Chapter 12

There were several reasons Hermione found herself in line outside the universities student union bar at 11 pm on a Wednesday. Firstly, according to Harry and Ron, attending University also encompassed having a social life, hence going out was a main component of the experience. Secondly, Lavender Brown religiously attended every night out Ron did, hence Hermione wanted to even out the playing ground. And finally, she didn't like how Harry and Ron had stopped asking her whether she wanted to come or not, most likely because she always declined their offer. Not this time.

Looking around the queue, Hermione realised she was wearing significantly more than the girls around. Her black blouse revealed the tiniest amount of cleavage, but covered the lengths of her arms and was long enough to be tucked into her black jeans. Everyone else seemed to be in tube tops that looked like oversized headbands stretched around their chest, and tight skirts that would definitely ride up throughout the night. At least she wasn't cold.

'ID and student card please," the bouncer asked once they shuffled up in the queue, and soon they were all making their way into the venue.

Ironically, the student union was named The Bookclub, with the front door disguised as a bookshelf, complete with fake books lined against the entrance. Once pushing past, the room was filled with students queuing for drinks at the bar, packed together like sardines whilst also trying to push each other out the way with their elbows'.

The music was loud with a thumping bass that rippled around the room, drowning out the chatter. The dancing space was still relatively empty, but would probably get busy when students were slightly more intoxicated.

"What do you think? Not so bad is it Hermione? Certainly better than the library," Ron's voice was completely unexpected and directly against her ear, his hot breath tickling her sensitive neck. A warmth flushed beneath her skin, either from her reaction to him or simply the heat of the club. Most likely because of him.

"Yes it's alright," she responded, giving him a reassuring smile, only she felt panicky and anxious. This was very much out of her comfort zone. He slipped his hand in hers for a second, gave it a small squeeze, then let go.

"I'm going to the bar, what can I get you, Mione?"

She didn't want him to leave and disappear into the mass of people, leaving her for God knows how long. He'd get swallowed up whole, pressed against other sweaty bodies, girls wriggling against him as they waited alongside. She wanted to keep him firmly beside her, to the point where she contemplated gripping his hand so he couldn't physically leave. No Hermione, we are not going to act desperate tonight, we are going to play it cool.

"Um, a gin and tonic?" She wasn't going to opt for tequila again.

"Coming right up. Stick to Harry! I'll be back in a bit," and he was gone, weaving between the crowd of people, trying his best to wedge himself into the queue. Her eyes followed him as much as they could, but just as she predicted, he got lost in the crowd, leaving her to fend for herself.

He was not back in a bit. She went to get a drink with Harry, and by the time they got back, he was still nowhere in sight.

Whilst Harry was busy chatting to Luna and Neville, she thought now would be a good time to find the toilet. A long queue already snaked its way against the edge of the room, with girls' impatiently tapping their feet, always standing in groups more than two. She felt awkward standing alone and wondered whether others were looking at her knowing she didn't belong.

Five minutes passed.

Ten minutes passed.

After fifteen minutes had passed and she had only taken one step forward, her impatience kicked in. How long was this queue going to take? Her bladder was full to the brink, to the point where she had to cross a leg in front of the other to stop any leakages. She considered asking the girls in front if they wouldn't mind her skipping the queue, however, their turned-up noses and sneer-smothered faces suggested otherwise.

The disabled toilet was only a few steps away and had no one waiting outside, and whilst Hermione knew she really shouldn't use it, her logical mind had shut off completely. She couldn't hold it much longer.

It took approximately ten steps before she was pulling the toilet door open, and whilst she expected to run and immediately pull her jeans down, she was instead rooted in place.

Despite the door being open, the toilet was not empty.

There were two boys crowded by the sink, with their backs hunched as a plate balanced by the tap. Draco Malfoy was instantly recognizable by his silvery hair, and his eyes snapped up at the sound of the door being yanked open. The grey swirls of his iris were barely visible with his dilated pupils, and instead of looking panicked at the idea of being caught, his expression was clouded by anger and annoyance.

The other boy looked far more slimy and greasy, with wet-looking hair and a chubbier face. A rolled-up note was jammed up his crooked nose, and he took a big sniff as he inhaled a thin line of white power from the plate. Apparently, her presence wasn't enough to pause what he was doing, and he waited until every last particle had travelled up his nostril, making a wrenching hover noise with his nose in the process.

She should have run out and closed the door the second she stumbled in. Instead, she froze.

"Get the fuck out, Granger," a low growl came from Malfoy, and she didn't need to be told twice.

Everyone knows that the disabled toilets are not used as toilets. At one point you would have been able to bring a sket back and have a quick shag, but now even that was frowned upon. If you look closely at the sign, you can make out the word 'Black Magic' scribbled under the official writing, the words scrubbed at by the cleaner to the point where the writing was faded and barely readable. But everyone still knows.

Everyone apart from Hermione Granger.

She ran out of the loo's with a look of fear and terror, as though she had just witnessed a crime, and Draco let out the breath he had held since she ambushed them. What the fuck was she doing walking in on them, let alone at a club? She didn't look the type.

Crabbe dragged the back of his hand against his nose, peering in the mirror to see if any powder had gotten stuck on the hairs around his nostril.

"How'd you know her?"

"What?"

"You said her name. Doesn't look like a Slytherin type to me, who on earth is 'Granger'? Did she want some coke?"

Her name sounded odd from his mouth, and Draco hoped he never spoke the words again. Furthermore, the last statement was just ridiculous, did her scared little face look like it had ever even seen the drug before? Let alone want to try it?

"She's a first-year student. A nobody."

"How do you know a first student?"

"Crabbe, I told you, I don't know her."

"Yeah and I'm saying you're full of shit. Come on Draco, spill the beans. Are we screwing freshers now?"

The conversation was painful, and if he sneered hard enough he knew Crabbe would shut up. Only, the plate of cocaine had him mesmerised, and the anger seemed to evaporate from his body as he stared at the sparkling white powder. It was everything he had fantasized about all summer, picturing the moment he could give in to his cravings and finally be reunited with the one thing he loved the most. By the end of the summer, he had convinced himself he wouldn't go back, and that being forced into a home-rehab was enough to scare him off the stuff completely. But how could he say no when it was in front of him?

"Hand over the note, Crabbe."

"Tell me who she is and I will."

"Grow up."

Crabbe handed the note anyway, and it took Draco 3 seconds to lean over, bring it to his nose, and sniff up the line.

There it was. The familiar sensation of chemicals clinging to the taste buds in his nose, the raw skin in his nostrils twinging with a nasty sting. The taste travelling behind his throat, the drip making its way down till it hit his sensitive teeth. The immediate feeling of being awake, being alive, feeling a need to grit his teeth together and start moving around. Oh, how he missed this.

"Have you fucked her? She was pretty hot in an 'im really innocent but probably a freak in bed' kinda way. It's always the innocent ones you've got to look out for. The slutty ones think they're all that, but are usually just vanilla."

That was the problem with cocaine- it made you talk. Crabbe loved to talk too much without any substance, so him after he inhaled some he was a nightmare. Words came out his mouth at a million miles per second, usually full of shit, nothing of importance. If Draco stayed silent he knew Crabbe would talk enough for the both of them, but the substance made him feel a need to talk too.

"I know her from Chemistry. Snape picked her out as some rising star from first-year, nothing interesting. I wouldn't touch the girl with a metal pole."

That was a lie. In that top, he'd touch her. He'd touch her all over.

"Just a nerd? Boring. Let's do one more line then have a cigarette."

Draco agreed, any hesitation now vanished from his mind. He knew how easily he'd fall into his old habits, and how much harder he was going to have to try to keep it hidden from his family. To feel this alive, it was worth it.

Before they made their way to the smoking area, Crabbe wanted to pick up a quick drink, and so headed to the bar. He jabbed out his elbows, and forcibly pushed his way forward, and Draco watched with amusement at people's pissed-off expressions. It didn't matter, no one would say anything to stop him, no matter how annoyed they got. His eyes zoned out losing interested and started shifting around the room instead.

Everywhere he looked he saw sluts. Girls in tight tops barely covering their nipples, as if whoring themselves out to the world made them more appealing in some way. Slabs of skin or protruding rib-bones, skirts that revealed the curve of their buttocks, or lack of one. When he had first joined Hogwarts, his eyes couldn't get enough, unravelling each body with his eyes, peeling away the little clothes they displayed on their body.

The milky smooth skin of a female was a whole new sight he had never explored, fascinated at how much softer and more feminine the female form was. The curve of a breast made him salivate as though he was a starving man given a plate of fine-dining cuisine. Tasting the wetness between a girls thighs was like savouring a mouthful of caviar or sipping on an expensive bottle of wine only bought out on special occasions.

The beauty of fine-dining was not just the taste or the aesthetics of the plate in front. It was the exclusivity. Knowing that he, a Malfoy, was privileged enough to own what no-one else owned. These girls came from money, they were well-groomed, they had tiny figures that he could dominate with his body and scream his name.

But they were not exclusive.

They put themselves on display for the world to see, parading it around clubs and public events, every boy tasting the view with their eyes. It cheapened them, turned them from exquisite, ravishing meals, into cheap take-aways. Greasy, unsatisfying and inferior.

His mind involuntarily fell on Granger, the thin black blouse that teased at cleavage, but gave nothing away. The curve of her neck was the most skin on show, long and slender and would surely shiver under his touch. If he peeled her clothes back and kissed her body then he'd be the only one to enjoy it tonight, hidden away from every other prying eye. He liked the element of mystery and unattainability- he wanted her to push him away so that over-powering her with his body was an even greater prize.

And yet she was a mudblood. Common, poor, and a nobody. The fact that something twinged between his legs at the thought of her disgusted him.

He realised then that he was staring straight at her, the curls of her untameable hair instantly recognisable. And Crabbe was standing right by her side. Her body was turned away from him, but he was leaning in, his lips moving but Draco was too far away to even lip read.

Draco felt a sinking feeling in his chest, knowing what was about to happen seconds before it did. She turned her head away, trying to put some distance between herself and Crabbe, and that's when his hand darted out and slipped something into her drink. The movement was so quick that no-one around noticed, and it would have slipped Draco's eye-line if he hadn't been looking out for it.

It instantly dissolved, and she took a sip completely oblivious to the night she was about to have. Draco had watched Crabbe do this before, and whilst he disapproved, he never cared enough to interfere. It wasn't his problem, he had never suggested to spike anyone's drink, nor thought it was worth the waste of drugs. And he knew that Crabbe would never try to physically hurt them after.

Yet, Draco felt a pinch in his throat, not liking the immense sense of guilt and disapproval to picking Hermione Granger as a target. She was insufferable, had a smart-arse mouth, and was a know-it-all... But she was not an evil person.

And Draco hated how this made him feel evil.