your bed is too small a dramione microfic/ words 474 tags: eighth year, shared dorm, flirtatious hermione prompt taken from dramioneprompts on twitter
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Draco hadn’t planned on Hermione inviting herself into his room that Saturday night, almost bribing him with a bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses.
“The Official Guide to the Quidditch World Cup?” Hermione had asked, holding up the book. He’d been standing by the dresser, awestruck, watching her inspect nicknacks and pursing her lips at his book choices.
“What?” Draco hoped she couldn’t hear the nerves tickling their way up his spine and down his arms.
Hermione had changed out of her school robes into a faded t-shirt and maroon joggers. They hung low on her hips, the hem rolled once, and made his mouth run dry.
“Nothing,” she smiled at him, her eyes sparkling as she set the book back on top of the stack by the window. “It’s cute.”
The last thing Draco wanted Hermione to call him was cute. He took a steadying breath as he turned to face her, almost collapsing when he realized she’d sat on his bed.
“Here you–”
“I didn’t realize you slept with a stuffed animal.”
Draco stopped mid-stride, his arm still outstretched in a move to offer Hermione her glass.
“Thanks,” Hermione leaned forward and took her firewhiskey with her right hand while holding the stuffed hippogriff in her left.
Hermione took a sip of the whiskey and shook the stuffed animal as if to remind Draco it existed. As if he needed a reminder.
“Um,” Draco leaned awkwardly against the bookcase, hoping it would keep him supported. “Pansy got it for me, as a joke.”
Hermione laughed softly before setting it back down on his pillow. She looked cute sitting there on his bed, running her hands over the green and black duvet.
“You seem nervous,” Hermione deadpanned with a raised eyebrow. Fuck that damned eyebrow. It would be the death of him.
“I, um,” Draco scratched at the back of his neck, searching for anything else to look at except the frustratingly beautiful witch sitting on his bed. “I’m never nervous. Surprised, maybe. But never nervous.”
Hermione hummed contentedly at his answer, taking another sip of her drink. Something almost evil flashed in her eyes before she spoke again.
“Your bed is too small.”
Draco choked on air.
“Pardon me?”
Hermione set her glass down on his nightstand and leaned back to rest on her elbows.
“For you to have women over every weekend,” she was challenging him. But to what, Draco didn’t know. “Comfortably, at least.”
It wasn’t every weekend. Only when Hermione left to visit Harry sometimes, or when she went into Hogsmeade with their schoolmates.
“I can assure you, Granger,” a smirk wanted desperately to tug at his lips. “I can do many things quite comfortably on that bed.”
When Hermione squared her shoulders to him, something almost lustful passed over her features.
“Like what?”
Draco nearly dropped his firewhiskey.
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