Barstool Confessions
“I can’t sleep.” He groans, running his hand through his silver blonde hair, grey eyes downcast at the bar top, staring down the endless well that’s his beer mug.
Fuck. He doesn’t even drink beer. What was wrong with him?
He shakes her head again. Something was definitely wrong. Something called The Granger Effect.
Frustrated, he grunts - through his nostrils. What was he, an untamed beast? A bull? A fucking-
“Draco, are you talking to yourself now?” A sneering, snide feminine voice appears behind him. Of course. Pansy.
“Shut up.” Draco snarls, drinking his beer.
Why was he drinking this piss?…
“So why can’t you sleep?” Pansy’s bob falls past her cheekbones and she sweeps it out of her face so Draco catches the glint in her knowing eyes, as she smirks at him.
Draco sighs and murmurs, “You know why.”
Pansy snorts. “Because of your mom?”
“No, Pans. You know why.”
“Oh. The investigation.”
“Not exactly-“
“Theo’s upcoming Quidditch vacation in Turkey?”
“That’s… well, not the full reason why.” Draco winces.
Pansy grins and orders scotch. “Since when do you drink beer?” She asks Draco.
Since I apparently like to talk Ministry shop with a certain brunette whose curls are damningly gorgeous and not at all frizzy like they were back in first, or second, or third year…
“I don’t know. Apparently now.” Draco says glumly.
Pansy lifts a brow. “You mean, since G-“
“Don’t. Say her name.” Draco says, fist clenching below the bartop table. Pansy catches the significance of his response, his tone - his fist, and straightens. “Oh. You have it bad. Like, bad bad.”
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do.”
“She is utterly frustrating-“
“And captivating-“
“Annoying, fucking-“
“Intelligent.”
“And most of all-“
“Gods Draco, just fucking accept the fact you fancy her!” Pansy exclaims. “We’re all fucking adults now, aren’t we? It’s been over a decade. None of us are married, nor want to be given how fucked up our generation has been by historical events.
“Is it the worst thing in the world to have a crush on Hermione Granger?” Pansy concludes.
“No, that would be the second worst thing in the world.” He grumbles.
“Pray tell, then, what would be the number one worst thing.”
“Being in love with her.” He says.