I've read quite a few Dramione fics, and I realized that there seemed to be a common character development among most of them: Draco is a devastatingly beautiful god of sex, experienced with women and their carnal desires, while Hermione is the innocent girl that doesn't respond to his advances the way he expects. Eventually, they fall in love.
Now, I'm not going to argue the point one way or the other, since many great stories have come from these characterizations (I even read a decent one where he literally was a sex god). At the same time, if Draco Malfoy really is a sex god, I feel that even he would have to start from square one.
Consider this story to be square one.
Scanties
The Dare
November 7, 1994
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Draco Malfoy's fourth year
It had cost the boys a pretty sickle — but then again, they could afford it. And it wasn't every day your yearmate turned fifteen. Nor, for that matter, was it every day that a group of adolescents decided to get ragingly pissed for the very first time. Draco Malfoy himself had placed the order for the alcohol, and a sixth year delivered it to their hands that evening—twenty-four bottles of butterbeer and two bottles of fire whiskey. They'd been unsure about the amounts, but after seeing the surplus of bottles arranged between them, all of them greedily snatched a butterbeer and toasted to Nott before chugging.
The five of them were alone in their quarters, alternately laughing and drinking until an unfamiliar lightheaded-ness settled in around them. When Nott offered up a drinking game, no one protested. "It's called I've Never," he said rather loudly. "One person says something they've never done, and if you've done it before, you drink."
A simple enough concept for them all to grasp, even Crabbe and Goyle. They moved through the circle as quickly as they slurped down their beers, growing louder and cruder with each round. It was Draco's turn again, just as he finished his sixth (or was it seventh?) bottle.
"I've never . . . I've never seen a girl's scanties," he pronounced, grinning like a fool. He looked to Goyle, who was next, but the boy was sipping on his butterbeer. Draco's mirth faded as he glanced about. Not only was Goyle drinking. All of them were drinking. It couldn't be. His mouth open and closed once or twice, and then he demanded, rather indignantly, "Hang about, mates. You mean to tell me that you've all seen scanties before?"
Nott and Zabini traded glances. "Er, yeah," Zabini said rationally. "We have girlfriends."
"Crabbe, Goyle?" he prompted desperately, turning to his two best mates.
They wouldn't meet his eyes, but Goyle grumbled, "We both have older sisters. You're an only child."
Somehow, the whole atmosphere of the party deflated. Draco looked wildly between his four yearmates, searching for some kind of solace, but they all fixed their gazes firmly on the ground, as if mourning a deceased classmate.
Him, namely.
His horrified displeasure settled about him like a thick fog. He had never — never — been behind his friends in these new experiences. Draco was the first to hold hands with a girl, the first to snog, and the first to get to second base. How had they surpassed him? "I need to fix this!" he said, half-pleading. He couldn't quite define what 'this' was, but he'd be damned if he stayed like it forever. Especially if people were going to look at him like a mangy stray.
Nott suddenly brightened in a way that gave him some hope. "Alright, mate, I dare you to pinch some girl's knickers before the week is out."
Pansy, of course, immediately popped into Draco's head. She'd been paying him an awful lot of attention this year, and he didn't particularly mind it. She was rather pretty, for one. Her family was also close with their own. He'd be able to get her scanties without a hitch.
Luck was not on his side, however. "And we get to pick the girl, too!" Zabini added definitively. "You don't get to nab Pansy's."
"Then who?" he asked, trying to mask his annoyance.
At once, Nott and Zabini exchanged malevolent glances, while Crabbe and Goyle shared a confused one. Nott finally intoned, "You have to get the scanties of none other than . . . Hermione Granger!"
Crabbe and Goyle gasped, as if on cue, then began to laugh.
"Granger? Not fair!" Draco implored over their merriment. "Long underwear isn't attractive!"
"It's Granger, or you'll lose the bet," guffawed Zabini, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
Draco flinched at the proclamation. He wanted so badly to shrug it off, but the other boys were eagerly watching him for confirmation. It was ridiculous, not to mention mortifying. But the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to heed their advice. He was a handsome bloke with a good deal of money. This should be easy for him. He could get a girl's scanties, even if they did belong to Granger. No one could ever resist his charm. He was Draco bloody Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!
"I accept!" he announced, pounding his fist on the ground. "I'll have her knickers by the end of the week!"
They all applauded him, and each one took a congratulatory shot. Draco, sadly, did not remember anything after that.
Day One
November 8, 1994
It took him awhile to work up the courage to open his eyes. He wished he hadn't. Things were swimming about his vision. When he tried to sit up, the entire room moved instead, immediately making him nauseous. Draco moaned, and heard an answering sound from the bed next to him.
"This is awful," the voice intoned, muffled by the sound of the comforter. Blaise, Draco realized belatedly. He tried to sit up again, failed, and instead opted to roll to the edge of the bed and half-crawl, half-fall to the floor. It was about then that he promised himself that he would never drink again.
"What time is it?" he murmured.
A string of curses preceded the inevitable answer of "Merlin's bullocks—we have twenty minutes."
Draco grunted in response and helped himself to his feet. "Let's get the others moving. Maybe a quick shower and—" He would have said 'bite to eat', but the thought of it almost causes him to retch. He squelched it and stumbled towards the nearest four-poster. Nott was passed out tangled up in his school robes, his feet on the pillows. The boy's tie, oddly enough, was holding up a pair of pants that looked five sizes too big. "Oy," Draco said, wincing at his own voice. "Wake up, mate, we've got class soon."
The boy groaned as if he were being raised from the dead. (Maybe he was.) "What happened?" his breath rasped into a sentence.
"You turned fifteen," Zabini whimpered. He was holding his head as gingerly as a crystal ball as he sat up.
"Quick, let's get him to the showers."
With a lot of rallying above Nott's whines, Draco and Zabini managed to haul him into the shared bathroom. This was apparently where Crabbe and Goyle had spent the night. Crabbe was huddled around a toilet while Goyle was sitting upright in a stall, snoring loudly and conspicuously missing his pants. Both Draco and Zabini glanced towards the oversized pair that Nott was wearing.
"Ew," Zabini said.
Draco had crinkled his nose, but he also remembered how little time they had. "Let's at least get them to brush their teeth," he said diplomatically. It took much longer to wake Crabbe and Goyle, and by the time Draco was rushing down the corridor, fixing his tie, he was already five minutes late to class. He burst into potions and sat in the back corner seat as silently as he could. It wasn't nearly silent enough.
"Mister Malfoy, a pleasure to see you," Snape oozed, turning just enough to study him. "How peculiar that all five of the Slytherin boys from your year have been missing from class. Might I inquire about the status of your bunkmates?"
He gulped. His head was still pounding and he did not want to deal with this. "They're on their way, Professor."
"Really." It was not a question. Then, he said, "We are on page 186. I trust you will inform the others when they arrive so as not to disrupt my classroom."
"Yes, Professor." He pulled out his book (which happened to be the wrong one) and some parchment to take notes. His quill was also conspicuously missing. Desperate, Draco glanced to his right to see if he could pilfer one for a bit.
Well, what luck. Granger was raptly paying attention to whatever it was Snape was saying, just as she was raptly not paying attention to him.
"Oy," he whispered. She stiffened, but didn't move. Beyond her, Weasley leaned forward and positively glowered at him. He continued anyways, "Oy, Granger, have a quill on you?"
"Bugger off," Weasley hissed. The effect was diminished when Granger reached into her bag and thrust a quill at him.
"Give it back after class," she warned.
"Miss Granger, speaking out of turn will not be tolerated." All three of them guiltily turned to the front, where Snape was watching crossly. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your inattentiveness." When Snape turned back to the board, both Granger and Weasley glared at him. Even Potter, from further down the row, scowled nastily.
Draco paled and faced forward. The other Slytherin boys chose to burst in at that time, and they rambled off apologies left and right as they squeezed into the open seats. Snape was seething by the time they were through, but he continued to slog through the lesson. Zabini chose to sit next to Draco. He shuffled through his bag while Draco muttered the instructions for class.
"She's right there," the other boy replied under his breath. "Have you talked—" His voice trailed off as he peered at Draco's parchment. "Hang about . . . are you taking notes about her?"
"Shut up, Zabini." He finished scrawling a sentence before glancing up at his friend. "If you must know," he intoned, mustering every scrap of dignity he had within him, "I felt it best to assess the situation before blindly pursuing. I only have a week." He didn't want to add that he was still a bit nauseous and couldn't imagine functioning in front of anyone that Gryffindor in his current state.
When class ended, he simply left her quill on his desk and bolted out of the room. His precious notes grew throughout the day. He wanted to know when he would have openings, and what she liked, and how he could talk to her. What he found was fairly useful.
For instance, Potter and Weasley were with her nine times out of ten. It posed a problem. But, upon closer examination, he found that they rarely followed her into the library, and never stayed as long as she did. So the library it was. She was fond of books (naturally) and animals and she fancied history as well, though she couldn't know as much as he did about the wizarding world. Maybe he could tempt her with that?
He leaned back in his chair a bit to survey his notes further. His eyes strayed to his description of her once again, and he grimaced. His assessment:
Ridiculously bushy hair
Protruding teeth
Darkish eyes
Shorter
Some freckles
Decent figure
After reading the last one, he tore his eyes away, biting his lip. Draco hadn't the courage to write down his further discoveries after that, like her pouty lips, or the way her nose crinkled when she laughed. One thing was for certain, though. He was apparently the first bloke in his entire year to even notice that she was a girl. What's more, he had to admit to himself that she was rather fit.
You know, for a Gryffindor girl.
A mudblood girl.
A girl.
Draco ran a hand through his hair nervously before he swept his notes into his book bag, out of sight. This bet was already proving to be more challenging than he thought it would be.
Day Two
The 9th of November, 1994
Draco was very glad that he had taken notes. Granger may as well have been born a clock—that's how precisely she kept her schedule. He also felt as if he were some sort of prowler, knowing where she was at all times. (Not even Potter or Weasley could boast that, he supposed.) Once again, the only place he found her alone was in the library. Nott had followed him out of curiosity, but he hung back while Draco approached her, ready to make his move.
The girl was scribbling notes. She held her quill oddly, he noted absently. Must be a muggle thing.
"Are you here for a reason?"
Oh, she had noticed him. He hadn't imagined that he'd get this far, and he struggled internally to find something to say. "I, er, I never wanted you dead in second year, you know. I was, er, just joshing."
Oh, wow. Pick up line of the year.
Granger looked at him levelly over her notes. "Is this how you start conversations with everyone, or am I just lucky?"
He found that speaking with her alone was actually rather intimidating, even if she was hovering over ancient runes. (Draco couldn't stand being frightened of her.) "Consider yourself lucky," he quipped. Unfortunately, his voice cracked in the worst place, and he had to resist clapping a hand over his mouth. Oh, bullocks.
Granger only seemed annoyed. "Look, is there something you want?" Her tone seemed to imply that if there wasn't, he should go drop dead somewhere else. Draco couldn't really blame her. To his immediate recollection, the last time they had spoken pleasantly was . . . never. Never ever. In their lives.
"I . . . er, I . . . ." He was still fighting for words, but nothing was coming to mind. Tardily, he began to wonder how one could successfully chat up a mortal enemy. Was it even possible? Shit.
"I'm leaving," she announced at once, gathering her things with record speed.
"Thank you for the quill." The whole thing came out as a rush of words, and it gave her pause. In fact, her jaw dropped. He seized the opportunity to repeat, "Really. Thanks."
"You're welcome," she replied, somewhat faintly. Then she added, "But I'm still leaving." He didn't even manage to squeeze out a reasonable protest before she was marching away. Nott was laughing at him noisily, and Madame Pince shot them both a nasty glare.
Day two was not a success.
Day Three
The 10th of November, 1994
Nott didn't come this time because he wanted to catch up on homework, so Draco approached the girl alone. He couldn't tell if she was reading for class or for fun—she always wore the same face either way. "Hello, Granger," he said smoothly. (He'd practiced this time around.)
"You already said thank you." She didn't look up from her book.
"I remember."
She glanced up, her lips drawn in a thin line. "Then why are you here this time?"
"No reason to be so saucy, Granger." Draco took his time sitting down across from her. He could tell that she was annoyed, but she wasn't leaving, so that was good. "I had a potions question for you."
"Really." It reminded him of Snape, oddly enough. She saved her spot in the book, folded her hands in front of her and gave him her undivided attention. Wait, why was he nervous again? "What do you need?"
"Er, well, we were discussing the antidote to petrification the other day, right? Page 128?"
"186," she corrected.
"Right." Draco pulled out his book and opened to the page. "And it says in here that the strength required of the potion is determined by the strength of the spell." He underlined the passage with his finger.
"Yes. The basilisk, for example, requires a very powerful antidote." He noted that her voice wavered, ever so slightly, at the tail-end of her sentence. He glanced up with trepidation. Oh, right. She'd had the antidote herself, two years ago. He was scared to bring it up, so he brushed over the topic entirely.
"How do you know how strong it should be, then? And can you just take more? I mean . . . it's all very vague, isn't it?" When he looked up, Granger no longer seemed annoyed. In fact, if he knew her better, he'd dare to say that she was amused. "What?"
"I can't believe you're asking me," was all she said.
"Who better than you?"
"I mean, it's just funny."
He scowled a bit. "Glad I could entertain you."
"No—well, never mind. I looked up that bit after class. It was in another book . . . ." Draco watched in abject horror as she began to dig through her bag and pull out stacks of books. "There's a formula, you see, and it takes a bit of getting used to, but when you boil it all down, it's simple mathematics." And she was opening those books, and pointing at everything she had found out in her research. Then she went through everything, step by step, using each book as some sort of reference while she taught him how to go about it. "You see?"
He did see. Draco understood every bit. It had absolutely amazed him, because he'd only thought of the question as a conversation starter, and yet he now had enough to go back to his room and write an essay. "I do," he said truthfully.
She smiled at him. Draco, right then, felt that he had covered quite a bit of ground with her. He could win the bet. He would win the bet.
And then Viktor Krum, the Viktor Krum, stepped up to hover over her shoulder. "Is this boy bothering you, Hermy-own-ninny?" He frowned in Draco's direction and crossed his arms aggressively.
The blond nearly screamed, but he hastily swallowed it. In its place, he attempted to stammer a coherent reply. "I . . . er . . . no! I was . . . I was just . . . er—"
"Don't worry, Viktor," Granger interrupted, obviously fighting back a smile at Draco's lack of response. "He had a question he wanted to ask me."
"Vot kind of question?"
"Homework," Draco squeaked before Granger could say anything. "Just homework. Yup. Homework." He laughed forcefully and turned to the girl. "So thanks for the help." Draco paused. "Bookworm." There. That sounded a bit more natural.
She had to turn away to hide her laughter. Oh well, it couldn't be helped now. Especially because he was walking as quickly as he could towards the exit without drawing attention.
After all, that was a new development. He'd had no idea that Krum actually fancied her. And if they were dating, it was going to be that much harder to convince Granger to give him what he needed. Not to mention the pain Krum might toss in, just for kicks. (Draco flinched as he thought 'kicks'.) She thought she was so sly, helping him and leading him on. Clenching his jaw, Draco scurried back to his room to revise his plan.
Day Four
The 11th of November, 1994
After many crumpled pieces of parchment and a sore head from pounding it on his desk so often, Draco had come up with another plan. From what he'd seen, Granger was what he liked to call a "good person." His idea was straightforward: ask for her help to win the bet. If she was so willing to explain his homework to him, then maybe lending him a pair of knickers wouldn't be so bad.
The problem was asking her without having to drop by the hospital wing afterwards.
Draco peeked out from behind the shelves again and cursed to himself. Potter and Weasley were still with her, scribbling while she watched over them like a mother helping her children with their alphabet. (Yes, they were that stupid.) He was not about to burst out into the open and ask her for her scanties with those two mouth-breathers watching. In reality, he doubted he could do it when they were gone—but he was sure as hell going to try.
They just had to leave first.
"So you're saying you have a chance?" Zabini asked casually. He was leaning up against the bookshelf next to Draco, checking his nails.
"Of course I have a chance."
"Well, that's good. Because the other boys are betting money against you."
Draco snapped his head around to face him. "What?"
"I've bet fifty galleons on you, and I told them that you staked just as much." He pushed himself off the shelf and brushed off the invisible dust. "If you get them, we'll both be the richer, then. So, if there's any way I can help . . . ." He left the sentence hanging hopefully.
"Get rid of the goons," he ordered, attempting not to sound too relieved.
Zabini shot him a bright, devious smile. "Right." He deftly rounded the corner and sauntered to the table as if he had a written invitation. "Oy, Weasley, Potter, what did you do this time?" The disappointment evident in his voice fooled even Draco.
"Huh?" Potter replied. That boy was so clever, really.
"Snape is going absolutely crackers in the dungeons. He says he wants to see you two straight away."
"But we didn't do anything!" argued Weasel.
"Why are you telling me?" the Slytherin replied boredly. "I can't do a thing about it."
Potter shoved himself away from the table and rose. "Come on, let's get this over with." Weasley grumbled but followed suit, and the two dragged themselves out of the library.
Zabini watched them go with a blank face. Then he nodded to the girl and said, "Granger," as a way of parting before he turned on his heel and marched by Draco. "Good luck," he muttered as he ambled past. The blond used this time to straighten his robes and run a hand over his hair before stepping out into the open.
"It's you," she said as he approached. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Because you're a know-it-all?" he offered.
"I wonder what Viktor would say if he saw you here?" Granger added nonchalantly. He paled, but she just turned to smirk at him. "You were saying?"
"I, er . . . well, I was wondering if you could help me again."
"With what?" Being the smart witch she was, she glanced down and noticed that he was missing his book bag. She raised one of her eyebrows.
It was now or never. Draco sucked in a breath and said, "Th—"
"It is you again?" came a burly voice. Draco's back became ramrod straight, and his voice lodged in his throat.
"Oh, hello Viktor." Granger's self-satisfied grin returned. "Malfoy had another question for me." To him, she said, "What was it again?"
"P-potions," he stammered.
The hulking Bulgarian moved into his line of vision, between Draco and the girl. (Weren't seekers supposed to be small and agile? Krum looked like he could squeeze a person's head off with his bicep.) "But you asked those questions yesterday, yes?" He was leaning closer, and Draco was leaning back, and Merlin, was he about to die?
"He just forgot a step in the problem," Granger interrupted. "Didn't you Malfoy?"
"Yes," he squeaked.
"I hope I cleared it up, then. See you in class tomorrow."
Draco fled without even saying goodbye to his saviour. He had three days left and he had no clue what to do.
Day Five
The 12th of November, 1994
This time around, it wasn't Potter and Weasel sitting with her in the library. It was Krum. The Bulgarian seemed dazed, watching her read with a dark look in his eyes. It was somewhat disturbing, for a variety of reasons. One being that, if Draco had been Granger's father (on some distant, very strange planet), he would not have approved of the look on his vacant face.
On another level, Draco was panicky in general.
Draco screwed up what little courage he had left and stepped towards the table as deliberately as possible. Granger saw him first and said hullo. Krum looked over and glowered, effectively stopping Draco in his tracks. "Do you need help again?" the girl asked as if she hadn't noticed his features blanch.
"Er, yes. Potions." He accidentally took a step backwards.
She asked innocently, "Your books are in your usual spot?"
Taken aback, Draco stared at her, mouth agape. He said, at length, "Naturally."
She got up, instructed Krum to stay (like a good ickle seeker) and then Draco led her past the bookshelves, just out of earshot.
"So what's the problem?" The girl didn't even bother looking for his books or a table because she knew they simply didn't exist. Draco was impressed, not for the first time, with how smart she was. Impressed, and intimidated. He couldn't fathom a way to explain to her this entire situation without earning himself some sort of battle scar. Even now, it was nearly impossible for him to believe that she had come along willingly in the first place.
"It's, er, sort of a problem I have," he began lamely.
"And I can help?"
Draco tried not to blush as he replied, "Yes."
Granger folded her arms and waited for him to continue. It was at that moment that his last wisp of valour faded away. He swallowed and glanced about wildly. Was Krum listening? He couldn't tell, not with this blasted book shelf in his way. Aloud, he said, "I didn't know if girls preferred chocolates or flowers. You know, for the ball. I was going to ask someone. And I was going to get her something. But I didn't know if I should get chocolates or flowers." And he could stop rambling any time now.
"Oh," she said, her face unreadable. "Well, I prefer chocolates, but I don't know—"
"That's great, thanks," he interrupted. And he would have left, as well, except she began to laugh at him. "What's so funny?" he snapped.
Granger shrugged. "You. I really never knew you were like this."
"Like what?"
"Like . . . this." She gestured to all of him. Afterwards, she added, "If you still need help, you know where to find me," and she left him as he glared at nothing in particular.
Day Six
The 13th of November, 1994
Although he had his classes, Draco could hardly pay attention. Panic loomed over him, the kind that twisted his stomach into knots he had no hope of untying. His mind rapidly switched from asking her to not and then back again.
In potions, she sat diagonally from him this time. Although he wasn't taking notes about her, he did have trouble focusing on his cauldron. Must've been the dread. When class ended, he tried to get her attention, but her two cronies glared at him before he even had a chance to inhale. He scowled back at them to save face before stalking out. Draco brushed past her, and felt her terrible smile on his back. She was doing this on purpose, the bint.
Flushed from embarrassment, Draco tried to make his way to charms, but he was unfortunately detained by none other than Krum's intimidating figure.
"Er, excuse me," he mumbled, trying for politeness. The stoic figure didn't move.
"Vot do you vont with Hermy-own-ninny?"
Draco blinked. Well, it was always best to play innocent. "Who?"
"Hermy-own-ninny."
"I'm sure I don't know anyone by that name." He tried to push around him, but then he was unceremoniously slammed backwards into the wall. It took everything he had not to shriek in terror.
"This is no game," Krum snarled, and it was at that moment Draco honestly feared he would die. A whimper slid out of his lips. "Hermy-own-ninny is very nice to help you, but she does not vont you to trouble her."
"Of course," he gasped in reply.
"You vill not talk to her, yes?"
"But what if I—" Krum's dark eyes glittered with the promise of more pain. Draco quickly amended, "I won't talk to her, right."
"Good." The seeker removed his grip from the front of Draco's robes and took a step backwards. "Good day."
The blond watched with trepidation as his new enemy stalked away. If he had thought he wouldn't be able to win the bet before, he had certainly lost all hope at this point. How had Granger earned so many body guards? Did she hire them or something? Scowling to mask his nerves, he continued on to charms.
At about the time he typically visited Granger in the library, he was already in his room, doing homework.
Day Seven
The 14th of November, 1994
Draco was going mad.
It was the last day of the dare, and his social life was now on a respirator. He slogged down the corridor, dodging the expectant stares of his yearmates. They all thought he had something up his sleeve, but in reality, his plans had all fallen flat thanks to Mr. English-is-too-much-difficult-for-me.
It was the last day of the dare, and he had abso-bloody-lutely no idea what to do next.
Lunch was just starting, so he lurched through the classroom door on his way to the Great Hall. He needed a miracle. He needed—
"Psst."
Draco paused.
"Psst! Malfoy!"
There, just to the right, Granger was frantically waving him towards her. Dazed, he frowned at her and started to ask what the bloody hell she thought she was doing.
"Just get your arse over here!"
Drawing his lips into a tight grimace, he sped over, watching his back. "Granger, wha—" In one motion, the girl shoved him through a nearby doorway, then she slammed the door shut, sealing them both inside. "Where—" She muted him with an urgent hiss before casting a Silencing Charm. Simultaneously, Draco became very painfully aware of what had transpired: the two of them were alone, in a broom closet, on the outskirts of the main corridor. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and mashed himself into a corner, as far away from her as possible. "What do you want?" he finished, voice cracking slightly at the end with panic.
"Here." The girl shoved something in his direction, and he unwillingly extended his hand to accept . . . dear Merlin.
"Are these—"
"Knickers, yes," she concluded absently, ear pressed against the door.
They were silky, almost slippery. He gulped and refused to open his fist. "Look, Granger, I can't accept—"
"Don't be silly," Granger interrupted with a wave of her hand, though he barely saw it in the dark. "My aunt gave them to me for my birthday as a gag. This'll be the most use I get out of them." Then she turned around to face him. "I tried to make sure some of your mates saw us, so we'll have to stay in here for a bit to make it believable."
Draco was floundering for words, or even sounds, but the scanties clutched in his now-sweating palm had sucked them all away. He settled for a nod, though he was fairly confident she didn't notice it, and shoved the knickers in his pocket. She was still intent on listening at the door, which was fine with him—he didn't want to be near her at all, feeling her body pressed against his, her lips, her tongue—
"What?"
Draco immediately snapped out of it. "Huh?"
"I thought you said something."
"No, not me." His voice cracked again. She chuckled. "Why are you doing this, anyway?" he snapped, trying to mask his utter dread.
She shrugged and turned back towards the door. "I know about the bet. Consider this a thank you."
He was simultaneously horrified and baffled.
"Wh-ha-at?"
Smooth.
He considered himself lucky when she didn't laugh this time around. "Well, er, you helped me, remember?" Draco stared at her blankly, taking a beat to realize that she wasn't referring to the bet, but the thank-you bit. "At the World Cup. You made sure that Harry and Ron kept me safe."
"So you're giving me your knickers?"
She huffed. "What, would you rather we actually kissed?"
Draco didn't trust himself to answer, so he scoffed as best as he could and tried to hide his reddened face, belatedly remembering that she probably couldn't see him besides.
Granger sighed and shifted a bit to partially face him. The sliver of light that came in through the key hole lit up just enough of her face for him to see her sad smile. "You're not too evil after all, are you?"
He wanted to answer. He really did.
But he didn't know what to say.
"I didn't think so," she concluded.
"Now wait a minute—" Draco stepped forward just to prove to her how evil he could be—by yanking on her hair or something (he'd come up with something)—but she cut him off.
"We don't have a minute. It's about time for you to go."
She might as well have cast a Full-Body Bind on him. "Now?"
"Yes. Just open the door and waltz out like nothing happened. Then make eye contact with one of them and nod. That should be enough." Granger was busy rumpling her robes and missed his look of amazement.
"I, er . . ."
"You're welcome, Malfoy," she said as she rose to face him. Then she frowned. "Muss up your hair or something before you go," She admonished him, scruffing his locks with her free hand. Offhandedly, she muttered, "Merlin, you'd think this was your first time."
He smirked half-heartedly. She didn't need to know he'd never been in a broom closet with a girl before.
"I'll leave a bit afterwards to make it look real."
"Wait!" he burst as she attempted to open the door.
"What?"
"H-how did you know about the bet?"
Now there was no way he could overlook her grin. "You're not a very secretive person. After you tried to talk to me in the library, I simply asked Goyle a couple of questions. He spilled the whole plot. Now go." With that, she shoved him back into the bright corridor of Hogwarts. Up ahead, off to one side, Nott, Crabbe and Goyle were eagerly waiting for him to approach. Draco did his best to swagger forward without tripping on his own feet. His right hand still clutched the—them—tightly in his pocket. As he passed them, he murmured "mission accomplished" with a trembling smirk.
Within moments, he was climbing through the common room's door, the others nearly on his heels. Zabini was already there doing homework, but he dropped his things as soon as he saw them. The procession followed him all the way to their shared dormitories. The door was promptly shut, right before the questions and exclamations rang out.
"You got them?"
"Let us see!"
"Was she any good?"
"Do you think anyone else noticed?"
"Merlin, this is hilarious!"
Draco took his time standing in front of them, soaking up the praise that wasn't exactly his (not like he'd ever admit that) and smirking all the while. His confidence was soon at its peak. "You want to see them?" he asked rhetorically. "Then here they are, chaps." He reached into his pocket and held up—
His jaw dropped, the same as all the other boys.
After a pause silent enough to overhear quiet conversations in the other rooms, Nott weakly murmured, "Sweet Merlin's tea, she was wearing those?"
Draco coughed delicately, the pink in his cheeks prominent on his pale face. "Er, yes. Yes she was." He shook his head as if waking himself from a deep slumber, then slipped the knickers back into his pocket and smirked at the four boys. "Now shell out the knuts."
One Week Later
The 21st of November, 1994
News had spread through Slytherin of Draco Malfoy's conquest, and rather rapidly at that. Although he'd been a bit behind in seeing scanties, he was the very first boy of his year to snatch a pair from a girl during a quick snog. And, frankly, no one had thought the Gryffindor muggleborn had it in her, either.
Fortunately for Draco, Slytherins kept this sort of news to themselves, and no one outside of the house was the wiser. This kept him quite safe from the wrong end of Potter's and Weasley's wands, but he was elated that Krum also hadn't found out. It turned out that the Bulgarian fancied her more than Draco had realized. The boy had even asked Granger to the Yule Ball.
Draco found out when he attempted to ask her. He was still cursing himself for it. It had been on a whim, really (and that included the chocolates he had bought her). It's not like he cared about her like that. He had tried not to make a big deal out of the whole ordeal in the first place. Admittedly, he was rather tongue-tied the next time he saw her in the library, but that was only because she caught him off-guard by smiling and saying hullo. "Did everything work out?" she continued.
He opened his mouth, but no words fell out. He imagined that he looked quite dumb.
"I'll take that as a yes," she said, continuing to read. When he didn't leave, she looked up again. "Are you feeling al—"
"Are you going to the ball?" He didn't mean to interrupt her, but he had just found his nerves and he didn't want to lose them again.
She opened her mouth, but didn't say a word. He distantly recognized how similar they were. Scarily so, in fact. (How had he overlooked it before?) At last, she weakly replied, "I am. With Victor."
"Oh." His insides plummeted downward, resting somewhere around his left ankle. (He wasn't sure how he could balance with his weight distributed so strangely, but he managed.) "Oh," he said again.
"He asked me earlier. I'm sorry."
"No. No, it's alright." For the life of him, Draco didn't know why he was comforting her. He honestly didn't ask her to go with him in the first place, if he was being completely practical. (But he would have, and that scared him quite a bit.) "Er, I got you these." He shoved the box of chocolates next to her books, then took a large step backwards.
"I'm sorry," she said again.
"It's fine." It wasn't, but he wasn't about to tell her that. He wouldn't ever. "Bye, then."
"Bye, Malfoy."
He wanted to say so much more, and he was sure that she did as well, but neither of them said a word when he turned and left. Draco asked Pansy to go with him straight away, and she said yes. When he went to his room that evening, he tucked Granger's knickers into the bottom of his trunk, where he (not-so-promptly) forgot that they existed.
Except during sixth-year, when he's searching for some distraction, any distraction, to take his mind off what he has to do, and his hand runs across them twisted up with a leather cord, and he remembers how utterly nice she had been, and how much of a fool he was.
Yes, I had to make it a bit sadder at the end. But hey, this story could have happened within the books, and you would have never known. Yup. Think on that, and then please review.