Draco watched Granger carefully in the weeks following "the incident", as he had come to call it in his mind. A swish of the skirt here, a fallen quill there, and there it was, that alluring lace and sometimes a glimpse of a thigh. She wore them all the time, he realized after some lengthy and intense observation. No matter the day, no matter the color, they were always thigh highs, never tights. This was why he now looked forward to potions. That dingy, poorly lit dungeon was where he saw the most. She was less guarded here, totally immersed in her work. Her hair was always frizzier in the fog of the potions, her shirt often became un-tucked as she worked, and Draco was allowed a more frequent peek at her thighs. Granger was in her element while she was brewing and was therefore less concerned with menial tasks such as straightening her uniform, or even noticing it was askew for that matter.
Draco couldn't believe that no one else had noticed Granger's new addition to her wardrobe. Merlin's balls, it was January. She must have been wearing them since at least October, if she had switched her tights out for them. He couldn't believe it had taken him this long to spot them and that no one else had, not that he spent a lot of time looking at Grangers thighs before "the incident". But it seemed to Draco that not one person had noticed that Granger was now wearing lacey stockings instead of tights. Not the Weasel, that dense wanker whom she so obviously liked. Definitely not Potter, whom Draco had seen eying up Zabini on more than one occasion. And certainly not McLaggen who was too busy ogling Granger's tits when they were together to notice anything more subtle. Not that Granger's breasts weren't note-worthy, because they were. Merlin they were, she had filled out over the summer in more ways than one. Hermione Granger now had hips, a great rack, and yes, some knockout legs, in Draco's opinion. Not that he shared that opinion with anyone. He had started a whole new round of self-loathing because he rarely thought about anyone or anything else. He felt as though he would explode if he didn't act or at least share his illicit feelings with someone. Feelings… ugh when did he become a sodding Hufflepuff. It was those stupid socks, those fucking thigh highs. How could a piece of clothing change the way he felt about Granger. Something would have to be done. Draco needed a plan and a confidant.