To say that Malfoy was pissed was an understatement. It had started out as a wonderful day and yet here he was sitting at breakfast throughly grumpy. That vision of Granger had left him very very turned on, but he was not so weak that he would jerk off to a mudblood. He’d gone back and taken a cold shower but that had done nothing for the thoughts running in his head. The only contact he’d ever had with her was when she had punched him in the face last year. He knew how soft her skin was thanks to that. He’d never admit it but he’d been very proud that he could get a rise out of Granger that day. Today however had been entirely too much. He didn’t want to know what Granger looked like in her knickers and yet he couldn’t stop thinking how hot she looked in his house colours! Now that he had seen her like that, it was entirely impossible not to look over at the Gryffindor table and see right through that lumpy jumper. His internal conflict about her heritage and her hotness continued to rage for a while until suddenly he realised.