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Since first grade, Granger had always occupied his thoughts. It started with the Sorting Hat and the almost four minutes it took to place her. At first, he was convinced the reason was a head so empty that the Hat didn't have anything to judge. Soon, he realized it was the complete opposite. Her tiny hand waving in the air in every class, always having all the right questions and all the right answers.
Thoughts of her continued over the summer, when his private tutors were a constant reminder of his second place.
By their second year, he had learned a new slur and used it when he found the chance. It didn't feel like the right insult. It did the job, but it didn’t leave him satisfied. He was, in fact, superior, but the blood they were born with was luck, not a product of his efforts. To be truly satisfied, he needed a reason he could actually rub in her face. So, he continued thinking about her.
Third year came with a horrifying discovery. Care of Magical Creatures was outside, in the heat of the first days of summer and abandoned robes. That year made him taller, that year gave her curves. And the realization that Hermione Granger now had tits occupied half of his head. Then came the slap, and he added another twenty percent, dedicated exclusively to planning his revenge.
In the summer before their fourth year, he saw her again, on a beach in France, wearing the tiny underwear that Muggles insist are bathing clothes. Her hair was tied in a side braid, a big hat over her head even under a sunshade, dark glasses covered her face, a book in her hand. He wasn’t supposed to be on a Muggle beach, but he was curious. He walked toward her without thinking, all his senses focused completely on her.
"A book at the beach, Granger? Seriously?" A mix of mockery and insult laced his voice. She had a snarky comeback ready, he could see that, but she didn’t have time to use it. Her mother interrupted. Introductions took place, and he made use of all his etiquette classes, acting charming and polite. Mrs. Granger loved it, Granger’s eyes were glowing with rage. This was good revenge for the slap.
Motherly worries would be his ruin, or maybe being almost fourteen and having Granger’s hand rubbing his bare back would do it. Mrs. Granger noticed the start of a sunburn on his shoulder and ordered her daughter to put some sunscreen on him. She slapped her hands onto his back harder than necessary, but he was grateful for it. He couldn't have handled a gentle stroke when random erections were a thing now.
He chose to focus on her book, Pride and Prejudice. The back cover made it sound like something his mother could enjoy. He tried on her dark glasses. Sunglasses, not dark glasses, she corrected him. And he discovered that the darker shade really helped his eyes in the daylight.
"I'm keeping these," he said, walking away before she could argue. He had the feeling she let him go easily to save both of them any further embarrassment. He used those glasses for the rest of the summer. Granger kept occupying seventy percent of the space in his head.
Fourth year brought the Tournament and the girls from Beauxbatons. He didn’t make it obvious, but like many others, he enjoyed watching them walk. They helped push Granger aside, and now she was back to fifty percent. That lasted until the Yule Ball, when she walked down the stairs and became the only thing he could see. He forced himself to pay attention to his date, but Granger was now at eighty percent.
The end of that night found her hiding in a hallway close enough to hear the music. He found her by accident. He saw the tears. He should have walked away, instead, he walked up to her. "If you are not otherwise engaged, would you do me the honor of dancing the next one with me, Miss Granger?" She recognized the line, and she responded accordingly. "Yes, thank you."
"You read the book," she commented while dancing.
"I found it tolerable," he answered pompously, still in character. He made her laugh, and he would cherish that sound forever. "You should definitely improve your taste in novels."
"Maybe I can start with one about a female serial killer. You could be my first," she teased.
"The first is always personal, Granger." They ended the dance closer than what was appropriate, that last comment hanging between them.
Draco walked away, his senses overflowing with her. Her touch, her smell, her eyes, her laugh. He hoped, at least for tonight, he could occupy her mind just as she did his.
He doesn’t think about what happened between fifth and seventh year.
The unexpected eighth year brought them together, a common, neutral place for the ones who came back. They shared the same spaces, and she reclaimed the space that used to be hers in his mind, and then some.
This year they were eighteen, and the harsh teasing had evolved into an unexpected but welcome flirting. She flirted back, and he was falling for it.
That year, before the end, she kissed him in the library, and he lost it. She could live rent-free in his head, she could live rent-free in his life. And she does.