September 25th, 2000

After ignoring him for nearly a week, Pansy folds and shows up at his apartment, holding his favorite French rolls and wearing nothing underneath her tan trench coat.

"I overreacted. I'm sorry," she croons, placing the bread on the countertop and stalking towards him, her eyes narrow with lust, before pushing him onto the couch. She crouches before him, balancing with an expert's knowledge on the balls of her feet, and places her hands on his knees. "Can I make it up to you?"

He's annoyingly tired, half drunk from finishing the last of his fire whiskey, and he scratches the side of his face as he stares at her. "You're such a whore," he spits, the hurt registering across her face instantly. "Get on your back."

She looks from one side of her to the other, her black bob swaying slightly. "Right here?"

"Right here."

He fucks her into the rough material of the carpet, her face pressed into the floor as he holds her hips and pulls himself in and out of her in quick, sharp movements. The alcohol swirls his vision and he aims to grasp her shoulder and ends up grabbing her by the scalp.

No matter.

Gripping tightly, he thrusts faster and can barely make out the sounds of her guttural gasps as he reaches his peak. He looks down at his hand in her hair and imagines brown curls instead of sleek black, the pale of her back is slightly tanner, and suddenly it's not Pansy groaning beneath him, but Granger, and he spills inside her.

Collapsing on top of her, Draco inhales sharply, sweat dripping down his brow and he laughs to himself. Realizing he's probably crushing her, he rolls off of Pansy and onto his back against the carpet, the couch on his right and a sweating Pansy on his left.

"That was fun," she huffs, but her face is flushed and her palms are scraped from the rough flooring, her eyes moist, and he knows she wishes he would hold her.

Draco glances at her, but says nothing. He hopes she leaves soon so he can try to find that bottle of Muggle alcohol he knows he has stored for emergency.

Imagining Granger as he fucks Pansy counts as an emergency.

-

September 30th, 2000

Draco finds that working on the weekends isn't so bad as he has imagined. He is now working six days a week, Granger curiously giving him her Friday and Saturday evening shifts, and he swears she smirks when he asks what he should expect.

"It typically gets busy around five, but the rush only lasts for twenty to twenty-five minutes," she explains, her eyes looking over his shoulder so she doesn't have to look directly at him. "As long as you can make it through that rush without an elderly witch complaining, you'll do fine."

That was several days ago and now Draco understands her meaning. A group of elderly witches have lined up at his register, their gravely voices all asking at the same time if there are any current sales or if he can grab a book for them or if he can wrap their packages, and he barely completes all their requests without wondering how she does this on her own.

By the time seven o'clock rolls around, he's famished and sweating. The shop is nearly empty and he begins to make his way down the rows of books, moving misplaced books back into their correct position. The front door bell dings and he makes his way to the front of the shop, only to be greeted by Granger and her female red-haired friend, causing him to inwardly groan.

"Ginny, you remember Malfoy," Granger says, gesturing to him, and the only girl Weasley nods, her hair braided in two pieces on the side of her head. Granger turns to look at him, and her arms are folded behind her in an almost pureblood fashion.

Almost.

"How was the rush?"

"You were right, old witches are cunts," he replies, almost laughing as Granger's face heats up at his profanities. He squints his eyes, looking at the two of them. "Is there a reason you're here? Trying to make sure I don't burn the place down?"

She rolls her eyes as she makes her way behind the counter, bending down in search, and Draco's eyes linger on her backside, her tan skin peeking out from under her top.

He'd like to rip that top off with his teeth. It's maroon and the sleeves go down to her elbows, a sweetheart neckline with light embellishment on the trim.

Very Granger.

Very tearable.

"I left my journal here the other night I think, I can't seem to find it anywhere," she responds, and he shakes his head to remove the thought of tearing her top off from his head. "Gods know I lose that damn thing all the time."

"You think you would watch it like a hawk," Ginny laughs, and Draco frowns at the sound. "Considering all the juicy things you have written in it." His ears perk up.

"Merlin!" Granger says in an exasperated tone. "Finally found it." She holds up a leather bound book with slight star-shaped designs at the bottom and Draco realizes he has seen it before, usually in the hands of its owner. If he had known it was her journal...he grins.

"Perfect. Bravo. Now get the fuck out," he snaps, his irretation with her interruption now toying with him.

She sighs, rolling her eyes once more, and he can feel his underarms begin to sweat as he watches her. "Come along, Gin," she states, her voice thin as she glares at him. "Don't want to waste any more time on this sorry sap."

"Sorry sap?" he shoots back. "At least I'm not a know-it-all bitch."

She's out the front door before he can finish his lack luster retort, the bell dinging harshly in her wake.

He touches himself to the thought of her that night.