requirement | dramione

0.32

one week later

Over a year ago now, Draco had gone to a Ravenclaw party with Goyle. Fucked a blonde haired girl the night he'd met her. He'd been dating Pansy at the time, rather unofficially, and made sure that Tracey Davis and Theo had seen the girl sat on his lap beforehand. He knew Tracey wouldn't hesitate to bring the news back to Pansy, itching to get under her skin. 

For a while, Draco contemplated against it– worried that it would fuel whatever kept her from eating for weeks at a time. He determined that the choice of starvation was entirely her own, seeing as he'd spent that whole year coercing her to join him for breakfasts and suppers. 

He'd picked up smoking because of her and loved it. Made him feel warm. Made his lungs hurt. He'd justified that there must be something in starving that felt the same to Pansy. 

If he cheated on her, she'd make the choice to leave him on her own accord. It narrowed the chances that he'd ruin her and, instead, he'd live beneath the knowledge that she'd likely hate him forever. 

It was better than having to admit that he'd never marry her. Never love her in the way she wanted him to. 

Fucking the Ravenclaw girl was nothing worth while. Fucking Pansy was great– on occasion and when she was in a good mood. She was fun and reckless and loved to have him all over her in sneaky corners of the castle. She liked the thrill of it all, he could tell. 

Pansy liked hard drugs and screaming. Draco followed her lead without hesitation– he was quick quick to indulge in whatever muggle drug Montague smuggled into the school. She made a habit of holding his hand and dragging him to the covered bridge in the dead of winter. Seeing how far she could lean over the edge before she'd have him screaming back at her. 

Fucking Pansy was great on occasion and when she was in a good mood. 

It was bane for them both. 

Fucking Granger was different.

It was warm and welcoming. Bodies pressing together and molding against the other. She was fiery without being in a rush. Her lips were perfect and soft against  his jaw. His neck. She was getting more comfortable with him– eager in the best way. 

Draco had began stealing glances at the Gryffindor table during breakfast and supper, entirely unable to stop himself. He would twist his stomach into knots, wanting her desperately, without daring to stare for more than half a minute. 

He found himself flicking through the memories of his past hookups and feeling sorry for every single moment he would now compare to being next to Hermione. Fuck. The ways he could make her purr. 

He took a long breath, filling his nose with the scent of her, before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. Hermione shifted beside him, turning so that she laid on her belly and propped her chin into her hands. Draco let his head fall to the side, staring up at her. 

"I thought you might fall asleep." 

Draco loaned her a halfhearted grin. He honestly might have. He let his eyes close again, then pulled his hands beneath his head and settled into them. He was too tired to try to dance through conversation with her. Out of nowhere, it had become significantly harder to lie to her curated questions. She was carefully pointed and, he could not deny it, incredibly smart. 

"More dreams, Draco?" Two of her fingers feathered over the near side of his forehead. With his eyes closed, he wasn't sure whether she was brushing away loose hair or tracing a line in his skin. In the last few weeks, she'd made a habit of doing both.