Chapter Text
“Are we going to meet the woman who beat Draco Malfoy at his own game?”
Joyce, his closest teammate, shouted pointing at the jersey on the table, making the rest of the Quidditch team turn with mischievous smiles.
“No way, he’s in love?”
“Of course not,” Draco laughed, “we barely know each other.”
“Because she doesn’t let him talk!” Joyce was enjoying herself too much, “mate, she’s using him for sex in the crudest way, and he just nods and takes it like a good boy.”
The team found it hilarious. Draco didn’t mind.
“I’m not a victim if she did her homework, and learnt everything I like before she even approached me,” he said smugly.
“That takes like 10 minutes and a subscription to Witch Weekly.”
“Still… she took the time,” Draco continued calmly, ignoring the snickers around him, “I don’t mind reciprocating that effort by being one of the men she fucks.”
“Good for you mate, I wish someone made the effort for me.”
Williamson was a beater twice Draco’s size, but softer than all of them combined.
“Don’t feel bad,” the other beater told Williamson, “the only thing that excites Malfoy is to want something he can’t have. You’re deeper than that.”
Everyone erupted in laughter again. Draco would have loved to stay and quip back, but he had just seen a head full of brown hair over a green dress, high heels, and legs that had spent enough time over his shoulders to be recognized anywhere.
She was next to a booth talking to Longbottom and Weasley. Both laughing at whatever she was saying.
He wondered idly if she was fucking either of them.
Her eyes found him first when he approached. The annoyed frown she reserved only for him appeared instantly, and her friends made space.
“Washed and pressed,” he smiled, extending the jersey towards her, but not quite all the way.
It was his favourite game, make her walk half the way, admit she wanted him—it.
She rolled her eyes, very aware of his intentions, but stretched her arm and took it.
“You can cheer for me now,” he added.
She almost smiled, almost, but female Weasley appeared and shattered the moment.
“Jealous Malfoy?” she asked out of nowhere.
“Not at all,” he answered politely, “Granger can do whatever she wants. Like dance with me.”
He raised his hand again, waiting for her to take it. And again she rolled her eyes.
“You’re becoming way too confident Malfoy,” she said, dropped the jersey in the table and walked past him towards the dance floor.
She always knew when to push and pull to have him right at the edge of his sanity. Even when he lost the power struggle, he felt like winning just by having her attention.
Or her body.
Like right now, when she was pressing her back against his front, moving slowly at the rhythm of the music, holding his hands over her hips.
It wasn’t overtly sexual, but his blood flow didn’t know that, and he found himself low-key panting in no time.
She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. Brown eyes that were nearly black. He almost moaned.
Damn, he wanted her so bad. Who would have known back in Hogwarts that Granger would turn into such a fine man eater.
“Fuck Granger, I hope your guys have a support group,” he whispered in her ear.
The song rhythm changed, coming closer to the end, and she turned in his arms looking confused.
“I don’t believe for a second that I’m the only guy you have wrapped around your pretty fingers,” he explained, “I can recognize a master at work.”
The song ended, but she didn’t move.
“I don’t know what you mean. You’re the only guy I’ve… seen… in months.”
Fuck, that felt good. But, as usual, he didn’t know if it was real, or she was just saying it to make him go feral faster.
“Why?” He asked.
She shrugged, looking down.
“Who knows, guys don’t like my busy schedule, or think I’m ‘too much’, ‘too driven’,” she quoted with her fingers, “Luna encouraged me to try casual, effortless sex, and look how well it worked.”
Ah, the irony of winning a smile from her just as he considered that this was a one-sided game.
“Granger,” he said carefully, not really knowing how to phrase the question, but desperately needing the answer, “have you been playing a role all this time to have me at your beck and call?”
“Pff, who says you’ve been at my beck and call?”
Half of the Professional Quidditch League was the honest answer, but he took her hands instead.
“Please answer the question.”
The frown reappeared.
“Malfoy, I don’t know how to make this any clearer—my world doesn’t revolve around you. I don’t have the energy to perform for you, or even try to understand what on earth you’re talking about.”
Oh, fuck.
“See?” She said, annoyed, freeing her hands from his, “this is why casual sex works best if we don’t talk. Find me if you want to leave together.”
Her frame disappeared among the bodies in the dance floor within seconds.
Which was good, Draco needed a second to compose.
Because if she wasn’t acting, if she hadn’t done any research, that could only mean…
Granger was everything he had ever dreamed of.
The realization hit him like a freight train.
He was aware they barely knew each other, he wasn’t shining any romantic light on this, but being a famous Quidditch player that had grown up richer than Morgana came with a serious lack of exhilaration.
There was nothing he couldn’t have.
Until Granger, and her goddamn beautiful smiles. And her reluctance to blindly agree to anything he said.
Merlin, if the stubborn, bossy personality he had seen in the bedroom extended to all the other parts of her life, he might as well be ready to propose.
She was his personal definition of temptation. He wanted to take her home, and make her talk to him, learn all of her reactions.
His musings were stopped by a gorgeous girl who asked for his autograph on her cleavage. He absentmindedly took the marker, and was halfway through his signature when he finally noticed she had lowered her shirt way more than necessary.
He didn't feel a thing. That was when he knew for sure what he was going to do.
He almost thanked the girl for the epiphany, but instead walked straight to Granger’s booth, and placed his hand on her waist to grab her attention.
“Granger, go on a date with me,” he whispered in her ear, “you wouldn’t keep me around if you didn’t like me.”
She moved away, but the frown didn’t appear and it gave him hope.
“Says who?”
“Says me,” he answered, displaying all the charm he knew he was capable of, “come on, I make you laugh.”
“At you.”
“It’s still true,” he shrugged.
She looked at him up and down, and he waited patiently, trying not to scare her off, but still walking only half of the way. She had to do her part.
“Only if I pick the place,” she finally said.
“I’ll even let you pick my outfit.”
She smiled against her will. He knew because she looked away, although her fingers grabbed the front of his shirt.
“This,” she said, “I like you in this.”
“Done,” he closed the distance between them, and bent to whisper in her ear again, getting a whiff of her smell, “bring the jersey, I want to fuck you in it after.”
Goosebumps erupted on her skin, but she moved back. The frown finally making a reappearance.
“I told you, talking and casual sex don’t work together, so you have to pick one.”
He laughed wholeheartedly. This woman was the best thing that had happened to him in years.
“I pick the date,” he said, “I’m sure you won’t be able to keep your hands off me anyway.”
“Oh, you think?” A mischievous glint he had never witnessed flashed in her eyes, “you don’t get to choose my clothes, I’ll have you begging before the main course.”
“Ok,” was all he said.
“Ok,” she smiled.
He left to let her enjoy the time with her friends. They seemed to be celebrating something, because when he looked back five minutes later, Ginny Weasley was handing out champagne to everyone around.