Duet 9: looneylunafan and unseen1969
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Title: Hogwarts; A History
Author: looneylunafan (pinch-hitter)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6,255
Summary: Draco just wanted to ask Granger a question and winds up having to escort her home. A peek through her journal seems to be a worthwhile way to make up the time lost.
Warnings: Alcohol use, Slightly OOC Hermione
Author's Note(s): This was my first attempt at being a Pitch Hitter, so my apologies if it seems a little rushed. I had a great prompt, but it got larger and larger as I tried to work it. I love this fest and was glad to be a part of it this year.
Chapter 1
There was a superstition Muggles held that warned to be cautious on a full moon. Being an accomplished wizard who knew nothing of Muggle superstition, he held no notion of danger when he stepped out under the glow of the full moon and Apparated to the Ministry of Magic.
There was an interdepartmental celebratory function hosted on this particular evening. In the simplest of terms that meant as many people as could fit in the Banquet Hall, including employees and families, would gather for an evening of attempting to brag about their position while partaking in excessive amounts of alcohol. As Draco Malfoy was more than proficient at both bragging and drinking, these nights were either quite fun or dreadfully dull, which usually led to more drinking.
Such celebratory functions had occurred at least twice a year since the end of the War as a way to keep up morale and for the Ministry to pat itself on the back for not getting in the way too much near the end. They usually had a theme or name which Draco had forgotten already. All he knew was that he was expected to show up looking sharp, make nice to the head of some office he never visited, and drink just enough to not consider the evening a complete waste of time while still being able to Apparate home safely.
Draco’s father had taught him long ago to be slightly early when meeting individuals of higher status than yourself, but to keep those who were impressed by you waiting. He knew he was impressive to damn near everyone, or would have been had the War not ended so unfavorably for his family. Admittedly, large donations and community service were better than Azkaban or death. However the regal family name did not hold quite the sway that it used to. As a result, Draco arrived only five minutes late and was able to slip into the room that hosted the attendants comfortably.
An hour of polite mingling passed with a glass of self-refilling elf-made wine in hand. Draco had spoken at length with a foreign liaison of international sports, mostly for the fact that he had a beautiful witch on his arm who kept batting her eyelashes in Draco’s direction. In a more cheerful mood than usual, he accidentally made one of the new interns stumble when he gave the lad a compliment. With a superior smirk, he turned to find the only person he actually needed to speak with, the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Hermione Granger.
The witch had done well for herself since they had both gone back to Hogwarts to finish their N.E.W.T.s. He had been court ordered to do so, she had elected to. There was little Draco, or anyone it seemed, knew about her except that she never did marry Weasley and she did her job well. Draco cared little about the details of her personal life and only wanted to inquire about a license to own a Jarvey. Generally wizards did not need one, but he was under stricter regulations than most.
Draco searched the lobby and the area surrounding the food and drink. He peered over the heads of most and yet could not see her trademark mass of curly hair. In fact, Draco had resigned himself to sending her an owl the next day instead. It was only by the coincidence that he needed to use the loo before leaving that he found her at all. Leaning with her shoulder against the wall at the end of the corridor and facing away from the noise of the celebration, Granger did not see him until he was right beside her.
What Draco expected was the confident face of a woman in power. Instead he found himself looking at the drooping form of a woman who had clearly enjoyed too much alcohol. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were half closed, and she was taking slow, shallow breaths. There was also the distinct scent of cherry liquor surrounding her.
“Uhm, Ms. Granger, I wanted to have a word with you.” Her unfocused eyes slowly roved to his face but did not alight with recognition or understanding. Clearly it would be a waste of time to discuss any official matters in her current state, and Draco felt a little bubble of frustration well inside him as he realized he had come for almost no reason at all. “Well, perhaps another time then.”
He turned to walk back to the lobby, but Hermione reached up and gripped his jacket at the elbow. “I think,” she started, drawing a deep breath and forming the words slowly, “I need help to home.” What was this nonsense? She released her hold and took another breath, attempting to stand. Her form swayed a little and she leaned back against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed.
Draco rubbed his forehead with his left hand and then dragged it down his face. Not only was this woman drunk, she was so far gone that she could not even articulate a request for assistance getting home. While Draco would not normally oblige such an offer, he believed in responsible drinking, he did pause to consider it. Aiding her might soften her up to giving him the documents he needed. Then again, if she did not remember his assistance, it would do little for him besides ease his conscience. Five years ago he would have left her in the hallway, but his damn feet would not move until he had pulled her up beside him.
“Alright, Granger, where do you live?” He should have asked before letting her lean most of her body weight on him, just in case she didn’t remember. Her lips moved but no sound came out. Draco bent his head down and put his ear near her mouth. “Come again?”
The smell of her breath caused him to recoil. Draco turned his face away, but only after catching “Twenynine, Hollyrood, Northatom.” Well, he had absolutely no idea where that was, so Apparition was out of the question. His only hope was that her home was connected to the Floo network. He started them off back toward the foyer. Hermione’s head leaned into his shoulder in a way that made Draco decidedly uncomfortable.
Rather than move through the crowded room where the party was taking place, thus drawing many unwanted stares, Draco maneuvered the two of them to the fireplaces by way of a side hall. Although she was practically being dragged along, Hermione was light enough that Draco had no trouble holding her up with just one arm.
“Sorry,” she mumbled when they stopped in front of the first fireplace. Draco did not pay any attention to the apology as he reached for the powder, tossed it in, and pulled them both inside. The sound of the high flames drowned out whatever else she had to say.
“Twenty-nine Holyrood, Northamton.” It was almost a guess and Draco wondered if it would work at all. Immediately the two of them were spinning, Hermione clinging desperately to his jacket with her eyes shut tight. Please don’t throw up on me was all he could think until they slowed and eventually stopped swirling inside a small, redbrick fireplace.
When Hermione stumbled out and rushed to the right where she found the door to the loo, Draco assumed it was the correct home. He almost immediately reentered the network to go home when he heard the sound of her retching, magnified in the bathroom. He didn’t want to stay for that, but he also didn’t want to leave her, just in case she passed out on the floor and got sick again.
With a sigh of resignation, he took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a nearby chair. He pulled out his wand and lighted a few candles. There were hardly enough to light up the room, so he also stoked the fire. Just when there was enough silence coming from the bathroom that Draco speculated Hermione might be done, she started a new wave of harsh sounds. He decided to explore the room a bit.
There was a door to the kitchen and dining room which was small and unimpressive. There was a staircase that led to what Draco could only assume was the master bedroom. Likely it’s the only bedroom. The front room was the most interesting. There were several bookcases, a desk that held several documents with her department heading at the top, a long sofa, a few reading chairs, a dark wood coffee table, and some strange metal box with a glass screen. He completely ignored the last thing, assuming it was some Muggle device as he had never seen it before.
He perused the bookshelves, minimally interested in the literature she had. There were shelves devoted to the textbooks they had read in school, all arranged by year. There was an entire bookcase that held books with legal titles and another devoted to magical beasts, creatures, and pets. Another had titles he had never heard of, such as Pride and Prejudice and Lord of the Rings. Aside from those Muggle titles, the only ones that seemed to be reading she did for enjoyment were on the top shelf of the tallest bookcase, which was in the hallway with the stairs. Draco stood up on tiptoe to scan the spines, and smirked as he saw some familiar titles: Warlock of Desire and Beyond Amortentia. His mother also had quite a collection of romance novels. There was one that seemed utterly out of place though, thicker than all of the others and it stuck out further from the wall, as if it someone had stuck it on the shelf in a hurry and didn’t push it all the way back.
There were three things utterly wrong with the book. For one, it belonged on another bookcase entirely, because he had seen a copy near their school texts already. For another, the punctuation was wrong. The other text had had a colon, not a semicolon. Finally, it was too short to be the textbook that held the history of their old school. Truly intrigued for the first time since stepping foot into the house, Draco pulled down the fake book and began to scan the pages. It took a moment for the slanted handwriting and the use of “I” in the sentences to come together, but when they did, a sinister smile broke out across his face. Draco had found Hermione Granger’s diary.
Chapter 2
The door handle to the bathroom jiggled and Draco quickly returned the book to its place on the shelf. In two long strides he was next to the door Hermione was leaning on. “I feel… better,” Hermione admitted, taking most long breaths between her words. “Just… upstairs now.” When she released her hold on the door she took only one step before starting to fall. Draco caught her around the middle and tried to help her stand only to have her fall completely limp.
“For the love of Merlin, Granger!” His frustration fell on deaf ears as she was completely out of it. Draco had half a mind to just drop her on the floor, but he had already gone this far. He got both arms behind her back and legs and carried her up the stairs without trouble. As expected, there was only one bedroom upstairs. He pushed open the slightly ajar door with his foot and could hardly see. Thankfully the room was not large and he found the bed with painful ease once he ran his shin into the frame.
“Circe’s tits!” Again he felt the urge to just drop her and again he refrained, instead gently laying her down on the unmade bed. Only when he took a step back did he realize she was still wearing a nice black gown from the event. It was long and silky; probably not something she should sleep in. His mind made a direct path to imagining her without it on. Almost just as quickly he was instead thinking of Quidditch as he grabbed the comforter and pulled it over her.
On the nightstand was a large bottle of a potion without a label and a glass. He tapped the glass without a word and it filled with water. Then he left the room, gently closing the door behind him. Perhaps it was many nights after his father’s imprisonment spent helping his own drunken mother to bed that had turned Draco into something of a nurse. He tried not to think about whom he had just been so kind to as he rushed down the stairs to pick up her diary again.
Draco could be nice, but he certainly wasn’t a saint. How could anyone resist reading a war heroine’s private thoughts from a boarding school? He had taken a look at Pansy’s once in third year, but it was mostly full of mindless babbling about what she thought of herself. If he knew anything about Granger, she had taken detailed notes and hopefully put some interesting commentary in there. He wondered what she had written about him, surely there must have been something! Eagerly he plopped down on the sofa and turned to the first page.
Thirty seconds later Draco let out a frustrated sigh. “You are insufferable,” he muttered in a low tone, staring up at the ceiling where her bedroom was. He had forgotten what a real know-it-all she had been, and the early pages of her diary reflected the matter-of-fact way she used to speak. It was worse than that, she had not written entirely in English. Names had been changed, either at the time or later, into runes. Determined not to let her smarty pants nature get the best of him, he walked over to the shelf with school books on it and grabbed hold of the ones that pertained to Ancient Runes. Setting up a sort of work area, he splayed open the three texts around the diary on the coffee table and started searching.
Initially she seemed to spell out entire names with the alphabet, but he noticed that in the middle of their first year Ron was substituted with a rune that meant “weasel”. Draco could not help but chuckle at that one. He found mention of his name only three times in that first year. The first time was when he had gotten Potter and Weasley in trouble by challenging them to a duel and never showing up. Apparently she had been following them, which he would have never imagined she was capable of. The next one had to do with when she and Potter got caught sneaking out that dragon the caretaker had. He had also been in trouble for that though. The final mention of him was in the last entry from that year.
As much as I can, I feel a little sympathetic toward Slytherin. I don’t like them at all, but they believed they had won only to have the victory snatched away from them at the last moment. I saw Draco Malfoy from across the room and he actually looked upset. He is positively rotten to Harry, Ron, and I though, and he gets everything he wants from his rich family anyway. Perhaps it did him some good to finally lose.
Draco scoffed at the comment. The only thing that and every other year that Gryffindor had won taught him was to despise Dumbledore for playing favourites. His father had not been happy at all that such a victory that Draco had partially helped earn had been stolen at the last moment, and it only fueled Lucius’ desire to remove Dumbledore from the premises the following year. Speaking of which…
Refocusing on the book, Draco flipped a few more pages, but his eyes quickly got lost in the mire of handwritten words and Hermione’s lengthy prose. He cocked his head to the side and looked at how many pages were in the journal. He picked up the edges of the paper with his thumb and lifted them to reveal the last ones which also had writing. There was not possible way he could read the whole thing in one night, especially with how tired his eyes were after the late evening and moderate drinking. He would have to find a faster way to do this.
After taking up his wand in his right hand, Draco pondered the many spells they had learned in school and eyed the books around the room that held probably everything they had been taught and more. His mind finally settled on Homenum Revelio. The trouble lay in that he was not seeking any person, but a specific word. No doubt Scriptum Revelio would cause the room to light up like a tree at Christmas. He would have to be exceptionally particular, if it could work at all. Draco sat quietly and stared at the book with his wand twirling absent-mindedly in his fingers.
The rune Hermione used for him was Feoh. It looked like a capital F with the two short lines slanted up. Draco had to look through a few different books because this rune was used across many cultures. To one group it meant cattle, in another it was possessions, and then wealth. The irony was not lost on him that it sounded like feo, Spanish for “ugly”, which was related to foedus, Latin for loathsome. He liked the rune translation better.
With his elbows resting on his knees, Draco raised his wand and then tapped the diary. “Scriptum Feoh Revelio”. To his mild and delighted surprise, small glimmering points of light shined through from the later pages in the book. He took it up in his lap, leaning back into the couch, and flipped through several pages before his eyes landed on the light gold rune that he was looking for. The excitement brought on by the glow quickly faded when he realized what he was reading; her recollection, still visibly spotted with tears, of the first time he had called her a Mudblood.
There was only the tiniest hope of satisfaction in this entry, and it was that because it was the first mention of him that year, she had not noticed him staring at her during the interaction between his father and the Weasley family over the summer. Lucius had, and he had been furious that his own son would look upon such a lowly creature with anything but disdain. As a 2nd year, he had believed every word his father had said and was motivated to prove it. Clearly it had bothered Hermione more than she ever let on to him.
Without allowing himself to worry about her feelings any longer, he flipped to the next speck of light, which was quickly fading. Briefly he looked over the passage of Potter and Weasley disguising themselves as Crabbe and Goyle:
It was a complete waste of time besides the practice I got in brewing long-term potions. Draco knew nothing about who the Heir of Slytherin might be and I had to miss weeks of class in order to have my tail and whiskers removed…
Draco tapped the book and repeated the spell, reigniting the glimmering specks. When he flipped to the next one, he was shocked to find that she had transitioned to their third year. It took a minute of reminiscence before he realized that there was a period that she could not have written because she was again in the Hospital Wing as a petrified victim. It was only a short account of his foolish behavior toward a Hippogriff in Care of Magical Creatures. To mask his idiocy and embarrassment, he had been openly opinionated about what punishment should befall the beast. Publicly his father had taken his side, but there were many awkward glares across the Malfoy dinner table during the Holidays that year. The following entry was equally brief, but it made Draco smile and again glare up at the ceiling.
Draco is an absolutely infuriating, unsympathetic being, and I simply could not take it anymore! He was positively foul, speaking so insensitively of Hagrid. And it is entirely his fault that Hagrid is in such a predicament. Oh if Gryffindor loses to that evil little monster I’ll simply…
Apparently she had been too furious to finish the sentence. He smiled again, but with tight lips. Gryffindor had won the game after that. Worse though than losing before the entire school was the fact that the feisty little Hermione had actually smacked his face and stunned him in front of both of their friends. He had threatened Crabbe and Goyle heartily afterward that if they so much as breathed a word of her fanatical behavior they would face the wrath of him and his father. Thankfully they were both too dim-witted to realize his father could never know.
Flipping through the pages quickly, Draco managed to find the next “Feoh” before the light faded from the ink. The section was so short that he almost skipped right on past it except that he noted when in the year she was writing.
The one surprise of the night came just as I was lining up with the champions. I saw not too far off Draco Malfoy. I am somewhat ashamed to say that he looked… I don’t even think I can write it. Suffice it to say he caught my attention and I turned away quickly, focusing almost all of my attention for the rest of the evening on Viktor.
The rest of the entry focused on sickening trifle about Krum and her uncharacteristic pleasure in making Ron and Harry jealous by the sound of it. Draco lowered the book that he had been holding very near his face to his lap and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. It was a little strange to think of her as attractive at only fifteen, but she had captivated every bloke at the Ball. He was pleased she had noticed him but apparently, again, not noticed him looking back at her. It occurred to him that he had done that perhaps too often. Had anyone added them all up, they might have thought Draco had fancied the Muggleborn bookworm, which, he had told himself repeatedly, was as far from the truth as it could be.
Draco used his wand to light up his rune in the diary again, but there was a significant chunk of pages between the entry about the ball and the next. He knew as he passed the dates she had written down, flying through time, that all of the entries from then on out would be harder to read. Their fifth through seventh years were difficult, more so than either of them probably realized for the other. Yet he had set out on this journey through her private thoughts and intended to finish it.
Chapter 3
The following year was almost devoid of Draco’s little rune. Curious as to what she had been so preoccupied with, he read a few lines on every other page and got the bare gist. The Order, a weapon, OWLs. In fact, the only mention of him at all was in reference to the Inquisitorial Squad. It seemed that she had been trying to deny those interested inclinations from the previous year as much as he himself had been of her. Of course, he had had as many distractions with the Dark Lord’s return. It did not get any easier from there, as his father was imprisoned by the end of their fifth year and the difficult task was handed down from father to son.
Again the glow from his spell had dissipated and he had to tap the journal yet again. This time he looked ahead and stuck his fingers in the next four places that it appeared so he could focus more on what she had written. That entire year he was worried someone had been peering over his shoulder, and for the most part that was true. Snape had been on to him, Dumbledore had actually known more than he let on, and then there were weekly reports due on his progress. Most irritating of all was Potter who seemed to be always in his way, especially with that cloak of his. What had he really known though, and how much had been wild speculation? Draco peered down at the first entry that mentioned him.
There was more than one reason I was apprehensive to follow Draco into Diagon Alley with Harry and Ron this afternoon. Mrs. Weasley would have been furious had she found out, we were all enjoying a bit of fun for once in Fred and George’s shop, and of course seeing all the Weasley boys was a great way to pass the time as far as I was concerned. There was also the potential danger that could have occurred, though I don’t think Harry gives that much thought, and I still have mixed feelings about Draco…
I don’t know if I believe the level of suspicion that the boys are convinced surrounded the event. Harry goes so far as to speculate Draco has the Dark Mark and that’s what he showed Borgin. The Malfoys are a creepy family to begin with, and we know that they frequent that shop. My conversation with the horrid shop keeper was more unsettling than his little shopping trip.
She followed this with a word for word account of what was clearly the most embarrassing conversation between her and Mr. Borgin. He would have genuinely laughed at her attempt, even in the nerve-wracking mindset he had been in at the time. This might have been the only time in her life that Hermione Granger had been positively wrong while Potter and Weasley had been right. It was nice to know she had held at least a little faith in him, even when he didn’t deserve it. Nice, but a little unsettling.
It was getting to be very late, and Draco entertained the idea of giving up on reading the book. His eyelids were growing heavy from being sedentary after drinking as much as he had. If he stopped now, nothing would change between Granger and himself. Nothing truly shocking had been revealed thus far. Nothing might for the remainder of the book, but Draco had an inkling she would at some point reveal something concerning him that was taboo. Had he been so feminine as to keep a journal at Hogwarts, it would have had certain things in it about the Gryffindor princess that would have shamed him out of Slytherin and his inheritance as a Malfoy.
On the next three pages that he had marked with his fingers were fleeting mentions of his name.
Harry spends far too much time worrying about Draco Malfoy’s whereabouts when he ought to be concerned with….
Draco isn’t even trying in Potions anymore, which makes competing with him much less fun. Then there’s Harry and that stupid Half-Blood Prince book, which reminds me that I should check next section of biographies in the Library…
I had to send yet another report to Professor McGonagall concerning Draco Malfoy not showing up for Prefect duties. Informing Professor Snape has resulted in inaction. He’s still outwardly something of a terror, but it’s easier to walk in silence with someone attractive than listen to Ron go on and on about Lavender.
Draco could feel the disgust poured into the words as they had been penned on the page. Even in his distracted and somewhat emaciated state during sixth year, he had been privy to the tension between Granger and Weasley. Had he needed further proof that the red haired muppet was a complete moron, Weasley’s disregard for Granger in favor of Brown’s company was the thing to seal it. Come to think of it, as far as Draco could recall, Weasley and Brown were still together and producing more spawn than should be legal. There had been a great number of news articles written about the relationship while Draco and Hermione had returned to Hogwarts for their final year. Before he had pondered that time too much, Draco told himself that he had to finish out what she had written for the rest of the year.
There was only one more entry from that year that included him, and it was written with much less of her usual descriptive flair. Draco wanted to skip it to avoid the harsh judgments she likely had made and the disappointment she knew she had felt. He was too invested in her thoughts by now though, and needed to know how she had seen that night on the tower.
He read so intently that he looked to be a statue with eyes that roved the sentences quickly. They were short, almost lifeless. He learned of the potion Potter had given his friends, a little bit of the mission Dumbledore had been on before he returned to the tower, and how amazingly angry they all were with Severus. That was not surprising. What did shock him a little was the lack of blame she put on him. He had been the one to orchestrate the entire infiltration, yet the only statement beyond basic facts was “I wonder how he is doing now.”
Draco remained very still after that. It was possible that he had read the words more deeply than they were meant, but that was her final thought of the entry. There was roughly half a page left where she did not immediately start the next entry. Instead, the entry following Dumbedore’s funeral started on the next blank page took up three sheets. Draco had not been able to attend despite his intense feelings of guilt following his former headmaster’s death - feelings that had mercifully held off until Snape had him in hiding after Disapparating.
It was already past midnight and Draco realized that what he was really interested in would not be found in the next year. He didn’t want to read about Hermione running and hiding for months. He did not want to know what she wrote after she had been caught and then tortured in his home. Least of all did he want to hear about her descriptions of her friends that lay dying on the Great Hall floor. He knew none of the Slytherins had stayed to help, and that was enough to convince himself that he should move on.
Return to Hogwarts
1998-1999
Both Hermione and Draco had gone back to Hogwarts after a very quick remodel. She had chosen to do so without her two sidekicks, which resulted in her acting even more reclusive than usual. Draco had been forced to go back to the school. Perhaps the board who had decided that hoped the angry glares and hexes he had received in the back in the corridors would have killed him. Recasting the spell, Draco noticed that he was mentioned in this last section of the journal more than he would have thought. Not wasting any more time, he dove into each segment of the entries that included him.
I had read in the Prophet that Draco would be returning to Hogwarts, though I honestly did not believe it. I was certain, even with the mud now caked on to his family name, they would have been able to get him out of it. I won’t say that I am disappointed to have him around, but I am not foolish enough to believe that I’ll spend any time around him. At the moment, I can’t be certain that I even want to talk to him…
No one was willing to partner with Draco in Potions, which I could not appear to be too keen to jump on, but I did mention to Professor Slughorn that if partners were required in the future, I am willing to make the sacrifice. I don’t believe I was too obvious in my intentions. Draco would likely tell me that the last thing he wants is friendship from a Mudblood, but friendship isn’t exactly what I’m after…
I never expected life at Hogwarts to be as difficult as it is. Even after our time searching for the Horcruxes, I don’t supposed I ever realized how much I rely on Ron and Harry’s company. Perhaps their distractions as Aurors and with girlfriends are the reason for my growing obsession with Draco Malfoy who, I’m sure, has less interest in me than ever before. I thought I could face any rejection after Ronald decided on Lavender, but I am wondering how desperate I’ll become for attention…
A quiet gasp from the hallway caused Draco to look up just in time to hear Hermione say, “Petrificus Totalus!”
Chapter 4
Apparently three hours was long enough for Hermione to sleep off the alcohol. She had changed her clothes before coming down the stairs and was wearing a dark purple satin nighty under a matching robe that was only loosely tied around her waist. She sauntered down the hallway and over to the couch with such a sexy grace that Draco was positive she was not at all drunk anymore. But how?
As if he had voiced his question aloud, Hermione grinned mischievously, but did not answer his silent query. “You know,” she started, bending forward and pulling the diary from his lap, “it’s considered very rude to read someone’s journal. There are very private things in there. Judging from where you stopped though, you didn’t get to the worst of it.” She scanned the page and her smile widened before she snapped the book closed and laid it on the coffee table. “Let me give you a quick synopsis.”
Then Hermione proceeded to do something Draco Malfoy would not have believed or even allowed where he not frozen in place on her couch. Hermione sat right down in his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs. His hands were stuck in a position, palm up, just above her thighs, but he thought he could feel the body heat radiating off of her exposed skin. She tilted her head a little, curious and looking into his eyes, as though trying to read his mind because he could not speak those thoughts.
“I hope you don’t blame me too much. I don’t think I need to stroke your ego much by explaining why I fancied you for so long, although you put up quite a front to counter my attentions. Despite it all though, there are some things a girl can’t ignore.” She lifted her hand and gently threaded her fingers through his blond strands. “The rest of the diary recounts various things I saw you do or say that I found attractive. Eventually I wrote about my failed attempts to get you out of my system. I tried writing, studying even harder, dating other men…”
She let out a heavy sigh, one that pushed her breasts up and a little closer to Draco’s face. “Needless to say, even after so long, there some things that I never let go, and my childhood crush is one of them. That leads us to tonight.”
Fragmented thoughts bounced around Draco’s mind and he worked very hard to piece them together. Was she admitting something? Had she planned to have him take her home tonight? Was her journal a trap? What was she doing? His eyes moved down a little and watched as she swayed her hips in a slow circle.
“I am sure you have put most of the pieces together. I was a terrible actress when I was younger, but I like to think that I can pull off someone in a drunken stupor. I was interested in what you would do when you had me simply lying in bed. I was pleasantly surprised, I admit.” She paused and lowered her face close to his.
“I am sorry to have tricked you. I was tired of waiting and forcing myself to stand by unobserved. Now I have to let you go, though. You know how I feel, how long I’ve felt it…” She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and their noses touched. “The Floo is right there, or you may join me upstairs.” Without so much as a glance for warning, she closed the small gap between their lips and planted a light kiss.
Hurrying in her nervousness, Hermione backed up off Draco’s lap, turned, and hopped up the stairs. The only indication he had of the spell being lifted was the sudden tent that formed in his pants. He paused for two seconds and looked to his dress jacket on the chair by the fireplace. He could leave with his new knowledge, get Granger back for tricking him by just walking out, and possibly hold himself as a carrot over her head for a few weeks at least.
Then the more primal, take what you want side of Malfoy came out. He pushed himself up off the couch, and took the stairs two at a time. The door to Hermione’s room was half open. He walked in, took in the sight of the beautiful witch in her nightgown lounging on the duvet, and closed the door behind him.
THE END
Title: Hogwarts; A History
Author: looneylunafan (pinch-hitter)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6,255
Summary: Draco just wanted to ask Granger a question and winds up having to escort her home. A peek through her journal seems to be a worthwhile way to make up the time lost.
Warnings: Alcohol use, Slightly OOC Hermione
Author's Note(s): This was my first attempt at being a Pitch Hitter, so my apologies if it seems a little rushed. I had a great prompt, but it got larger and larger as I tried to work it. I love this fest and was glad to be a part of it this year.
Chapter 1
There was a superstition Muggles held that warned to be cautious on a full moon. Being an accomplished wizard who knew nothing of Muggle superstition, he held no notion of danger when he stepped out under the glow of the full moon and Apparated to the Ministry of Magic.
There was an interdepartmental celebratory function hosted on this particular evening. In the simplest of terms that meant as many people as could fit in the Banquet Hall, including employees and families, would gather for an evening of attempting to brag about their position while partaking in excessive amounts of alcohol. As Draco Malfoy was more than proficient at both bragging and drinking, these nights were either quite fun or dreadfully dull, which usually led to more drinking.
Such celebratory functions had occurred at least twice a year since the end of the War as a way to keep up morale and for the Ministry to pat itself on the back for not getting in the way too much near the end. They usually had a theme or name which Draco had forgotten already. All he knew was that he was expected to show up looking sharp, make nice to the head of some office he never visited, and drink just enough to not consider the evening a complete waste of time while still being able to Apparate home safely.
Draco’s father had taught him long ago to be slightly early when meeting individuals of higher status than yourself, but to keep those who were impressed by you waiting. He knew he was impressive to damn near everyone, or would have been had the War not ended so unfavorably for his family. Admittedly, large donations and community service were better than Azkaban or death. However the regal family name did not hold quite the sway that it used to. As a result, Draco arrived only five minutes late and was able to slip into the room that hosted the attendants comfortably.
An hour of polite mingling passed with a glass of self-refilling elf-made wine in hand. Draco had spoken at length with a foreign liaison of international sports, mostly for the fact that he had a beautiful witch on his arm who kept batting her eyelashes in Draco’s direction. In a more cheerful mood than usual, he accidentally made one of the new interns stumble when he gave the lad a compliment. With a superior smirk, he turned to find the only person he actually needed to speak with, the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Hermione Granger.
The witch had done well for herself since they had both gone back to Hogwarts to finish their N.E.W.T.s. He had been court ordered to do so, she had elected to. There was little Draco, or anyone it seemed, knew about her except that she never did marry Weasley and she did her job well. Draco cared little about the details of her personal life and only wanted to inquire about a license to own a Jarvey. Generally wizards did not need one, but he was under stricter regulations than most.
Draco searched the lobby and the area surrounding the food and drink. He peered over the heads of most and yet could not see her trademark mass of curly hair. In fact, Draco had resigned himself to sending her an owl the next day instead. It was only by the coincidence that he needed to use the loo before leaving that he found her at all. Leaning with her shoulder against the wall at the end of the corridor and facing away from the noise of the celebration, Granger did not see him until he was right beside her.
What Draco expected was the confident face of a woman in power. Instead he found himself looking at the drooping form of a woman who had clearly enjoyed too much alcohol. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were half closed, and she was taking slow, shallow breaths. There was also the distinct scent of cherry liquor surrounding her.
“Uhm, Ms. Granger, I wanted to have a word with you.” Her unfocused eyes slowly roved to his face but did not alight with recognition or understanding. Clearly it would be a waste of time to discuss any official matters in her current state, and Draco felt a little bubble of frustration well inside him as he realized he had come for almost no reason at all. “Well, perhaps another time then.”
He turned to walk back to the lobby, but Hermione reached up and gripped his jacket at the elbow. “I think,” she started, drawing a deep breath and forming the words slowly, “I need help to home.” What was this nonsense? She released her hold and took another breath, attempting to stand. Her form swayed a little and she leaned back against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed.
Draco rubbed his forehead with his left hand and then dragged it down his face. Not only was this woman drunk, she was so far gone that she could not even articulate a request for assistance getting home. While Draco would not normally oblige such an offer, he believed in responsible drinking, he did pause to consider it. Aiding her might soften her up to giving him the documents he needed. Then again, if she did not remember his assistance, it would do little for him besides ease his conscience. Five years ago he would have left her in the hallway, but his damn feet would not move until he had pulled her up beside him.
“Alright, Granger, where do you live?” He should have asked before letting her lean most of her body weight on him, just in case she didn’t remember. Her lips moved but no sound came out. Draco bent his head down and put his ear near her mouth. “Come again?”
The smell of her breath caused him to recoil. Draco turned his face away, but only after catching “Twenynine, Hollyrood, Northatom.” Well, he had absolutely no idea where that was, so Apparition was out of the question. His only hope was that her home was connected to the Floo network. He started them off back toward the foyer. Hermione’s head leaned into his shoulder in a way that made Draco decidedly uncomfortable.
Rather than move through the crowded room where the party was taking place, thus drawing many unwanted stares, Draco maneuvered the two of them to the fireplaces by way of a side hall. Although she was practically being dragged along, Hermione was light enough that Draco had no trouble holding her up with just one arm.
“Sorry,” she mumbled when they stopped in front of the first fireplace. Draco did not pay any attention to the apology as he reached for the powder, tossed it in, and pulled them both inside. The sound of the high flames drowned out whatever else she had to say.
“Twenty-nine Holyrood, Northamton.” It was almost a guess and Draco wondered if it would work at all. Immediately the two of them were spinning, Hermione clinging desperately to his jacket with her eyes shut tight. Please don’t throw up on me was all he could think until they slowed and eventually stopped swirling inside a small, redbrick fireplace.
When Hermione stumbled out and rushed to the right where she found the door to the loo, Draco assumed it was the correct home. He almost immediately reentered the network to go home when he heard the sound of her retching, magnified in the bathroom. He didn’t want to stay for that, but he also didn’t want to leave her, just in case she passed out on the floor and got sick again.
With a sigh of resignation, he took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a nearby chair. He pulled out his wand and lighted a few candles. There were hardly enough to light up the room, so he also stoked the fire. Just when there was enough silence coming from the bathroom that Draco speculated Hermione might be done, she started a new wave of harsh sounds. He decided to explore the room a bit.
There was a door to the kitchen and dining room which was small and unimpressive. There was a staircase that led to what Draco could only assume was the master bedroom. Likely it’s the only bedroom. The front room was the most interesting. There were several bookcases, a desk that held several documents with her department heading at the top, a long sofa, a few reading chairs, a dark wood coffee table, and some strange metal box with a glass screen. He completely ignored the last thing, assuming it was some Muggle device as he had never seen it before.
He perused the bookshelves, minimally interested in the literature she had. There were shelves devoted to the textbooks they had read in school, all arranged by year. There was an entire bookcase that held books with legal titles and another devoted to magical beasts, creatures, and pets. Another had titles he had never heard of, such as Pride and Prejudice and Lord of the Rings. Aside from those Muggle titles, the only ones that seemed to be reading she did for enjoyment were on the top shelf of the tallest bookcase, which was in the hallway with the stairs. Draco stood up on tiptoe to scan the spines, and smirked as he saw some familiar titles: Warlock of Desire and Beyond Amortentia. His mother also had quite a collection of romance novels. There was one that seemed utterly out of place though, thicker than all of the others and it stuck out further from the wall, as if it someone had stuck it on the shelf in a hurry and didn’t push it all the way back.
There were three things utterly wrong with the book. For one, it belonged on another bookcase entirely, because he had seen a copy near their school texts already. For another, the punctuation was wrong. The other text had had a colon, not a semicolon. Finally, it was too short to be the textbook that held the history of their old school. Truly intrigued for the first time since stepping foot into the house, Draco pulled down the fake book and began to scan the pages. It took a moment for the slanted handwriting and the use of “I” in the sentences to come together, but when they did, a sinister smile broke out across his face. Draco had found Hermione Granger’s diary.
Chapter 2
The door handle to the bathroom jiggled and Draco quickly returned the book to its place on the shelf. In two long strides he was next to the door Hermione was leaning on. “I feel… better,” Hermione admitted, taking most long breaths between her words. “Just… upstairs now.” When she released her hold on the door she took only one step before starting to fall. Draco caught her around the middle and tried to help her stand only to have her fall completely limp.
“For the love of Merlin, Granger!” His frustration fell on deaf ears as she was completely out of it. Draco had half a mind to just drop her on the floor, but he had already gone this far. He got both arms behind her back and legs and carried her up the stairs without trouble. As expected, there was only one bedroom upstairs. He pushed open the slightly ajar door with his foot and could hardly see. Thankfully the room was not large and he found the bed with painful ease once he ran his shin into the frame.
“Circe’s tits!” Again he felt the urge to just drop her and again he refrained, instead gently laying her down on the unmade bed. Only when he took a step back did he realize she was still wearing a nice black gown from the event. It was long and silky; probably not something she should sleep in. His mind made a direct path to imagining her without it on. Almost just as quickly he was instead thinking of Quidditch as he grabbed the comforter and pulled it over her.
On the nightstand was a large bottle of a potion without a label and a glass. He tapped the glass without a word and it filled with water. Then he left the room, gently closing the door behind him. Perhaps it was many nights after his father’s imprisonment spent helping his own drunken mother to bed that had turned Draco into something of a nurse. He tried not to think about whom he had just been so kind to as he rushed down the stairs to pick up her diary again.
Draco could be nice, but he certainly wasn’t a saint. How could anyone resist reading a war heroine’s private thoughts from a boarding school? He had taken a look at Pansy’s once in third year, but it was mostly full of mindless babbling about what she thought of herself. If he knew anything about Granger, she had taken detailed notes and hopefully put some interesting commentary in there. He wondered what she had written about him, surely there must have been something! Eagerly he plopped down on the sofa and turned to the first page.
Thirty seconds later Draco let out a frustrated sigh. “You are insufferable,” he muttered in a low tone, staring up at the ceiling where her bedroom was. He had forgotten what a real know-it-all she had been, and the early pages of her diary reflected the matter-of-fact way she used to speak. It was worse than that, she had not written entirely in English. Names had been changed, either at the time or later, into runes. Determined not to let her smarty pants nature get the best of him, he walked over to the shelf with school books on it and grabbed hold of the ones that pertained to Ancient Runes. Setting up a sort of work area, he splayed open the three texts around the diary on the coffee table and started searching.
Initially she seemed to spell out entire names with the alphabet, but he noticed that in the middle of their first year Ron was substituted with a rune that meant “weasel”. Draco could not help but chuckle at that one. He found mention of his name only three times in that first year. The first time was when he had gotten Potter and Weasley in trouble by challenging them to a duel and never showing up. Apparently she had been following them, which he would have never imagined she was capable of. The next one had to do with when she and Potter got caught sneaking out that dragon the caretaker had. He had also been in trouble for that though. The final mention of him was in the last entry from that year.
As much as I can, I feel a little sympathetic toward Slytherin. I don’t like them at all, but they believed they had won only to have the victory snatched away from them at the last moment. I saw Draco Malfoy from across the room and he actually looked upset. He is positively rotten to Harry, Ron, and I though, and he gets everything he wants from his rich family anyway. Perhaps it did him some good to finally lose.
Draco scoffed at the comment. The only thing that and every other year that Gryffindor had won taught him was to despise Dumbledore for playing favourites. His father had not been happy at all that such a victory that Draco had partially helped earn had been stolen at the last moment, and it only fueled Lucius’ desire to remove Dumbledore from the premises the following year. Speaking of which…
Refocusing on the book, Draco flipped a few more pages, but his eyes quickly got lost in the mire of handwritten words and Hermione’s lengthy prose. He cocked his head to the side and looked at how many pages were in the journal. He picked up the edges of the paper with his thumb and lifted them to reveal the last ones which also had writing. There was not possible way he could read the whole thing in one night, especially with how tired his eyes were after the late evening and moderate drinking. He would have to find a faster way to do this.
After taking up his wand in his right hand, Draco pondered the many spells they had learned in school and eyed the books around the room that held probably everything they had been taught and more. His mind finally settled on Homenum Revelio. The trouble lay in that he was not seeking any person, but a specific word. No doubt Scriptum Revelio would cause the room to light up like a tree at Christmas. He would have to be exceptionally particular, if it could work at all. Draco sat quietly and stared at the book with his wand twirling absent-mindedly in his fingers.
The rune Hermione used for him was Feoh. It looked like a capital F with the two short lines slanted up. Draco had to look through a few different books because this rune was used across many cultures. To one group it meant cattle, in another it was possessions, and then wealth. The irony was not lost on him that it sounded like feo, Spanish for “ugly”, which was related to foedus, Latin for loathsome. He liked the rune translation better.
With his elbows resting on his knees, Draco raised his wand and then tapped the diary. “Scriptum Feoh Revelio”. To his mild and delighted surprise, small glimmering points of light shined through from the later pages in the book. He took it up in his lap, leaning back into the couch, and flipped through several pages before his eyes landed on the light gold rune that he was looking for. The excitement brought on by the glow quickly faded when he realized what he was reading; her recollection, still visibly spotted with tears, of the first time he had called her a Mudblood.
There was only the tiniest hope of satisfaction in this entry, and it was that because it was the first mention of him that year, she had not noticed him staring at her during the interaction between his father and the Weasley family over the summer. Lucius had, and he had been furious that his own son would look upon such a lowly creature with anything but disdain. As a 2nd year, he had believed every word his father had said and was motivated to prove it. Clearly it had bothered Hermione more than she ever let on to him.
Without allowing himself to worry about her feelings any longer, he flipped to the next speck of light, which was quickly fading. Briefly he looked over the passage of Potter and Weasley disguising themselves as Crabbe and Goyle:
It was a complete waste of time besides the practice I got in brewing long-term potions. Draco knew nothing about who the Heir of Slytherin might be and I had to miss weeks of class in order to have my tail and whiskers removed…
Draco tapped the book and repeated the spell, reigniting the glimmering specks. When he flipped to the next one, he was shocked to find that she had transitioned to their third year. It took a minute of reminiscence before he realized that there was a period that she could not have written because she was again in the Hospital Wing as a petrified victim. It was only a short account of his foolish behavior toward a Hippogriff in Care of Magical Creatures. To mask his idiocy and embarrassment, he had been openly opinionated about what punishment should befall the beast. Publicly his father had taken his side, but there were many awkward glares across the Malfoy dinner table during the Holidays that year. The following entry was equally brief, but it made Draco smile and again glare up at the ceiling.
Draco is an absolutely infuriating, unsympathetic being, and I simply could not take it anymore! He was positively foul, speaking so insensitively of Hagrid. And it is entirely his fault that Hagrid is in such a predicament. Oh if Gryffindor loses to that evil little monster I’ll simply…
Apparently she had been too furious to finish the sentence. He smiled again, but with tight lips. Gryffindor had won the game after that. Worse though than losing before the entire school was the fact that the feisty little Hermione had actually smacked his face and stunned him in front of both of their friends. He had threatened Crabbe and Goyle heartily afterward that if they so much as breathed a word of her fanatical behavior they would face the wrath of him and his father. Thankfully they were both too dim-witted to realize his father could never know.
Flipping through the pages quickly, Draco managed to find the next “Feoh” before the light faded from the ink. The section was so short that he almost skipped right on past it except that he noted when in the year she was writing.
The one surprise of the night came just as I was lining up with the champions. I saw not too far off Draco Malfoy. I am somewhat ashamed to say that he looked… I don’t even think I can write it. Suffice it to say he caught my attention and I turned away quickly, focusing almost all of my attention for the rest of the evening on Viktor.
The rest of the entry focused on sickening trifle about Krum and her uncharacteristic pleasure in making Ron and Harry jealous by the sound of it. Draco lowered the book that he had been holding very near his face to his lap and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. It was a little strange to think of her as attractive at only fifteen, but she had captivated every bloke at the Ball. He was pleased she had noticed him but apparently, again, not noticed him looking back at her. It occurred to him that he had done that perhaps too often. Had anyone added them all up, they might have thought Draco had fancied the Muggleborn bookworm, which, he had told himself repeatedly, was as far from the truth as it could be.
Draco used his wand to light up his rune in the diary again, but there was a significant chunk of pages between the entry about the ball and the next. He knew as he passed the dates she had written down, flying through time, that all of the entries from then on out would be harder to read. Their fifth through seventh years were difficult, more so than either of them probably realized for the other. Yet he had set out on this journey through her private thoughts and intended to finish it.
Chapter 3
The following year was almost devoid of Draco’s little rune. Curious as to what she had been so preoccupied with, he read a few lines on every other page and got the bare gist. The Order, a weapon, OWLs. In fact, the only mention of him at all was in reference to the Inquisitorial Squad. It seemed that she had been trying to deny those interested inclinations from the previous year as much as he himself had been of her. Of course, he had had as many distractions with the Dark Lord’s return. It did not get any easier from there, as his father was imprisoned by the end of their fifth year and the difficult task was handed down from father to son.
Again the glow from his spell had dissipated and he had to tap the journal yet again. This time he looked ahead and stuck his fingers in the next four places that it appeared so he could focus more on what she had written. That entire year he was worried someone had been peering over his shoulder, and for the most part that was true. Snape had been on to him, Dumbledore had actually known more than he let on, and then there were weekly reports due on his progress. Most irritating of all was Potter who seemed to be always in his way, especially with that cloak of his. What had he really known though, and how much had been wild speculation? Draco peered down at the first entry that mentioned him.
There was more than one reason I was apprehensive to follow Draco into Diagon Alley with Harry and Ron this afternoon. Mrs. Weasley would have been furious had she found out, we were all enjoying a bit of fun for once in Fred and George’s shop, and of course seeing all the Weasley boys was a great way to pass the time as far as I was concerned. There was also the potential danger that could have occurred, though I don’t think Harry gives that much thought, and I still have mixed feelings about Draco…
I don’t know if I believe the level of suspicion that the boys are convinced surrounded the event. Harry goes so far as to speculate Draco has the Dark Mark and that’s what he showed Borgin. The Malfoys are a creepy family to begin with, and we know that they frequent that shop. My conversation with the horrid shop keeper was more unsettling than his little shopping trip.
She followed this with a word for word account of what was clearly the most embarrassing conversation between her and Mr. Borgin. He would have genuinely laughed at her attempt, even in the nerve-wracking mindset he had been in at the time. This might have been the only time in her life that Hermione Granger had been positively wrong while Potter and Weasley had been right. It was nice to know she had held at least a little faith in him, even when he didn’t deserve it. Nice, but a little unsettling.
It was getting to be very late, and Draco entertained the idea of giving up on reading the book. His eyelids were growing heavy from being sedentary after drinking as much as he had. If he stopped now, nothing would change between Granger and himself. Nothing truly shocking had been revealed thus far. Nothing might for the remainder of the book, but Draco had an inkling she would at some point reveal something concerning him that was taboo. Had he been so feminine as to keep a journal at Hogwarts, it would have had certain things in it about the Gryffindor princess that would have shamed him out of Slytherin and his inheritance as a Malfoy.
On the next three pages that he had marked with his fingers were fleeting mentions of his name.
Harry spends far too much time worrying about Draco Malfoy’s whereabouts when he ought to be concerned with….
Draco isn’t even trying in Potions anymore, which makes competing with him much less fun. Then there’s Harry and that stupid Half-Blood Prince book, which reminds me that I should check next section of biographies in the Library…
I had to send yet another report to Professor McGonagall concerning Draco Malfoy not showing up for Prefect duties. Informing Professor Snape has resulted in inaction. He’s still outwardly something of a terror, but it’s easier to walk in silence with someone attractive than listen to Ron go on and on about Lavender.
Draco could feel the disgust poured into the words as they had been penned on the page. Even in his distracted and somewhat emaciated state during sixth year, he had been privy to the tension between Granger and Weasley. Had he needed further proof that the red haired muppet was a complete moron, Weasley’s disregard for Granger in favor of Brown’s company was the thing to seal it. Come to think of it, as far as Draco could recall, Weasley and Brown were still together and producing more spawn than should be legal. There had been a great number of news articles written about the relationship while Draco and Hermione had returned to Hogwarts for their final year. Before he had pondered that time too much, Draco told himself that he had to finish out what she had written for the rest of the year.
There was only one more entry from that year that included him, and it was written with much less of her usual descriptive flair. Draco wanted to skip it to avoid the harsh judgments she likely had made and the disappointment she knew she had felt. He was too invested in her thoughts by now though, and needed to know how she had seen that night on the tower.
He read so intently that he looked to be a statue with eyes that roved the sentences quickly. They were short, almost lifeless. He learned of the potion Potter had given his friends, a little bit of the mission Dumbledore had been on before he returned to the tower, and how amazingly angry they all were with Severus. That was not surprising. What did shock him a little was the lack of blame she put on him. He had been the one to orchestrate the entire infiltration, yet the only statement beyond basic facts was “I wonder how he is doing now.”
Draco remained very still after that. It was possible that he had read the words more deeply than they were meant, but that was her final thought of the entry. There was roughly half a page left where she did not immediately start the next entry. Instead, the entry following Dumbedore’s funeral started on the next blank page took up three sheets. Draco had not been able to attend despite his intense feelings of guilt following his former headmaster’s death - feelings that had mercifully held off until Snape had him in hiding after Disapparating.
It was already past midnight and Draco realized that what he was really interested in would not be found in the next year. He didn’t want to read about Hermione running and hiding for months. He did not want to know what she wrote after she had been caught and then tortured in his home. Least of all did he want to hear about her descriptions of her friends that lay dying on the Great Hall floor. He knew none of the Slytherins had stayed to help, and that was enough to convince himself that he should move on.
Return to Hogwarts
1998-1999
Both Hermione and Draco had gone back to Hogwarts after a very quick remodel. She had chosen to do so without her two sidekicks, which resulted in her acting even more reclusive than usual. Draco had been forced to go back to the school. Perhaps the board who had decided that hoped the angry glares and hexes he had received in the back in the corridors would have killed him. Recasting the spell, Draco noticed that he was mentioned in this last section of the journal more than he would have thought. Not wasting any more time, he dove into each segment of the entries that included him.
I had read in the Prophet that Draco would be returning to Hogwarts, though I honestly did not believe it. I was certain, even with the mud now caked on to his family name, they would have been able to get him out of it. I won’t say that I am disappointed to have him around, but I am not foolish enough to believe that I’ll spend any time around him. At the moment, I can’t be certain that I even want to talk to him…
No one was willing to partner with Draco in Potions, which I could not appear to be too keen to jump on, but I did mention to Professor Slughorn that if partners were required in the future, I am willing to make the sacrifice. I don’t believe I was too obvious in my intentions. Draco would likely tell me that the last thing he wants is friendship from a Mudblood, but friendship isn’t exactly what I’m after…
I never expected life at Hogwarts to be as difficult as it is. Even after our time searching for the Horcruxes, I don’t supposed I ever realized how much I rely on Ron and Harry’s company. Perhaps their distractions as Aurors and with girlfriends are the reason for my growing obsession with Draco Malfoy who, I’m sure, has less interest in me than ever before. I thought I could face any rejection after Ronald decided on Lavender, but I am wondering how desperate I’ll become for attention…
A quiet gasp from the hallway caused Draco to look up just in time to hear Hermione say, “Petrificus Totalus!”
Chapter 4
Apparently three hours was long enough for Hermione to sleep off the alcohol. She had changed her clothes before coming down the stairs and was wearing a dark purple satin nighty under a matching robe that was only loosely tied around her waist. She sauntered down the hallway and over to the couch with such a sexy grace that Draco was positive she was not at all drunk anymore. But how?
As if he had voiced his question aloud, Hermione grinned mischievously, but did not answer his silent query. “You know,” she started, bending forward and pulling the diary from his lap, “it’s considered very rude to read someone’s journal. There are very private things in there. Judging from where you stopped though, you didn’t get to the worst of it.” She scanned the page and her smile widened before she snapped the book closed and laid it on the coffee table. “Let me give you a quick synopsis.”
Then Hermione proceeded to do something Draco Malfoy would not have believed or even allowed where he not frozen in place on her couch. Hermione sat right down in his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs. His hands were stuck in a position, palm up, just above her thighs, but he thought he could feel the body heat radiating off of her exposed skin. She tilted her head a little, curious and looking into his eyes, as though trying to read his mind because he could not speak those thoughts.
“I hope you don’t blame me too much. I don’t think I need to stroke your ego much by explaining why I fancied you for so long, although you put up quite a front to counter my attentions. Despite it all though, there are some things a girl can’t ignore.” She lifted her hand and gently threaded her fingers through his blond strands. “The rest of the diary recounts various things I saw you do or say that I found attractive. Eventually I wrote about my failed attempts to get you out of my system. I tried writing, studying even harder, dating other men…”
She let out a heavy sigh, one that pushed her breasts up and a little closer to Draco’s face. “Needless to say, even after so long, there some things that I never let go, and my childhood crush is one of them. That leads us to tonight.”
Fragmented thoughts bounced around Draco’s mind and he worked very hard to piece them together. Was she admitting something? Had she planned to have him take her home tonight? Was her journal a trap? What was she doing? His eyes moved down a little and watched as she swayed her hips in a slow circle.
“I am sure you have put most of the pieces together. I was a terrible actress when I was younger, but I like to think that I can pull off someone in a drunken stupor. I was interested in what you would do when you had me simply lying in bed. I was pleasantly surprised, I admit.” She paused and lowered her face close to his.
“I am sorry to have tricked you. I was tired of waiting and forcing myself to stand by unobserved. Now I have to let you go, though. You know how I feel, how long I’ve felt it…” She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and their noses touched. “The Floo is right there, or you may join me upstairs.” Without so much as a glance for warning, she closed the small gap between their lips and planted a light kiss.
Hurrying in her nervousness, Hermione backed up off Draco’s lap, turned, and hopped up the stairs. The only indication he had of the spell being lifted was the sudden tent that formed in his pants. He paused for two seconds and looked to his dress jacket on the chair by the fireplace. He could leave with his new knowledge, get Granger back for tricking him by just walking out, and possibly hold himself as a carrot over her head for a few weeks at least.
Then the more primal, take what you want side of Malfoy came out. He pushed himself up off the couch, and took the stairs two at a time. The door to Hermione’s room was half open. He walked in, took in the sight of the beautiful witch in her nightgown lounging on the duvet, and closed the door behind him.
THE END