Chapter Text
Friday, 27th August 1999.
His quill snapped in two.
“Yes, Miss Granger?” Drawled Professor Binn’s voice from the front of the class.
Her voice, her actual voice, brought him out of that trance. Draco gulped and shifted in his seat. His pants felt tight around his groin and a bead of sweat ran down his back.
How long was this suffering going to go on for? Draco inwardly moaned and rubbed his eyebrow in exasperation. These bloody rampant thoughts were getting worse. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her actual face without breaking into a sweat and fleeing. Or worse, willingly wanting to shove her up against a wall and fuck her brains out.
She was answering another question. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her overzealous body language, leaning forward in interest, bouncing off her crossed leg, constant scribbling of her pen.
So eager to please. So keen for praise.
Filthy lewd images flashed through his mind.
Granger on his desk, thighs spread wide to accommodate his hips. A wicked smirk stretched across those pink plump lips.
His bed, Granger perched on the edge. A look of innocence painted across her face as she stared up at him. Her delicate fingers lightly grazing his skin, reaching hesitantly below his trousers fabric.
A hidden alcove. The two of them, concealed behind a heavy tapestry. Hot fumbling fingers, grabbing and groping at the burning skin that lay under their restricting clothes. A breathless moan against his ear as he slipped his fervent fingers under her cotton underwear. A sly smirk against her temples as he pleased and pleasured her relentlessly.
Draco shoved his fist into his mouth to prevent an embarrassing moan spilling out. Oh bloody fucking fuck.
His cock strained against his trousers. This was bad.
Professor Binn’s awarded Gryffindor ten points for Granger’s correct answer and Draco released his destroyed quill from his sweaty, clenched hand.
He sighed and reached for a new one. That would be his fifth quill his week. If he didn’t get a hold of himself soon then god knows what will happen.
Either another punch to the face and a restraining order. Or her two idiotic goons sending pathetic threats and dull curses his way. Both of them sounded neither appealing.
Draco shifted again uncomfortably and licked his lips. It was the last class of the day, all he needed to do was shuffle to the dungeons, produce a silencing charm around his bed and have a good wank.
Yes. That sounded plausible.
However running to his bed and whipping out his cock every time he got an extremely erotic, sordid and downright mindfuckingly sexy hallucination of Granger was not ideal...but he had to do what he had to do.
Just twenty more minutes left. He let out a pained groan, one long leg shook impatiently under his deck and grey eyes were glued to the clock. Just so Draco wouldn’t glance over at the girl that was driving him up the goddamn wall.
…
As Draco lay in bed that night—one hand propped up behind his head and the other rested across his chest—he clenched his eyes tight, yet deep in thought.
Draco’s mind whirled over the past week, he blamed Blaise completely.
Just a passing comment about Granger’s height had lead him spiralling down a deep dark hole.
…
Monday, 23th August 1999.
One week ago. The beginning of Draco’s turmoil.
The three of them were seated at the Slytherin table. The rest of the school were arriving for dinner. Theo was daydreaming, his green eyes glossed over, deep in thought. Blaise was seated next to him, observing the rest of the hall. While Draco was thinking about what he would be feasting on tonight. His stomach grumbled impatiently.
“Granger’s actually quite small, isn’t she.” Blaise said absentmindedly, chin rested on his palm.
“Hm.” Draco blinked and turned his head over to him.
“Granger.” He said again and sucked his teeth. Distracted.
Draco frowned. “Small, what you mean small?” He then followed and caught Blaise’s eye-line. His own eyes landed on Granger who was just sitting down at her table, facing the pair.
Blaise shrugged. “Just an observation.”
Theo yawned and tiredly rubbed his eyebrow. The conversation was over.
Draco furrowed his brows again and looked back at her, she was rolling her eyes at Potter and nodding her head playfully at Weaslebee.
Small? Like as in height? Definitely smaller than Potter and Weasley, yeah. They were roughly about two feet taller. But smaller than Pansy? He looked down the table at her, she was swishing her short black bob around and giggling at something one of her mates had said.
Pansy came up to his chin if he remembered correctly, there was a time when she was only a little bit taller. She would poke him on the chest and joke about his height. Draco never found it funny. Rather humiliating really.
Then in the past summer, Draco had a massive growth spurt. It was rather comical really. One morning he just woke up, trudged down the stairs, wiped the sleep from his eyes and nearly jumped in fright at his mothers exclamation.
…
Sunday, 27th June 1999.
Her teacup nearly slipped off her saucer during her sharp gasp, almost tumbling of her chaise.
“Draco—your pyjamas!” She sputtered, staring down at his legs.
“What-what is it!” Draco panicked, frantically looking down to his pants. Expecting them to be on fire or covered in several humongous hairy spiders.
Instead his pyjama bottoms were just passing past his calfs. And rather tight. He blushed. So that’s why he was struggling to walk down the stairs.
“You’ve grown again!” His mother sprung up from her chaise and almost staggered back in shock.
Draco was now staring down at his mother. A good 5 inches between the two. That explained the constant eating. He checked his cuffs, which were now halfway up his forearm.
It also made sense since his father was rather tall. All his ancestors, actually.
Salazar’s big hairy balls, his legs bloody ached.
The rest of the day revolved around Draco being swarmed by the house elf’s, his body being assessed by a flitting measure tape and his mother jumping excitedly from one heel to the other.
He was always quite tall, before he was 5ft 9’. Now after being checked twice, just to make sure, he stood a proud 6ft 2’. The first thought flashed across his mind, would he stand the same height as his father? Another damned similarity between them both.
A brand spanking new wardrobe was stocked a week and an half later. A grand array of whites, greys and blacks. All fitting perfectly on his now towering figure. Not to forget his brand new uniform, pressed and pristine.
His stomach twisted. Hands felt sweaty, the familiar feeling of nauseousness—Draco slammed the closet door shut.