||Now It's Just Us||

Chapter 19

Who does she think she is? Bloody know it all bookworm, with a fucking bush on her head. She walks around with it so proudly, too, as though she thinks it's beautiful! Just because she's Gryffindor's Golden Girl and Potter's best friend doesn't mean she can go cajoling around until ten at night without even telling him that she'd be out for so long. What if she would have been- injured or- or- something? Who'd save her then?

She'd probably save herself. She wasn't the 'damsel in distress' kind. Neither was she a kissass. She did what she wanted.

But that was not fair!

Did she think she's the mother hen of her own little flock of friends and that she had to take care of all of them? Yes, that's exactly what she thought. Why did she have to think that? Why did she always have to be so caring, loving, and kind, and motherly all the time? How was she like that?

Draco paced around madly in his room. His fingers were tangled in his hair, and he yanked at it periodically out of frustration. All because of bloody Goody Two Shoes Granger.

Why was he so flustered and bothered? He kicked the bedframe in his agitation, wincing at the harsh contact but enjoying it nonetheless, even when his healing torso throbbed in protest.

In truth, he did not know why he was feeling like this at all.

Granger was completely different. All the other girls he had met throughout his life would fall at his feet and do whatever he asked them to do, go wherever he asked them to go, and they'd be all over him the moment he'd make one friendly gesture. But not Granger. Granger was not like other girls. She didn't do whatever he asked for, didn't listen to him all the time. She did what she wanted to do regardless of what he did to stop her. She was headstrong and determined, her comebacks to his insults were equally snarky. She was intelligent, maybe even as much as him. They're speed of thought synced, the way they thought about certain things synced.

Over the course of the past four months, since July, he had noticed how she had changed from their school days. How she was actually broken, but she was fixing herself without anyone to help her. She didn't beg for help either. The first time Draco had seen her lose composure, he had been appalled. He was, of course, used to such panic attacks. Before he left, he was the one who would pull Narcissa back from the dark depths of her attacks into reality. Seeing Granger like that, crying and utterly shattered, it had hurt him in more ways than one. And the worst part was, he didn't even know why! Slowly, he had come to feel comfortable in her presence. They constantly fired insults at each other, they argued to no end. But they had spent good times together as well. She reprimanded him when he did something he wasn't supposed to do, and told him straight to his face when he was a prat. She had started caring about him. And he had started caring about her. The idea of caring about Granger was blasphemous. But as they spent more and more time together, laughing and insulting each other, he had started thinking about her. Perhaps a little too much.

He liked her. Merlin, he really liked her.

"No," Draco groaned to himself. He kicked the bed again.

"Draco?"

And now she called him 'Draco'. What was up with that anyways? Why was she calling him by his first name?

"Go away." He said through gritted teeth.

"I came to apologise," she said, "but if you don't want an apology I'll go."

He hated himself then, for opening the door. But he did, pulling on what he hoped was a threatening expression, "I don't want an apology."

"Then why did you open the door?" She crossed her arms and leaned against the door.