Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Word Count: 3,015
Inspired: The Six Stages of Having A Crush by iiSuperwomanii
Stage One: The Discovery
Draco Malfoy didn't remember what he ate that day, or perhaps he simply put an extra spoonful of sugar into his morning coffee, but something felt different in his bones. He knew something was definitely wrong with his brain because he found himself, sitting in his good old cubicle of an office, submerged with Auror files and in the middle of a meeting with 'good old' Potter, Longbottom and good-for-nothing Weasley, and was staring almost transfixed right at the last of the Golden Trio ― Merlin forbid ― Granger as she stopped by to greet her friends. She high-fived Potter enthusiastically, and messed up his already messy hair: does he know hair gel is a thing in the wizarding world? She allowed Longbottom to kiss her on both cheeks: what is he, suddenly French? She rejected Weasley's hug, and instead shook his hand with a purse of her lips: no one would want to be Weasley right that second and since when does Granger's lips looked so enticing? Draco refrained from rolling his eyes at Weasley's embarrassingly red face because he was busy assessing at what Granger was wearing: since when in Draco Malfoy's eyes did a simple white shirt and grey pressed trousers looked this appealing, and on Granger, of all people on this planet? She looked amazing, nerve-wrenchingly, breathtakingly and disturbingly gorgeous. Salazar, why did she feel the need to wear bloody stilettos to work? Something was definitely stuck in his throat. He swallowed and must have looked ridiculous.
"Malfoy." Draco's body felt like it was going to explode if she walked out that door. Something in his chest area tightened a fist when his name fell out of her lips; something in his stomach must have cracked under the glare from the depths of her hazel eyes; and something must have happened to his nether regions― Gods, excuse the cobwebs and the out-of-service-for-a-hell-of-a-long-time sign― because his legs started to do a nervous jiggle.
"Granger." His resting bastard-face was something no one's little frown nor the stubborn set of jaw could chase away, but it was this close: he was grateful for the little inch of mercy given even to the worst of men to not have to fall so quickly all too soon. She turned to leave and all pairs of eyes followed the female. The air she left behind tasted sweeter.
Draco had to fight his eyes and declare a reluctant victory to not memorize how her feminine strut did for her behind, back to where his mind should have remained in the last five minutes.
Weasley shifted in his seat, frowning and growling under his breath. Draco flexed his fingers which he flexed his; as if something was lost from the other man's palms and Draco ached to grab hold of it.
Longbottom was just plainly staring. And why the hell was he grinning.
Potter was glaring, his fingers rolling his quill over the notepads; Draco stared at the fragile branch of feathers instead, and wondered what could make it break.
Draco Malfoy was getting uncomfortable under his colleagues' stares. And how something felt like the everything that was never there before.
"What?"
Stage Two: The Research
Draco Malfoy was never desperate. Draco Malfoy never speculated. Draco Malfoy never seek for answers. Draco Malfoy never does research. If this even could be called research.
This was ridiculous was all Draco could ask himself two days later, as he finished yet another cup of coffee of the day ― only one spoon of sugar, he made damn sure of it― as he waited.
Draco Malfoy never waited. Draco Malfoy never waited impatiently. Fuck, but shewas still a no-show.
Draco Malfoy never tried, as nonchalantly as he could manage as the first attempt to ask un-interested; Draco Malfoy never tried to ask bloody Potter about her schedule and Draco Malfoy never expected Potter to give, commenting something ridiculous:You can stop pretending you don't care, because you wouldn't ask if you aren't interested at all. Your acting's shit, by the way.
Draco Malfoy then promptly told him to shut his trap, thanked him and raced down to the coffee stand by the water foundation and waited until now. Potter might be pulling his leg, Draco suddenly realized.
Maybe something went haywire the day before yesterday, some mechanics in his brain just shut down and his brain ended up processing the wrong things and yelled out something to himself that sounded awfully like, "Why, Granger looked beautiful." and his body was like, "Why, you are completely right." Fuck, the possibilities were endless.
And then― Draco Malfoy hated being proven wrong and he hated he was right at the same time as well: Granger, today in a blazer, shirt and her flattering pants―must her legs look phenomenal in those heels? ― and her hair was straightened into a low ponytail and it made her cheekbones look sharper, her lashes longer.
Draco Malfoy never paid this much attention to all the details. Draco Malfoy never lose a few seconds of air when someone threw their head back to laugh at what the she-Weasley was saying.
Draco Malfoy had never felt as if his world shone brighter for a few moments, and when he blinked to see Granger bidding farewell to her friend, pulling the strap of her briefcase higher over her shoulder, tucked a lock of hazel hair back behind her ear and headed towards the Floo networks.
Draco's hands itched, tinged and tightened as he witnessed how she smiled or greeted the fortunate someones who she might know: but knowing her, she was just too nice, too compassionate, too kind and too good to not do that.
"Staring is considered stalker tendencies, you know."
Draco Malfoy was never caught off guard. Draco Malfoy never fumbles. Draco Malfoy never flushes. Draco Malfoy never would have blurted out to ask Ginny Weasley whether he friend was seeing someone. But let's face it, Draco Malfoy have never considered whether he would have the privilege to be smiled at by Hermione Granger.
"What?"
Stage Three: The Validation
After three-hundred tosses of his Snitch, Draco Malfoy finally made himself to ask: "Blaise."
"What?"
Draco hesitated. Yes, it was a lads' night with former Slytherins: Theo, Blaise, bloodyFLint, Gideon Scalby (who invited him?), Adrian Pucey and some pureblood heir that was still in good terms with the Notts. He should have known better: his mind wasn't exactly functioning on the right page of the Malfoy playbook lately.
"Drake, what?" Blaise was staring at him over the top of his book. Just like his best friend, Draco's mind wasn't keen on betting away his hard-earned salary; his acquaintances could, however, because they had all out their inheritances overseas right before the Ministry cracked down on their fortunes. Draco trusted Blaise because he had chosen to stay, when his hag of a mother ― Narcissa would hit him over the head for his language― fled and married her sixth husband for a villa in Italy right before the last War started; they took away everything he had ever known and Blaise had only shrugged.
"Do you think ―" Why was this so bloody hard? It was an easy question: Do you think I'm ready to date? Do you think anyone would want me? Do you think I'm going to die alone, heirless and relatively poor?
Merlin, now he sounded fit as a lost and insecure twit.
"Do you think Granger would date me?"
A poker chip dropped. Blaise's Book of the Living Draught ― why was he reading that? ― dropped onto his chest. Draco's stomach followed onto the floor.
He could have paraphrased it a bit, trimming the edges, icing the blunt truth; he could have made it into a big build-up, or he could have let Blaise guessed. But as soon as his words fell out of his mouth, he realized it didn't matter. He didn't have toask for his friend's approval. Hell, he never even thought of seeking permission from his parents. These were not the answer that he really thought mattered.
"Ah. I was wondering when someone noticed how hot she is now." The pureblood who-is-he drawled, flopping over his set of a royal flush. It wasn't the reaction he was hoping for because apparently, a Malfoy's potential love life was still more intriguing.
Draco Malfoy recently discovered he hated being the center of attention. He had his fair share of limelight performances (on top of his head: being turned into a bloody ferret by Barty Crouch Jr.) and his last stint at Wizengamot, he was tired of what his last name would always bring. Draco now held the phrase "Don't judge me before you knew me" closely to his chest, alongside a certain someone very recently. He also regarded his new jealous streak justifiable as he glared at Who-The-Fuck-Is-This-Git-Can-Someone-Tell-Me.
"Shut the fuck up, Montague." Blaise drawled in Draco's place, throwing a look at his hand that was crushing his Snitch. "For once in your life, stop degrading women. You are not much of a looker as you think you are."
Draco silently echoed Blaise's stab. He never was enthusiastic about his platinum-blond hair, nor his Malfoy eyes, but allegedly this was the other reasons how he got the ladies during his Hogwarts days besides his now non-existent wealth. But now, his Malfoy traits were both a taboo and a curse to the life he wanted to make for himself that started with a decent job and salary in the Ministry and rooming with Blaise. Everything tolerable that was him faded against just one glance from Granger.
Theo spoke up. "Well, who is anyone kidding? She is a looker, all right."
Only a looker? More like I was goner after she looked at me, Draco sulked.
Scalby nodded along. "I never realized how pretty she was before I talked to her last week. Shame for Weasley for losing the dib."
Draco's inner monster perked up from sitting there like a sack of bezoar while his peers threw in their compliments on the witch who held his agony. Blaise rolled his eyes. "They never dated. Weasley thought his sorry arse had a chance but Granger simply said no, I'm sorry, but no. That girl not only have the looks, she got a decent brain."
Draco nodded once, and stopped himself from remarking how her legs looked in heels. Stop being giddy, Malfoy. You haven't even started assembling for battle.
"My, you do know a lot about the Granger girl." What-Is-This-Fucker-Still-Doing-Here Montague jeered, his mouth stretched wide between a grin and a snarl.
Blaise shrugged again. "Nah, I talked to her yesterday after lunch," Draco realized he was literally excluded out of this conversation. Was he the last person in Britain to arrive to the fact that their former schoolmate had caught the attention of the entire wizard population?
Blaise glanced towards his friend, shook his head at his blank expression, and decided to throw him a bone, "I invited her to lunch, but she said no. Had a meeting, she said, always the busy one. Good luck to you, mate."
"What?"
Stage Four: The Scenarios
Draco Malfoy always wanted to break away from a dream. Normally he would have dreams that would start by him standing on the highest tower at Hogwarts and the dreams would always end as he threw himself off the building and he would wake just before he hit the ground, just before he knew who the dream ended. Maybe he didn't want to know, maybe his brain was always shaking him to blink and awake before he could feel the fall.
But this time, Draco didn't want to wake up. He have had more vivid dreams, and most of them hurt within the dream: this time around, he experienced a new kind of pain. He never ever knew the cold by his pillows could hurt; the lightness of his large bed chilling to his stomach; the emptiness of his arms must have bruised his bones because he hurt all over. It was as if his loneliness stretched even thinner and it fucking hurt.
Pain― he thought he was so accustomed to it, it wouldn't touch him. Draco brushed a stiff hand through his hair while his other skimmed over his collarbone: he could have sworn her locks only brushed against his skin seconds before. Did that extra yet brief glance make him dare to hope? No matter how brief it was, it was still something he had started to hold onto.
Draco was left wondering if dreams were meant to curse one's sleep or pledge one's waking hours with something that wasn't real at the first place.
Draco didn't know what to feel about these dreams: the particular kind that had his hand at the base of himself, his hands only giving a poor performance of what his subconscious clearly expected, because the dream had once again exceeded its expectation of real-ness. Draco barely stifled a groan as he finished almost pathetically in the history of wet dreams and his hair plastered against his clammy forehead, collapsed back into the bed and flushed all over. This was getting out of hand, literally: he only saw her once that day, one nod and a hint of a smile, and his hopes hit sky-high enough to have him jerk off to a dream with only tongue involved?
And Draco Malfoy never felt shame. Ever.
He drifted off with difficulty, worrying: Draco Malfoy never ― oh, who was he kidding anymore, by now his life was nothing he had ever known― about the coming day, how he would look her in the eye without wanting to continue what he started?
He decided dreams were for those who were not ready for an alternate reality. It was naïve, frankly. And it was where a Malfoy would start to seek for a clean slate.
Draco woke, one week later, and shocked himself when he slept through the night without any weird shit happening in the middle of the night. He had his undisturbed night of sleep in the last two years. Draco blinked for a full minute, before getting ready for work in a drunken daze.
Just before setting off to work, he realized the reason he hadn't dreamed that night: dreams were the escape from reality― why he should escape now, when all he wanted was there, sitting in the chair opposite his, a Prophet in front of her, a hand in her usually-wild mane in a ponytail, her teeth chewing on the end of a coffee stirrer and their― their! ― breakfast next to her arm.
He wanted to get used to this bizarre reality first.
Stage Five: The Blatantly-Obvious Small Talks
The first time Draco Malfoy plucked up his cowardice to talk to Hermione Granger, he fucked up in his second sentence royally.
"Is this a bad time?"
"No, Malfoy. What do you want?"
"You."
She looked so offended Draco paled under his disbelieving look. He had to go sounding all hopeful.
"Are you messing with me?"
"Why do you think that?"
She huffed and crossed her arms behind her large desk. Draco went ahead and admired the crook of her eyebrow.
"Because as of the past week, it seemed to me the entire former year of Slytherins all 'plucked up' the courage to ask me out." Granger quoted and unquoted.
Draco immediately wanted to punch himself. "No. I promise you. I'm― this ― I―"
Her smug smile was quickly making the corner of his eye twitch in ways he didn't know that particular corner of muscle could do. "Well, well, well. Draco Malfoy, stammering. I never thought I lived to see this day."
Salazar, her jeer was very, very sexy. "I could think of other ways for you to smile like that."
Now she was speechless.
"I did not just fucking say that."
"Uh, yes, you did just fucking say that, Malfoy."
The way her lower lip passed through her teeth before she swore… "Fuck." Indeed.
"Yeah." Granger was looking at him as if she had never seen him before. It was probably a good thing, it was for the best because he was about to go crawl into bed and just forget his existence. Who said living was this difficult?
Her smile was back with a vengeance on his dignity. "I don't exactly want to be blamed for your inner struggles with the question of life, so breathe, Malfoy."
The glint of her eyes and the twitch of the corner of her lips suddenly reminded him of someone he used to be close with, and her lips was rapidly becoming his personal favorite features about the witch. Draco did because to be completely honest, he would do whatever she told him to do at this point of time.
"Well, if you put it that way, how about we start small? A coffee would be great."
Draco's new favorite word was 'we'.
Stage Six: The Finale
That was it. There was only five stages of admitting he had a crush on someone, namely Hermione Jean Granger, because during stage five, he already had the endgame in his head.
This was the finale of The Six Stages of Having A Crush: Draco Malfoy edition: he never made it to the end of stage five because by then, he realized he already knew he should draw up another list in his head: The Stages of Falling in Love with Hermione Jean Granger.
And it was a long list, I could tell you that.
A/N: this was fun