driftingdoll
I'll tell you all how the story ends, where the good guys die and the bad guys win It ain't about all the friends you made, but the graffiti they write on your grave
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Latest Posts by driftingdoll
I have three modes of reading
Dont read
Read a 500 page book in a day
Read only fanfiction until my eyeballs drop out of my skull from exhaustion
“Those are rotten for you.”
Draco jumped, startled by Granger’s presence. He hadn’t heard her coming. How alarming. He needed to be switched on at all times.
A beat too late, he replied, “What do you reckon will kill me first? This,” he lifted the cigarette, “or the war?”
“They turn your teeth yellow.”
His grin bore no kindness. “Who am I trying to impress?”
He’d joined The Order three weeks ago, shared this house with her for eight days, and this was the first time she’d approached him to chat. He was in no mood.
She shouldered past him into the house. “Goodnight, Malfoy.”
-
Granger reached for his cigarette, incensed. “Put that out! They’ll see it.”
He stretched his hand beyond her reach. “We’re bait. Our job is to be seen.”
“Not so obviously.” She Accio’d the cigarette and extinguished it in a huff. “It’s like you want us to get killed.”
Why was she here? She was too crucial for this role. Too valuable to have Draco, the team pariah, as her back up. If he screwed up, she could die.
She didn’t, of course, because when the crack of Apparation shattered the silence, they fought fiercely side by side.
-
A stone skittered down the cliff face and Draco glanced up to find Granger approaching. She swung her legs over the ledge, sitting beside him.
“Can I have some of that?” Her knuckles were dirt-stained. Tears shiny on her cheeks.
He passed her the cigarette.
She took a generous drag, handed it back to him, then put her head between her hands and began to sob.
He didn’t know how to comfort her.
What was another casualty during war? But Granger internalized every death as if she’d committed it herself.
He offered her another drag.
She wound her arms around him instead, as if the offering had been an invitation to seek comfort from him, and buried her face in his chest.
He stiffened. Flicked the cigarette over the edge of the cliff. Then, gradually, placed his arm around her.
The sun slipped behind the endless woods and still they sat there.
-
Draco stubbed his cigarette beneath his shoe and lit another, pacing back and forth.
“I should be at the Forest of Dean tonight,” he said the moment Kingsley entered the room.
“You’re needed here,” replied Kingsley without give.
“Granger and I have been partners for weeks—”
“We’ve told you not to get comfortable—”
“That’s utter bollocks!”
“She’ll be fine,” interrupted Ginny. “She’s with Ron.”
Draco blew smoke in her face.
“Prick,” she spat, storming away.
-
“It’s not that deep,” insisted Granger. But her voice told him otherwise.
He sent her up to his room. Furiously nicking Blood-Replenishing potion and bandages from the emergency supply.
He cleaned the wound on her arm and wrapped it meticulously. Fuming when she flinched. He would strangle Kingsley with his bare hands. This was why they couldn’t be apart.
As Granger slept, Draco smoked through a pack, never taking his eyes off her. What if the spell had slashed an artery? What if it had been a different curse?
There was no freedom in war, but nobody would stand between him and this witch ever again.
-
He was sharing a dart with Susan Bones when Granger entered the yard.
Unaware they had company, Bones boldly suggested, “I’m down to fuck, if you are.”
Draco watched Granger’s eyes flick between them. Her mouth flattened, and she left wordlessly.
“I’ve got someone,” he said, watching her shadow retreat. He didn’t yet, but hopefully soon.
-
Granger said, “Will you brush your teeth?” as Draco discarded his cigarette.
He considered saying no, but decided it was in his best interest to listen.
In his very best interest, in fact, when she crawled onto his lap upon his return. Large brown eyes blinking up at him. “Do you want to kiss me?” she asked.
He dipped forward to show her exactly what he’d wanted for weeks, but she pressed her fingers over his lips. “Are you sleeping with her?”
He knew who she meant, but still asked, “Who?”
“Susan.”
“Never. Nobody.” He kissed her fingers.
She replaced them with her mouth.
-
“Where are you going?” he growled, as Granger rolled out of bed. It was still dark.
“I’m being summoned.” She searched blindly for her bra, her knickers.
He checked his wand, finding it unnervingly cold. They were separating them again.
He grabbed her wrist, and she stumbled into his arms. “Draco!”
He kissed her deeply, breathlessly. “Run away with me.”
“But—"
“We’ll still fight,” he added, lighting a smoke. “On our own terms. They’re corrupt, Hermione. We’ll wind up dead with them.”
She hesitated. They had discussed this many times. Going rogue. There was more to be done without pseudo-authorities policing their moves. Plus, they couldn’t be apart anymore without losing their minds.
“On one condition,” she declared, snatching the cigarette from his fingers and flicking it away. “You’ll quit smoking.”
He watched it burn out. Then considered the witch in his bed. Perhaps she didn’t know it yet, but he would do anything for her.
Draco and Hermione were gone before sunrise.
(861 words, photo and prompt on twitter)
“Heya, mate. Is Hermione Granger around?”
Draco leaned over the counter, giving the pathetic, gap-toothed wanker sporting a Flourish & Blotts t-shirt a bored look. “Hermione Granger?” he intoned as if he had never heard that name before.
Gap-Tooth shuffled uneasily. “Yeah. She works here. Doesn’t she?”
“Does she?” Draco inspected his nails.
Gap-Tooth wandered off awkwardly, pretending to scan the shelves.
Draco’s eyes narrowed when he paused at the Love Potions, kept under strict lock and key.
Gap-Tooth asked, “Erm are you able to—?”
“No,” said Draco, point-blank.
Something about Draco’s expression made him pale, and he was out the door less than ten seconds later.
When Gap-Tooth was gone, Draco glanced down and said, “You’re all clear.”
Dusting off her trousers, Granger rose to her feet and picked up the inventory scroll again. “I’ve told him I’m not interested,” she said, purposely avoiding Draco’s eye.
“You didn’t drive the point. He probably thinks he’s being cute stalking you everywhere.”
“It’s fine.”
“You don’t even visit Flourish and Blotts anymore.”
“Ordering books in the mail is more efficient.”
He might have believed her if it weren’t for the countless times she’d returned late from her lunch break, carrying teetering piles of new books. But ever since Gap-Tooth started working there, lunchtimes were reduced to eating soggy sandwiches in the lab.
Gap-Tooth returned two days later.
Granger didn’t see him coming through the shopfront window and he caught her unaware, shelving cloud-shaped vials of Dreamless Sleep. His voice made her jump, a couple of bottles flying out of her hands and shattering.
Draco groaned, enchanting the mop and pail to clean up the mess but keeping his distance while Granger attempted to dodge Gap-Tooth’s advances.
Gap-Tooth: Something, something “…thought you worked here but…” gesturing to Draco.
Granger, giggling awkwardly: “Did he? Draco’s such a…” Something.
Draco raised a brow, wondering what she’d called him because it almost sounded affectionate.
Gap-Tooth: Mumble, mumble “…go out sometime?”
Granger more awkward giggling, cheeks pink: “…so busy… not really dating… you’re nice but…”
Gap-Tooth, realising he was losing his chance: “…just one date… promise I…” Stepping closer.
Granger, nearly tripping over the oscillating mop in her retreat: “…it’s just that I’m not… I don’t…”
Gap-Tooth, even closer, grinning impishly, hideous teeth on full display: Something, something “…casual? You look like you could use some fun.”
Draco bristled. The audacity of this wanker.
Having had enough, he rounded the counter and stepped in between Gap-Tooth and Granger. “Did you ask her out?”
Gap-Tooth frowned, looking a little afraid. “Yeah, so?”
“Did she say yes?”
“She was just about to—”
Draco turned to Granger. “Were you about to say yes?”
“No,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze. She was too bloody nice for her own good.
Lucky for her, Draco wasn’t.
“There’s your answer,” said Draco, shooing Gap-Tooth towards the door. “Stop harassing her.”
Gap-Tooth looked at Granger, but she refused to look back. Disheartened, he made his way to the door.
Draco called out, “Oh, and if you bother her at Flourish and Blotts again, I’ll turn you into a rat and dump you in our lab cage.”
“Malfoy!” Hermione swatted Draco’s arm once Gap-Tooth was gone, but her eyes were bright with laughter. “That was so unkind.”
“Yes. And?” He waited.
She sighed as if it physically pained her to say, “Thank you.”
He grinned, pleased. Then tugged at a curl that had come loose from her clip. “And?”
She stepped closer, looking up at him with large brown eyes. “And you were right.”
“And?” Draco’s stomach fluttered. He was usually so composed, but nothing about Granger made him feel ordinary.
“And…” She rose to her tiptoes and locked her hands behind his neck, parting her lips in anticipation as they met halfway. “…maybe we should start telling people about us.”
(638 words, prompt: Yes. And? from Twitter)
buying books & reading books..two different hobbies.
Yes, my friends are a bit eccentric, but that's how we were born. We can't win the "Cuties of the Year" contest. Do I wish people didn’t see us as monsters? Sure, I do. But life has dealt us such cards, we play by its rules.
THOR MOVIE / LOKI SERIES
It's from 2010, Tom Hiddleston, if you only knew. (x)
Hate hate hate how when I get angry there is a physical reaction but it's not glowing eyes or growing claws or something it's crying. This feels unfair.
“It’s literally impossible to be a woman.
You are so beautiful, and so smart, and it kills me that you don't think you're good enough. Like, we have to always be extraordinary, but somehow, we're always doing it wrong?
You have to be thin, but not too thin, and you can never say you wanna be thin. You have to say you wanna be healthy, but also, you have to BE THIN.
You have to have money, but you can't ask for money because that's crass.
You have to be a boss, but you can't be mean.
You have to lead, but you can't squash other people's ideas.
You're supposed to love being a mother, but don't talk about your kids all the damn time.
You have to be a career woman, but also, always be looking out for other people.
You have to answer for men's bad behavior, which is INSANE, but if you point that out, you're accused of complaining!
You're supposed to stay pretty for men, but not so pretty that you tempt them too much or that you threaten other women because you're supposed to be a part of the sisterhood, but ALWAYS STAND OUT and ALWAYS BE GRATEFUL. But never forget that the system is rigged, so find a way to acknowledge that but ALSO, always be grateful!
You have to never get old. Never be rude. Never show off. Never be selfish. Never fall down. Never fail. Never show fear. Never get OUT OF LINE. It's too hard! It's too contradictory, and nobody gives you a medal or says 'thank you!' And it turns out, in fact, that not only are you doing everything wrong, but also, everything is your fault.
I'm just so tired of watching myself, and every single other woman tie herself into knots, so that people will like us.
And if all of that, is also true for a doll just representing a woman, then I don't even know." -Gloria the barbie movie
this is it. this is exactly it oh my god.
Hermione is alone on the porch when he arrives.
Everyone is asleep inside, drowsy after Molly’s Sunday roast and countless bottles of celebratory champagne.
Her stomach twists into a thousand tiny knots.
“Congratulations.”
“Don’t,” she says sharply, another knot welling up in her throat.
Beneath the amber lantern, his eyes are bloodshot. The last time they saw one another, they were bright and melting, burning holes into her skin that she wished to fill with him.
He stuffs his hands into his pockets and stands there, looking at her.
She can’t stand the weight of his gaze, so she stares at her knee. At her hand on her knee. At the sparkling jewel nestled around the finger of her hand on her knee.
“I still read Muggle literature,” he says, sitting beside her.
They used to discuss Muggle books for hours, far past curfew, hiding in empty classrooms where nobody could find them.
She notices he’s holding a slip of parchment.
“Different material, though,” he resumes. “Poetry. You know how you would look at the oil landscape on the fourth-floor corridor and say a storm was brewing, but I envisioned it as the end of one?”
“It was literally titled ‘Brewing Tempest’.”
“Not,” he taps her knee with his, “the point.”
She smiles.
“Poetry is kind of like that. Imaginative. Inclusive. Even a stranger can read a few lines and feel at home.”
“Why haven’t you written to me?”
“I was giving you time to be with your friends. You missed them.”
“I miss you.”
The parchment rustles in his hands. It’s folded eight times over. He folds and unfolds it restlessly. “I’m not a writer.”
“I know that.”
“Neither are you,” he adds, insulted by how quickly she agreed.
She breathes a laugh. “I never claimed to be.”
“Do you know what a haiku is?”
“Did you write me one?” she asks, amused.
“No. But I found one that expresses how I’ve felt these last few weeks, watching you slip away. It’s by an American poet. Billy Collins. Maybe it’s too late to give it to you, but I knew I’d regret if I didn’t at least try—”
Hermione snatches it from his hands.
Draco rebukes her impatience, but he rambles when he’s nervous and she's brimming with curiosity.
“Where are you going?” she calls after him.
But he’s already halfway gone, shaking his head like he can’t stand to be there anymore.
Heart in her throat, Hermione reads:
He may compare you
to the dawn, but I
stayed up all night to watch it.
She reads it again.
Twice more.
And then she’s running.
“Draco!” she cries, afraid the pop of Apparation will go off before she can stop him. “Draco!”
It’s too dark and she hasn’t cast a Lumos spell and she can hardly see where she’s—
“Oof!” he gasps as she barrels into him.
It’s the sweetest sound she’s ever heard.
Hermione throws her arms around his neck.
“I made a mistake! I never should have said yes. You didn’t write, so I thought you didn’t want me. You never said anything at school. But I’ve felt this awful regret since the moment he put the ring on my finger and I know it’s because of you. I know—”
He cuts her off with a bruising kiss, pressing into her with such conviction, a thousand knots come undone. Hermione buoys.
The next day, Ron awakes, groggy and hungover.
Alone.
A letter sits on his bedside table. Hermione’s engagement ring sparkles on top.
(588 words, prompt: it's a poem, I read this haiku by Billy Collins and remembered this prompt and had to do something with it.)
What are you going to do about it?
"You do realize her birthday is less than a week away now, right?" Draco grit his teeth at Weasley's reminder and nodded. "I'm well aware." "So what are you going to do about it? She hasn't really let anyone celebrate it for the past few years and I think it's time." Ron refused to let the matter go, and Draco couldn't really blame him. Hermione had spent the handful of years following the war like most of them--picking up the scattered pieces of her life. She threw herself into finishing her N.E.W.T.s, then into her apprenticeship, and continued to work herself to exhaustion at her curse breaking job. While she still made time for friends, she afforded almost none for herself, ignoring vacation days and her birthday repeatedly claiming she "had more important things to do." "I'm actually visiting the family vault tomorrow afternoon." Ron Weasley immediately knew what he meant and sat up straight from his slouch, leveling his gaze on Draco. "You'll let me know if you need help with anything?" The man scoffed in response before pausing in thought. "Actually..." "What?" "Pansy showed me some photos that are apparently super popular with muggles or something--proposal pics?" Ron tilted his head in confusion. "I guess you get someone to hide and take pictures of the thing, you know, for the memories." A blush crept up Draco's neck and he looked away. "...are you asking me to be your proposal photographer, Malfoy?" Ron's grin grew as he leaned forward in excitement. Draco coughed and shuffled his feet in a distinctly un-Malfoy manner. "I suppose I am. Maybe Potter can help figure out how it all works and help you." His eyes jerked up to meet Ron's when the redhead punched him in the arm. "Ow! What was that for?" "I had something else in mind for her birthday, but this is 10x better! Who would've thought? Draco Malfoy is a sappy romantic."
Chapter Five: Firewhisky and Tampons
Placing the pink stick back in its cup, Draco then picked up the oddly shaped cotton balls in the bright cardboard box she had left by the sink.
Tampons. Extra absorbent.
What the fuck was a tampon?
The shiny cylindrical thing didn’t seem absorbent to him. He thumbed the edges, finding the transparent material coating the object peeled away, revealing the tightly woven cotton beneath.
A string dangled down from it, which Draco picked up, finding he could slip his index finger underneath the knot tied at the end.
How in Merlin’s name was this shit supposed to be used?
He tentatively began to swing the thing around, whirling it in circles until it became a blur of white. He’d hoped spinning it would activate it somehow, but the moment he stopped it just hung limply from his finger.
Draco read the title on the box again, taking note of its apparent absorption properties.
“Suitable for heavy flow” he read out loud.
Flow of what?
Understanding jolted him forward and he hurried to turn on the tap. The clear stream sprayed down into the sink, and he thrust the thing under the water. Under the flow.
Merlin, he was a genius.
This one was a nail biter
Harry’s Snapchat
thinking abt that specific type of intimacy from being in someone’s bedroom for the first time, & you’re poking around their items, & they’re reclined backwards on their bed telling you all the little stories while they follow you around the room with their eyes, & you feel it
#draco x hermione #dramoine
prompt: snowed in
It was snowing in their common room.
Hermione didn’t sleep. Darkness toyed with her every night until she succumbed to the dusty lamp above her shoulder.
There was always a book on the bedside table. Soft leather covers; second-hand shop prices penciled on the top right corner upon cracking the spine open; always under ten quid because post-war Hermione did not have the luxuries that her former self used to do.
Lacklustre restlessness kept her up consistently, unveiling highly unusual nocturnal activities in her shared dorm.
If someone had told her who would be Head Boy in eighth year, she may not have returned to Hogwarts. He would be cruel and condescending and completely unbearable. But Draco turned out to be a decent roommate. Tidy and polite and quiet, he kept to his room, and covered most patrol shifts, giving her ample time off.
Only, he was a profoundly dramatic sleeper.
Hermione raised the covers to her chin, shielding herself from a gust of snowflakes falling from the ceiling.
Forever in a state of apathy, Draco’s emotions were guarded heavily behind stony mental walls, except for when he slept. Last night, their rooms trembled in the wake of a roaring wind storm. Hermione’s History essay flew across the floor, quills and bobby pins and sweet wrappers tornadoing around the rug. The night before that, the temperature dropped so low, her breath clouded; the trembling fern on her windowsill shed three leaves. Separated only by a thin wall, Hermione experienced the brunt of Draco’s unruly magic night after night.
She’d contemplated waking him, conjured a list of pros and cons. He would be embarrassed. He might lash out. But his unconscious was too heartbreaking to stomach. Every night was cold, chaotic, a shade, or many, uncomfortable. Leaving him alone would be a disservice to them both.
Clumsily, she wiggled into yesterday’s socks, tugging them above her knees. The carpet was damp beneath her bare feet. She wore cotton shorts and a tank, her blanket tucked tightly around her shoulders. She paused behind his door. Boys were always more agreeable after sugar. She detoured.
Minutes later, Hermione crossed the corridor’s frosty white floors, mug in hand, entering Draco’s room without knocking. Snow melted into a layer of glimmering wet upon her shoulders.
Draco slept on his side, hugging himself, brows furrowed.
Hermione called his name once, quietly, and again, louder, when he didn’t stir.
Draco blinked drowsily. Then shot up like a spark. The triangle of light flooding the doorway illuminated the panic on his face.
“It’s only me,” Hermione said sheepishly, trying to sound soothing. “You were having a bad dream.”
He frowned, his hair sticking up in all directions. He was shirtless.
Hermione’s pulse quickened. “Uhm… I brought you hot chocolate.” She gestured awkwardly to the lion-head mug in her hands, cocoa-scented steam swirling through the clean boyish scent of Draco’s room.
He followed her gaze, appearing more confused. The mattress creaked as he shuffled away, silver-scarred ribs expanding. “Did I wake you?” His voice was raspy.
Hermione wanted to tell him about the snow. About the way his dreams manifested into magic. But like each enchanted dream before, any indication of it was gone. Her shoulders were dry. The floors clean. The temperature had risen to castle norm, which was never warm enough anyway.
“I never sleep,” she admitted instead, resigned.
“Never?”
“It’s difficult. My head’s not a happy place.”
“Nor mine.” He relaxed a little, repositioning himself against the carved headboard, a generous gap of space stretched between him and the edge of the bed. He shot her a pointed look.
Blushing, Hermione hugged her blanket closely and crawled up beside him. She could have told him why she was there, but the words would not come. If Draco knew the truth, he would stop sleeping. They shouldn't both have to suffer.
“Will you stay up with me for a while?” she asked.
For once his eyes twinkled, shot with exhaustion, but unguarded. And interested? “Only because you brought me hot chocolate,” he said, nudging his chin in silent demand.
She rolled her eyes as she handed him the mug, hiding her grin.
His throat pulsed as he swallowed slowly, licking his lower lip. Their fingers brushed when he handed it back to her. His skin was warm.
Hermione took a small sip.
“I thought you would be the shittiest roommate,” Draco admitted a while later, eyes fixed carefully ahead. “I thought—Hermione Granger? She’ll preach rules any time I toe out of line and hog all the bookshelf space and be condescending twenty-four hours a day. I nearly didn’t come back.” He met her gaze. “But you surprised me.”
A spark of awareness shot down her spine.
He took the hot chocolate back, drinking from exactly where her mouth had been, a sneaky smile curling the edges of his lips.
They sat until dawn, bickering but not seriously. Laughing, but sleepily and more out of politeness. They were just getting to know one another. There were awkward gaps, moments of wordlessness, ceaselessly thinking ‘what do I say next?’. But there was always a next, even if it took a while. A thoughtful next. A next that led to a longer conversation, and a longer one after that. Thighs brushing, then pressing, shoulders caving towards one another. Eventually, Hermione’s blanket encircled them both, her head resting upon his shoulder.
Drowsily, she told him, “Yeah. You surprised me too.”
For the first time in weeks, Hermione experienced the sensation of waking from a deep sleep.
xx
#D&D #RP Ideas
This is amaaaaazing advice
some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs
* body language masterlist
* a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does
* a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes
* 550 words to say instead of fuckin said
* 638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again
* some more body language help
(hope this helps some ppl)
prompt: my idea of fun
“You never let loose, do you?” Granger drops onto the grass beside him, twisting her arm around his elbow. It’s such a Granger thing, physical touch. A shoulder squeeze upon arrival to class; a warm hug when approached from behind; the swift brush of her fingers in his damp hair in the misty weather.
“Let loose?” he repeats cynically. “Did you hear what that Gryffindor prat said to me?”
“You used to retaliate.” She leans against his arm, the bright scent of her shampoo wafting beneath his nose. “What happened to all those prank spells you used to know?”
“I used to be Draco Malfoy, but now I’m a Death Eater.”
“Former,” she reminds him. “And last I checked, you were still Draco Malfoy.”
“One of us could get away with school pranks. The other will face Azkaban at the slightest indiscretion.”
“Oh, I see.” She rises to her feet. “You’re afraid.”
Draco scoffs, a bolt of anger twisting his gut. “Easy for you to say.”
“True.” She searches the field, her gaze halting on something in the distance. “Was that him?”
He peeks over his shoulder, glimpsing the wanker who ruined Draco’s day. “Yeah.”
With only a spark of mischief in her eye as a warning, Granger points her wand in the boy’s direction and lets her magic run free. Seconds later, screams reach their ears. A pair of moth wings has sprouted from the boy’s shoulder blades and he’s skittering through the air, arms and legs flailing about in a panic.
Draco snorts. “Head Girl, huh?”
She shrugs. “I have an aversion to moths, didn’t you know?”
“Right, that Skeeter woman.” He remembers the jar in her hands on the train ride home in fourth year. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“What?” She sits down again, this time directly in front of him. “Put Skeeter in a jar?”
“Get back at him for me. I probably deserved it.”
“Probably,” she agrees. “But lucky for you, I find myself quite fond of our friendship.”
Draco’s irritation melts in the heat of her gaze. Fondness and friendship ring in his ears on repeat. He’s glad to fill the hole Potter and Weasley vacated this year. Friendship means everything to a girl without a family. But fondness makes his mind run wild, in directions Draco ‘Death Eater’ Malfoy’s thoughts never should go. The curve of her cheek, for instance, how soft it feels when she’s pressing her face against his arm. Or the surprisingly tight grip of her arms when she’s dragging him away from sulking to brew prohibited potions in the lavatories. Her idea of fun, and his too, if he’s honest with himself.
“What?” asks Granger, shooting him a curious look.
He’s staring.
Draco shrugs, only able to tell the truth: “You.”
A tinge of pink fills her cheeks. “What about me?”
“Just you. Everything about you.” He brushes his hand over dewy blades of grass, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest.
Granger’s mouth opens, shuts. For once, she’s at a loss for words.
“Don’t worry about it,” says Draco, hoping to avoid weirdness between them. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”
She nods, lying down on her back to watch the clouds floating above them. They sit quietly for a while, long enough to hear the boy’s screams overshadowed by laughter, and then silence as a professor approaches the ruckus and dismantles the chaos of Granger’s sneaky magic.
“You know, former Draco would have done exactly this,” says Granger a while later, “hidden behind his cowardice.”
“Former Draco wouldn’t have cherished your friendship.”
Granger sits up on her elbows, staring at him through long dark lashes. “Nor would he have confessed his feelings for a Mudblood.”
The word rankles him. He hates it more than anything. “Is that what you want to hear? That I have feelings for you.”
“Only if you mean it.”
They’re on the precipice of something. It’s one of those moments in his life where things are one way today, but tomorrow everything could be different. He might learn what Granger’s mouth tastes like, or find out if the skin beneath her blouse is as soft as the back of her hand. But Former Draco wasn’t just a coward, he was selfish, taking without asking because he assumed everything already belonged to him.
He chooses his words carefully. “My feelings for you run deep, Granger, but I won’t ask for something I don’t deserve.”
“And if it’s what I want?”
“Then tell me,” he says. “I’ll give you anything that’s in my power to give.”
“You?” she asks, on her knees now in front of him.
Draco’s gaze flicks down to her mouth hovering inches from his own. “Is that what you want?”
“Will you give it to me?” A glimmer of mischief illuminates her eyes again. Gods, he loves that look. It takes him to unexpected places. Makes him laugh, stokes his ambition, persuades him to relish life again. And in this moment, it ignites every inch of him with fire.
With Granger, life is always a learning experience. Draco’s favourite lesson so far is the taste of her mouth—like summer warmth on an early spring day, salt in the drenches of mourning, sweetness in the tangle of school sheets, bliss every day he gets to call the girl without a family his own.
xx
Once you become a certain age, it is your responsibility to unlearn behaviors that hinder your growth as a person.
My inner introvert is screaming 😂😂😂
yeah, no, for sure
Having internet friends is an experience. Did you eat today? I can't believe your sister hasn't apologized yet, what a bitch. Drink a glass of water right now. Want to see a cat picture? I love you. I know you better than your parents. I don't know your name. I'm having a rough day, can you talk to me about your favorite videogame? I love you. Good morning means good night means good afternoon means go to sleep. Here's a doodle I made in class. I'm stealing your clothes as we speak, they're so pretty. I love you. I love your pet. What does your hair look like? I'd love to see that weird leaf. I love you. I'm making you your favorite food. Thank you for holding my secrets for me. I love you. We're having a coffe date. I love you. I'm giving you a screen-sized hug. I love you. I love you. I love you.