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Summary
Draco stares at Hermione across the lake, his upper lip curling with distaste.
Beads of sweat drip down her flushed cheeks, long messy curls sticking to the side of her face. Her dirt covered hands ruin her white dress as she holds it, hiked up high enough to show the curve of her smooth golden thighs.
She steps into the water, completely oblivious to him.
Granger may have grown up in his world but she’s nothing like the pureblood girls who were born into it. Pansy, Daphne, Astoria all with their neatly tailored robes, lithe bodies, and pale flawless skin. All demure omegas with impeccable breeding. They don’t have squib mothers or golden skin inherited from muggle fathers. They are too well groomed to ever have ink stains on their face or frizzy unkempt hair — too well trained to look at him with anything other than a shy glance and a soft smile. They certainly don’t have doe eyes that burn with defiance or curves that make his fingers twitch. No, they are nothing like Hermione Granger.