Under My Skin
Summary: Draco and Hermione would never dream of thinking about each other. One shot.
Rating: R, for language.
Author's Note: I have no idea where this came from. One of those sit down and randomly start typing moments. lol. The style is new for me.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even in the slightest. I wouldn't share Draco. Or Snape for that matter, and he doesn't even make an appearance.
Under My Skin
Hermione thinks it's a social crime to feel so very above Draco Malfoy but she has never really given a second thought to the social order of things. Has always agreed with Harry about equality and fair treatment but God Malfoy is just such a small minded little… bigot, so far beneath her that she'd barely have to lift her foot in order to squash him. She would too but she bets the little bugger would stick all over her shoe and what does one do with freshly trodden upon Malfoy? Wipe him in the grass? Throw him out with the trash? Doesn't care, really. As far as options go, they're all good and she'll—
--Laugh for hours over the disposal of that Mudblood bitch. A leech is what she is, dirtying the sacred halls of Hogwarts simply by existing. And by besting him at nearly every fucking subject that isn't birth. He'd say she slept her way to the top but nobody would believe it if they took one look at all of that tangled hair and—
--That pointy little face. She heard Ginny Weasley call him attractive once but she hates his sneer and the malicious taunt in his horrible eyes. Such a mysterious colour, that's what Ginny said, and Hermione would laugh right now if she wasn't in Potions. God forbid somebody suggest she isn't paying attention because she is and maybe one day his face will just freeze like that and he'll forever appear to be a—
--Supercilious know-it-all. I am Hermione Granger. I am nothing but a great big walking dictionary. But she doesn't know it all, does she? Otherwise she'd notice the way Crabbe stares at her from time to time and maybe think before leaning with her shoulders shoved back and her breasts pushed out. He's noticed and if Crabbe wasn't such a bumbling Neanderthal Malfoy might be inclined to warn him that—
--A crush on a Slytherin just won't do. Especially that one. She couldn't even imagine what it would be like to fancy such an arrogant baby or, worse yet, to actually be dating one and have to suffer through a physical relationship with him. It would take a pretty potent spell to trick Hermione into even thinking about going with him, and she sure isn't thinking that it more than likely would involve a witty discussion with somebody who actually reads--
--Or any sort of merry romps with that cloak he's heard rumoured to be in Potter's possession. Certainly wouldn't be the thing at all to wonder if she'd fancy a go of it in the Restricted Section, and he bets that this is exactly what Crabbe would be wondering if he had even half of a brain cell. Maybe Crabbe would think that the perfect Miss Granger would raise her snotty little nose at the mere suggestion but Malfoy thinks before he can stop himself that the existence of Granger's wild side might be worth laying a few galleons on. Crabbe couldn't discover it of course because—
--She really isn't his type at all. It's ridiculous to suppose that Malfoy would even consider dating a Weasley, really. Hermione pictures him introducing Ginny around to his family and chokes on a suppressed chuckle. The Malfoy line! The precious Malfoy line! Unless Malfoy would secretly enjoy brassing off his parents just a little. And what then? Not that it matters, of course, because she isn't at all worried that—
--She might notice and actually like Crabbe back. The thought is laughable. What Granger needs is stimulation, mentally and physically, and Crabbe quite simply doesn't have the stones for it. Malfoy's lucky she's nothing but a Mudblood so that he doesn't have to be the one to—
--Step in there and show him how things ought to be. Impossible for Malfoy and Ginny! She is besotted and probably full of lust, both of which make Hermione shudder when used in association with him, but really! It is those two things that'll ruin everything and just puff up the stupid prat's ego even more when what he really needs is—
--Somebody to talk back to her and let her know that she is completely and utterly mad when it comes to her ideas and her fashion—
--And his bloodlines and his bloody house elves—
--And snog her until she shuts the hell up, if all else fails, as disgusting—
--And utterly reprehensible as that idea might seem. So she's—
--The luckiest person alive to most certainly not be thinking about him at all.