Chapter 4
Draco had never liked Minerva McGonagall.
Besides the fact that she was the Head of House of some of the worst people in the castle, she had sharp eyes and sternly twisted lips that gave off a permanent air of condescendence. Suspicion. One misstep and he could practically hear the overgrown nails of the tabby cat screeching against the stone floor as she crawled off to Dumbledore.
"Mr. Malfoy," she crooned in a high, crackly tone, like an old bats. "I trust you and Miss Granger have come up with a suitable list of Prefect rotations for the upcoming Hogsmeade trip?"
Like hell they had. "Of course," he said.
She raised an eyebrow, and maybe it was the light, but she kind of looked like Granger. God, he hoped Granger would age nicer.
"Well?" she said.
"Granger's got it," he replied, recovering and smirking slightly at the shorter girl to his right. Well, he suspected she did. The goody-two shoes would probably die than not fulfill a Professor's request, even if it meant doing his half of the work as well.
Which worked out pretty fucking perfect for him. He got all the perks of being a Head (bathroom, power, girls) and none of the responsibility. Merlin, it was good to be Slytherin.
He was unable to hold back a triumphant smirk when she pulled out a thick wad of parchment. He studiously ignored her reproachful glare.
"Well done," the old cat said. "Remember to gather the Prefects and let them know. Is there anything you two would like to address before we conclude?"
"Yes, actually," Granger said, still shooting him a look. She wasn't going to snitch, was she? "I think it's only right for you to know, Professor. Malfoy didn't mmph-"
Draco clapped his hand over her mouth forcefully, all but slapping her. She jumped indignantly, but he didn't give her time to recover. Hauling her bodily to the door, he bullshitted some excuse to McGonagall's shouts of "Mr. Malfoy, what on Earth?"
They left the wing, and Draco dragged her down another few corridors for good measure. All the while, Granger was making furious noises and wrenching pitifully at his hand and being altogether uncooperative. When she reached for her wand, he had to secure her free hand as well.
Nobody passed by them in the halls. Thank Merlin. What would his father say? He could hear the man already. Why on Earth would you sully your hands with some residual filth of the Potter boy? Have you lost the pitiful modicum of sense you had? You disappoint me, Draco. You are a disgrace to the Malfoy name!
…Actually, the idea was sounding more and more appealing.
Draco finally let go of her in a deserted hallway between two suits of armor. He braced his ears for impact. She did not disappoint.
"Are you mad, Malfoy?" she yelled. "I can't believe you manhandled me in front of McGonagall to escape from a situation that was YOUR FAULT in the first place! You had no right-"
And Draco tuned the rest out. He kept looking at her to keep up pretenses, though, so it was okay. Her lips kept moving. Half out of boredom, half out of curiosity, he gave her the standard up-and-down glance over. And Mudblood-be-damned, he liked what he saw.
Her face was screwed up in righteous anger, her brown eyes glinting hard with anger. A little wrinkle creased the top of her nose and her lips were pink and soft and cussing him out. Which was fucking hot. A stray curl fell on her face and he traced it down to her chest.
She was wearing a V-necked shirt and fitted jeans, the latter of which hugged her long, slender legs which led up to a perfect, toned, immaculate... uh, her ass. Her T-shirt's neckline wasn't indecently, but it was low enough to earn the enthusiastic approval of his dick. Draco dragged his gaze to where her chest curved into gorgeous swells of her breast. Fuck, she had a nice rack. He inwardly groaned.
"Malfoy. Malfoy!" Granger said, and he reluctantly unglued his eyes. She looked at him suspiciously. "Were you just…"
"What?" He said, trying to adjust his boxers inconspicuously.
She opened her mouth, and he stared at her innocently. "Nevermind."
Smoothly played, Malfoy. He patted himself on the back.
"So… the Prefect meeting. Let's get it over with soon. How about tomorrow night?"
"Can't. Quidditch Practice."
"Wednesday?"
"Practice."
She stopped walking. "When don't you have practice?"
Never, if it were up to him. But Bletchley and Urquhart bitched about sore arms, Vaisey had remedial classes, and Zabini had to do weekly facials or some shit so Draco was forced to give the team a day off.
"Thursday."
"Okay… wait, how's that possible? Harry's got his team doing drills daily too, and there's only one pitch."
Oh-ho-ho. So Potter's been picking up the pace too, huh? And Granger didn't look the least bit guilty that she'd relayed this prime piece of information to him. Malicious excitement coursed through him. Draco had to stake out the Gryffindor's secret dry land training location, sketch counter flight formations...
She must've noticed the scheming look plastered on his face. "You two are slavedrivers, I swear. One day your team is going to mutiny and snap that precious broomstick when you aren't looking."
"I've got an Airslicer." It cost a pretty penny but Draco knew his old man was good for something. Granger didn't look impressed.
"That's a very good broom right?" If he hadn't been too busy being affronted, he would've thought that rare, clueless expression on her face cute.
"A very good broom- It's the best broom in the market! It's unsnappable, uncharmable, and it's got a microcalibrated oak handle with a LD suspension of three millimeters! A Brashwort brush-tail with zero drag. Zero-to-sixty in two-point-five… and you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
"… sorry, no." She coughed uncomfortably. "That sounds wonderful. Why do you have to train so hard?"
Why? Why? Did she really not understand the virtues of victory and glory and how important it was to have 'Slytherin' carved onto that Cup?
"Okay, okay, I get it," she said, cutting him off before he could let her have it. "Boys," she muttered as she went into her room.
Draco was in a particularly good mood.
After waking up from a pleasant dream in which dozens of naked witches with curly brown hair fed him honeyed grapes, he'd discovered that the elves had outdone themselves cleaning his room. In the bathroom, Granger missed with both her bottle of shampoo and her bottle of conditioner when he walked in on her shower. He met two groups of Hufflepuffs viable for detention on the way to the Great Hall.
The only damper to his mood was that the Charms essay on his desk had not magically written itself, but that could be easily amended with some Quidditch drill related threats applied to one Blaise Zabini.
"Thanks, mate," Draco said, sitting down for breakfast and pocketing the parchment.
"Fuck. You." Blaise turned angrily to his bacon and eggs.
"Gryffindor's been doing land drills every day, according to Granger," Draco said, chewing thoughtfully. Vaisey and Bletchley looked up from where they were sitting, a matching expression of horror crawling over their faces.
"If the next words out of your mouth have anything to do with extending practice, I will gorge your eyes out." Blaise brandished his greasy fork.
Draco snorted. "You could try-" Blaise threw the utensil at his head with such force that it whizzed through the air with an audible "shing." Draco ducked, and the fork clattered into one of the alcoves lining the Hall.
Vaisey and Pansy looked startled, and then started cracking up. "He's a fucking ninja!" she crooned.
Blaise just scowled. "I'm not getting that," he said, gesturing at the fork.
"Now if you only threw like that during practice," Draco said and then ran cover when he saw Blaise reach for his butter knife.
Where did that thing land again? Draco looked behind the wall, and saw a glint. As he bent down, he heard voices coming from the grove in the wall behind him. That wasn't surprising. The alcoves' openings faced away from the teachers' table, so kids often make out and shit in them, for the rush.
"I heard she begged him to date her, because she didn't want to graduate without ever having a boyfriend!"
"Gross, she's so desperate. Did you see her stuffing her face the other day?"
"What a fat slag!"
"That's mean!" Giggles sounded.
From their voices, Draco guessed there were maybe three girls in the adjacent grove in the wall. Underclassmen gossip was so boring. He picked up Blaise's fork and went to sit down, when a familiar name came up in their high pitched chatter.
"Draco Malfoy? That boy is so fine…" A wide grin spread across his face, and he leaned back against the wall. There was always time for a bit of ego stroking.
"Mhm, I only go to Slytherin matches for him. And that curly-haired Chaser." What? Blaise had nothing on him.
"Gross, Ingrid! Malfoy sleeps with a different girl each week. Who knows what kind of diseases he has?" This conversation was rapidly turning downhill.
"Yeah, he did every blonde in Seventh Year for a bet." Draco frowned. Now that was just-
"He's terrible in the sack! None of the girls go back to him."
"No, Daphne definitely stayed-"
"For his money! His parents send him tons-"
"What parents? His mother's a floozy and his dad's just crawled his miserable way out of Azkaban-"
Now, he was pissed. That bitch had no idea what she was talking about, and he didn't like the idea of that kind of bullshit circulating. Rounding the wall, he said, "You know, there's a reason that blokes never want to hang around girls like you."
Three sixth year Ravenclaws jumped and stared up at him from their huddle. When they realized who he was, fear spread through their features.
"Malfoy! Uh-" A short, mousy girl squeaked. She was the smallest of the three, leaning next to a plump redhead girl with one too many makeup spells on.
"We weren't breaking the rules. You can't give us detention," another tall, black-haired girl said defiantly.
He laughed hoarsely. "You think that's the worst I'll do to you?" His tone was purposely insinuating, and he saw all three of their eyes dart inadvertently to his left forearm. Although the Dark Lord had been vanquished, his name was uttered in hushed tones and his legacy was regarded with fear.
"It wasn't us. Someone else started the rumors," Mouse said. She couldn't muster the courage to look him in the eye.
Draco frowned. Well that was fantastic. "Who?"
The three girls raised their heads and looked at each other, as if debating whether or not they should simply walk out into the Great Hall and hope Draco never carried out his threats. The intimidating look on his face must have changed their mind. Their next words sent a ripple of shock coursing through him.
In unison, the three Ravenclaws said, "Hermione Granger."
A/N: The hottest summer in recorded history is finally over! Now here come the hurricanes.