Chapter 22

There were Granger-associated locations, such as the library (which he was convinced she slept in), the Gryffindor Common Room, which looked more like a thrift shop than a common area, and her bedroom, which he had been inside three times now. He knew where to find her if he wanted, her behaviour easily predictable. The coffee shop on the edge of campus was not one of them.

Yet there he was, stirring black liquid in a slow anti-clockwise direction, and in walked Granger, completely throwing him off guard. His shoulders slumped into the back of the chair, and he held his breath as if noise from his breathing was going to reach the other side of the room.

His rational brain knew that she would only notice him if she properly searched the room, his location tucked into a tiny corner to gain a little privacy. Yet, usually, she was very observant, her beady eyes always managing to scout him out, and so there was no doubt she'd look over any moment now and meet his gaze - despite how quiet he stayed. Only she didn't.

Her attention was completely transfixed on a male standing beside her, his red hair shabby and overgrown, his black gown looking more like a hand-me-down that had never seen an iron. The red and gold accents around the collar made it clear he was a Gryfindor, explaining how they knew each other, and also not surprising in the slightest. He'd never be a Slytherin.

He was plain and simple looking, someone you would instantly forget after walking past, but Granger was looking at him with a star-struck expression, as though she had bumped into her celebrity crush. Her whole face was flushed, a loving smile against her lips, her eyes transfixed on whatever he was yapping on about.

Draco had once been convinced the mud blood had developed a crush on him, from the way her eyes seemed to seek him out in a room, and her constant blush that crept up her neck and coloured cheeks. Yet she had never looked at his.

He had never seen her look so interested in something. Never had she looked at him like he was her superior. Draco didn't think the big-headed, fiery, hot-tempered know-it-all could look at someone in awe. But here she was.

He was ordering them coffee, her face leaning close to the glass cabinet where the pastries were concealed, flaky layers dipped in chocolate and vanilla frosting. Draco had never had coffee with a girl who'd ordered a pastry before, remembering the one time he'd suggested the idea resulting in having to endure a lecture on the calorie count in a single slice of cake. Needless to say, he'd never bought it up again.

But now he was picturing her finger gently scoop a dollop of cream from the top, opening up her mouth, then sucking the whipped cream off in a slow, teasing manner. Her eyes would close, a low moan coming from from the back of her throat, and-

"Who are you looking at?" Parkinson's voice vanished the image from his mind like the pop of a bubble. Her chair made a loud and ugly sound as it scraped against the wooden floor, turning her body to work out who had captured his attention. For a brief second, he panicked the noise would cause Granger to glance over, but it didn't.

Draco had forgotten about Parkinson, her presence seeming irrelevant at that current moment. He'd agreed to grab a coffee in haste spontaneity, the action of saying yes seeming less troublesome than coming up with an excuse. Furthermore, he wanted to keep up appearances, giving the illusion of socialising and associating with the right people. He'd assumed that they'd walk to the cafe, grab a to-go cup, then go their separate ways.

He regretted his decision the moment she ordered her sugar-free skinny latte to drink in.

"No one," he muttered. The shiny surface of the coffee created a mirror effect, meaning his miserable reflection starred back him.

"You're being awfully quiet. How are you? What have you been up to? I've hardly seen you this term!" she leaned forward, causing a whiff of her strong fragrance perfume to waft around him, the smell unpleasant enough to make his nose twitch. He felt a compulsion to excuse himself for a cigarette, craving the combination of smoke and black coffee along with peace and quiet. If he hadn't agreed to this pity meet-up he'd be at his usual spot in the gardens, with the simple pleasure of his own company.

"Not all of us are enrolled in media studies Parkinson, some of us have got some studying to do," he didn't mean it to sound so aggressive, yet she flinched back, clearly taking offence at his words. It wasn't his fault she was so sensitive.

"And how is the girlfriend? Didn't think id see the day Draco Malfoy settled down with a girl."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"That's not what she says."

Draco couldn't care less what Ainsley was saying - her opinion was trivial and child-like, fooling herself into thinking their late-night fucking was anything more than a release. If she wanted to create an imaginary daydream in which he would sweep her off her feet and be her Prince Charming, then that was her choice, but he certainly was not playing along. Her messages were never answered unless it was after midnight and his dick was hard.

"Drop it."

"Conversing with you is like trying to draw blood from a rock," she said, slurping on her coffee, licking the foam gathered on her top lip.

Whilst he knew he was being awful company, he was concentrating very hard to not stare at Granger - something he was failing at. The pair were sat a fair distance away, too far for Draco to lip-read the conversation, but close enough to see how the boy would occasionally steal bites from Granger's plate. And how he'd have to steal the fork to do so, causing their hands to touch and Granger to smile. He already knew she responded well to touch.

He can't believe he had told her she was divine. The choice of words was embarrassing and disgustingly affectionate sounding. They'd slipped out in a moment of weakness and bliss, far too honest to even admit to himself. But now he had acknowledged it, the word 'divine' swam through his head in mundane, repetitive circles.

Granger was not divine. She had been embarrassingly awkward, scared of something as normal as sex. Something Draco had been having regularly since turning sixteen. He'd had it so often the thought barely excited him anymore, the availability always at the tip of his finger.

Yet she was still so innocent. So...pure.

Making her cum had felt like he was dominating her in some way- stealing a piece of that fragility, thus stealing a piece of her. Listening to her moan his name wasn't a burden, but gave him power and adrenaline, wanting to hear it again and again. He had enjoyed watching her finish just as much as he enjoyed having sex, perhaps even more.

He had looked at the milky skin of her bareback. Watched her shoulders fall up and down whilst her breathing slowed and her heart rate calmed. Had resisted the urge to touch or trace patterns against her skin. The desire to pull down his trousers and slide into the dripping wetness had been there, and yet, he had been scared it wouldn't just feel like 'fucking'. Instead, it was tethering on the edge of something more meaningful.

And so he bolted.

However, the way she was looking at the red-headed scum made him question his judgement. Had last night felt special for her or was she just preparing for this guy?

She had mentioned the concept of practice, and whilst Draco was quick to dismiss it at the time, maybe she was serious when suggesting she needed experience for other conquests. Maybe this guy was her 'other conquest'.

The thought annoyed him more than he wanted to admit.

Did he even want to sleep with her anymore? Last night, after returning to his room and finishing himself off, he had told himself he didn't. He didn't like the idea of liking the way someone felt against him or finding the sound of their breathing therapeutic. He didn't like how he found pleasure in pleasuring her, or how hearing her cum would have been enough for him to finish if he had just let himself. He wanted to get her out of his system, not wedge herself in.

But he needed to know what it was like the fuck her.

"Draco, seriously, what are you staring at?" Parkinson leaned forward and waved her palm in front of his face, perplexed at his behaviour. He realised he wasn't being subtle, nor did he care, as long as Granger didn't spot him.

Then again, he was staring so intently that perhaps he did want her to notice. If they made eye contact maybe she'd think back to how his fingers had been between her legs, and she'd blush that deep shade of red she always does.

He took a sip from his cup and realised he'd let his drink go cold, the taste similar to what he imagined soil would taste like. It was unpleasant, and his company was being unpleasant, and watching Granger whilst wanting to fuck her was unpleasant.

"Are you done?"

"No, I have half my mug left. We only just got here, what's your problem?"

"I have work to do."

"Well, you shouldn't have agreed to come if you were planning to just sit here and sulk."

He wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, or that he didn't find her interesting enough to spend time with. But it wasn't worth it. Furthermore, he was stuck in this chair until Granger and her date decided to leave, the exit too close to where she was sat. Her starstruck expression hinted that it wasn't going to be anytime soon.

"Okay Parkinson, tell me how your summer went," he said, leaning back in his chair and finally making eye contact.

Sorry for the break, but I'm back and better than ever! I've written THREE whole chapters (with the third full of smut), so hope you enjoy :)