a constant refill of champagne, a constant need for it . His father smiled, but he could tell he was on edge. And his mother, ever the gracious hostess, she flitted from one group to another, checking in, hearing it all. Draco simply sat back, letting the ebb and flow of conversation wash over him.

“Did you hear about Weasley?” A large wizard had said, leaning against the wall nearest Draco. He was talking to a pretty witch, dark hair pinned high on her head.

“No, do tell.” She leaned forward, hungry for the news.

“Attacked, they say. Right at the department of mysteries. It’s all very hush-hush.”

“Any day now.” He heard the witch whisper excitedly. The wizard murmured his agreement.

They were on the precipice; of what, he had no idea. He wished they would have the decency to give details if they would bother to talk so openly.

Mr.Weasley was attacked, that much he knew. As much as he detested the red-headed clan, he couldn’t help but imagine his own father in danger. He got the sense it wasn’t as far fetched as it might seem.

“Draco, dear.” His mother approached him, a gentle smile plastered on her face. “I believe Pansy is waiting for you to dance with her.”

“Must I?” He frowned. He was in no mood to dance.

“If you find her good enough to kiss in the hallways, I’m sure you’ll find her suitable enough to take a turn on the dance floor with.”

Draco's blue eyes grew large. He had no idea how his mother had heard about that. She held out her hand, forcing Draco to stand. “I have eyes everywhere, my darling.”

Pansy would not leave him alone for the rest of the night. She chatted happily, asked his opinion on her dress, her shoes. They talked about their classes, about their classmates, other things he held little interest in.

She was a fine friend, but that was all. She was pretty, wellbred. Funny, at the right times, kept up with her marks. Their families knew each other well, and her inheritance was sizable. She was everything he should be looking for in a partner, but none of it seemed appealing. He knew that Pansy was hoping for more- he certainly wasn’t helping the situation with his recent actions. But the thought of being attached to Pansy, or any variant of a suitable woman left him feeling sick. Granger's name clawed at the back of his mind, threatening to take over, to spill out.

He gripped Pansy tighter, wishing that the waist he was holding was Granger’s. Wished that he could pull her body in close, sway to the rhythm of the songs. Wished he could sweep her curls to the side so that he could whisper in her ear how badly he wanted her.

More than that, he wished there was a world in which he could dance with Hermione.

~.~

He was happy to see her on the train. Happy to be near her again. She, on the other hand, looked miserable as she walked down the aisles, dutifully inspecting her assigned compartments.

He wondered what had her so fatigued.

~.~

She was dangerous. Having feelings for her was dangerous.

It was an infatuation, that was all.

That's all it could be.

He tried to remind himself of that as he followed her through the halls.

~.~

Draco was called to the headmaster's office in the dead of night. In his gut, he knew. Whatever had been building was finally reaching its arc.

He had never been to Dumbledore's office. He had heard rumors, but never looked at the inside for himself. As the knot in his stomach tightened, the curious part of him wondered what it would be like to have an audience with the headmaster alone. Though he was loathe to admit it, Dumbledore was an intimidating wizard.

He was surprised to find Snape in the headmaster's chair, waiting for him.

“Snape?” he questioned. “What are you doing here? I thought-”

“Yes.” His professor drawled. “Professor Dumbledore requested your presence. He asked, however, that I deliver the message to you.”

Draco stood in front of the chair, legs locked into place. “What message?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange has broken out of Azkaban. Your aunt is on the loose.”