AN: Forget everything that happened in 5th year, where this is set. In this story, none of it applies. I wanted to write a story that focused more on the relationship, rather than the surrounding events, so Canon is out the door (though I am trying, at the moment, to keep characterization as accurate as I can). If you don't appreciate a story that is written very un-Canon, then this is *not* the story for you. This story is about a boy and a girl, and how they sort of fall into each other.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
iWas it you who spoke the words that
Things would happen, but not to me?
Oh, things are gonna happen naturally .../i
Silky, milk white skin contrasting with black silk ... tumbling, spiraling hair falling gracefully everywhere at once ... red, smooth lips, perfectly straight teeth ... big, chocolate brown eyes, long eyelashes fluttering in the early morning dawn. Legs crossed and uncrossed, brow furrowed in concentration, lips twitching into a smile as she finally found the answer she was looking for, then edging back into a frown as a perfectly manicured hand picked up the quill resting on the table and began to write in the neatest of handwriting. The other hand reached down and absently scratched at her bare leg, revealing more of it than the standard Hogwart's robes usually allowed. 'Oh, man. Look at that. Nice legs, better than most of the girls I've seen. I wonder if she shaves her -'
"Hey, Malfoy!"
Draco looked up, startled from his rather embarrassing reverie involving none other than that stupid (yet semi-attractive) mudblood Hermione Granger. Marcus Flint stood at the end of the table, close to the doors. His broom was swung over his shoulder and he puffed out his muscular chest. His good body shape contrasted sharply to the ugliness of his face, which was the sole reason he could get girls to actually go for him. 'Pity him if he were ever to get fat,' Draco thought, smirking at the image of a round, Goyle-esque Flint.
"Malfoy?"
Draco snapped to attention, drawn out of his second disturbing reverie of the morning. "Yeah, what?" Marcus indicated towards his broom. "Oh, yeah, okay. I'll be there in a minute," Draco called, throwing Flint his best sneer. Fortunately for Draco, Flint and the rest of the team practically worshipped him. 'All it takes is a bit of Father's money thrown in here and there, and I've got them right where I want them.' Smirking at the dozen or so Slytherin first year girls who had the habit of clambering at every meal for the closest spot to Draco, he threw his broom carelessly over his shoulder and, with a slight glance over at the Gryffindor table where Hermione had her nose, as usual, buried in a large book, he swaggered out of the Great Hall and headed toward Quidditch practice.
xxx
Across the room, the girl who had unknowingly held his attention for the past few minutes looked up and watched him strut out of the room. 'He just loves the fact that half of the girls in this room hold their breath anytime he's near them,' she thought, rolling her eyes. It was common knowledge that Draco Malfoy was the nastiest kid in school by far, but in the last year or so it also became clear to any female within a 100 mile radius that he was also one of the best looking boys as well. Aside from Harry Potter, Malfoy was one of the most desired male objects in the school, a fact that drove the girls wild and the boys insane with jealousy. Hermione Granger, unlike her roommates Parvati and Lavender, was not affected by his good looks. She had seen him at his worst many times, and it didn't phase her that his hair was always perfect or that long hours riding a broomstick had given him a particularly nice set of muscles. He was a prat, and she was glad to not be affected by the silly adolescent crush that befell most of the student population when it came to Malfoy. When he was out of the room, she went back to her History of Magic homework without even the slightest idea that he had been staring at her for almost the entirety of breakfast.
xxx
Up in the air, the wind flowing through his hair, stinging his eyes, his trusty Nimbus 2001 underneath him ... this was where Draco truly belonged. Potty and his stupid little Gryffindor friends might think he bought his way onto the team ('Come to think of it, I did buy my way onto the team,' he mused, grinning), but even if his father's generous donations to the Slytherin Quidditch team helped him acquire a position, Draco's talent and actual love for the sport kept him on it. The team might fear his father's wrath, but Snape sure as hell didn't. If Draco played halfheartedly, he'd be demoted to an alternate.
But Draco didn't plan on playing anything less than 110%. He loved the thrill of competition, making Hufflepuffs cry, and getting yet another attempt to beat out Harry Potter ('though Potter has a sick tendency to wriggle out of it every time'). Best of all was the feeling he got whilst flying high above everyone else. Searching for the Snitch gave him plenty of solitude, as the only other thing he had to watch out for was an occasional rouge bludger headed his way, and during practice it was habit for him to drift off, staring into the sky above, and just think. When he was on his broomstick, somewhere between the clouds and the sun, he wasn't the person everyone loved to hate ('or just loved, as so many do'). He wasn't a Malfoy, whose sole purpose in life was to meet his father's expectations and uphold the family name. He was no longer a cold, emotionless Slytherin, future Death-Eater, enemy of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws alike. He was Draco. Just Draco. He was a boy on his broomstick, simply enjoying the elation of flying and the pleasures of nature that were so unbelievably non-magical, yet just as enchanting as the most complex of spells.
As he closed his eyes and let himself rise just a few more meters higher, Draco's thoughts drifted back to breakfast. Back to the shiny hair ('How did she get it to be so shiny all of a sudden?'), the bottom lip that was swollen from being bitten so hard in the midst of concentration, that exposure of leg... he shook his head. She was a Gryffindor, a member of the Potter fan club, and a mudblood. Sure, she was attractive. He and a hundred other boys had realized that at the Yule Ball a year ago. But it was the principle of the matter -- and the fact that her personality was less pleasant and slightly more screechy than her looks.
It's all in your head, Draco,' he told himself. 'Silly thoughts about a stupid girl with stupid hair and stupid teeth and stupid legs .. oh. So soft-looking, so long, so -'
A shout from below him jerked Draco out of his thoughts in time to register the bludger headed straight for him. Unfortunately, he didn't react quickly enough to do anything about it, and the bludger smashed right into his left shoulder. Draco felt woozy and grimaced as a shock of pain spread from his shoulder to the surrounding areas. As everything faded away, he tightened his grip on his broom and slumped over onto it.
xxx
Inside the immense Hogwarts castle, Hermione sat in a large chair beside a tall window, her legs curled under her and an immense book entitled Uncovering Vanishing Solutions by Barty Benbow covering her lap. Snape's class this year was proving to be quite difficult, and his recent fascination with 2-foot essays was absolute insanity. She was barely keeping up with her homework -- which was just a hint at how badly poor Ron and Harry were doing. From the window beside her, one had a perfect view of the Quidditch pitch, where the Slytherins were holding practice. Hermione, of course, wasn't paying a bit of attention. She barely ever received this kind of solitude, especially on a Saturday afternoon, but Harry and Ron were busy helping Fred and George out with some sort of "project" they were working on, giving her the time she needed to catch up on her potions. She was reaching for her bag to take out a quill and some parchment and get started on her essay when muted shouting from outside drew her attention to the window. Hermione audibly gasped.
High above the Quidditch pitch, Draco Malfoy was slumped over his broomstick. The other players were racing toward him, trying to reach him before he fell off. Unfortunately for them, as Hermione could see, Malfoy was already sliding off. She jumped up and, with shaking hands, undid the locks on the window and threw it open. Madame Pince looked up from her desk and gave a shout of protest, but Hermione wasn't paying any attention. She reached inside her pocket, drew out her wand, and leaned as far as she could out of the window. Malfoy was now falling through the air, his teammates diving desperately toward him in order to save their Keeper from his impending doom. Hermione pointed her wand at the falling body and shouted, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Malfoy's body abruptly halted in midair, arms dangling as he hovered. One of the Slytherins reached him and began to hoist him onto his broomstick.
Hermione wasted no time in gathering her bags and racing to the Infirmary. She threw open the door, which slammed against the wall and emitted a loud bang. Madam Pomfrey came bustling into the room from her office, looking severely upset at the noise. "Child! This is not the place for the banging of doors!" She screeched at Hermione.
"There's been an accident. Draco Malfoy fell off of his broom. I-I don't know what happened, but it looked serious. I just thought you should know."
Pomfrey's whole demeanor changed, and she became all business. "Yes, well, then I had better get a bed ready. He'll be brought in, right?" Before Hermione could answer, someone shoved her out of the way violently and rushed forward. She saw that they were Slytherins, dressed in their silver and green Quidditch uniforms. They were carrying someone whom Hermione guessed to be Draco Malfoy. When they placed him on the bed Madam Pomfrey had gestured them to and stepped aside, Hermione saw that it was Malfoy, but he didn't look like his usual well-dressed, smug self. She inched closer and saw that his face was ashen, his hair askew and messy. His left arm was hanging at an odd angle.
"What happened to this young man?" Madam Pomfrey asked.
"He was hit by a bludger in the shoulder," one of the boys, a burly 6th year, told her. "We tried to warn him, but he didn't see it coming. Must've dozed off.."
"And did you manage to catch him before he fell off of his broom?"
"Yes .. erm .. well, sort of. He kind of .. stopped in midair," the sixth year said, obviously confused.
"That was my doing." Both of the Slytherin team members whirled around at the sound of Hermione's voice, and looked even more shocked when they saw her. Madam Pomfrey also turned around to look at Hermione, obviously waiting for an explanation. "I .. well, I was in the library and I heard shouting, so I looked outside the window and saw him slumped over on his broom," she gestured toward the unconscious boy on the bed. "I knew he was going to fall off, and when he started to, I couldn't just let him fall. No one appeared to be able to reach him fast enough, so I opened the window and used wingardium leviosa to stop his fall. I kept him there until someone got him onto their broom and then rushed here to tell Madam Pomfrey what had happened."
The Slytherins looked stunned, and as she told her story, Hermione began to feel the same way. She had just saved the life of her worst enemy, a person who had called her Mudblood and tortured her friends, a liar, a future Death-Eater, the world's biggest prat. Why had she even bothered? 'Because it would have been worse than anything he's ever said or done to me if I had just let him fall.' He might be a prat, but it wasn't in her to just let someone die because they were rude.
"Well, I'm sure Mr. Malfoy will be most gracious to you once he wakes up," Madam Pomfrey said, beaming at Hermione. "In the meantime, out, out, out! I need to fix this young man up, so be gone!"
Hermione and the two Slytherins hurried out of the room. She looked at them, half expecting some sort of thanks, but to her chagrin they merely scowled at her and walked away. Hermione shrugged it off. They were Slytherins, she was a Gryffindor. She didn't even congratulate herself for what she had done, so why should they? Lost in her thoughts, Hermione walked back to the library to retrieve her things. She ignored Madam Pince's rantings about quiet in the library and asking of permission before opening windows as she gathered up her hastily dropped bag and the book on vanishing solutions, which she returned to its proper book shelf. She would do it tomorrow. As if walking through a haze, Hermione somehow found her way up to Gryffindor Tower, where she quickly gave the password and climbed into the portrait hole.
She was relieved to find the Common Room nearly empty, aside from a group of first years in one corner practicing various charms, and flopped into the chair farthest away from them. She sat there, brooding, for nearly two hours before someone came into the Common Room. She glanced up to see Harry and Ron staring at her with the same shocked look Malfoy's team mates had given. "For heaven's sake, anyone would have done it!" She snapped irritably.
Ron's mouth quickly closed and Harry looked slightly embarrassed. Ron's expression, however, quickly changed to one of accusation as he folded his arms across his chest, opened his mouth and practically shouted, "You saved MALFOY?!! Malfoy, our worst enemy? He almost died and YOU STOPPED IT?!! Hermione, how BLOODY STUPID can you get? What has he EVER done to give you a reason to SAVE HIS LIFE?!!"
"Oh, stop it, Ron! What else could I have done? Just because he's an evil git doesn't mean I'm going to watch him fall to his death and do nothing!" Hermione said, exasperated. She had known he would react to this badly, but she still wasn't prepared to deal with it. "So ... does everybody know?"
"Pretty much," Harry replied.
"Oh. What are the Slytherins making of it?" She asked.
"They're honestly really confused, just as confused as we are. I have to say, Hermione, that for all of the things I've known you to do, this is the most confusing and just ... odd. You're perhaps the most decent of all of us, but saving Malfoy's life? Not exactly on my list of the top ten things I'd expect Hermione to do."
Hermione shrugged and closed her eyes, wincing at the headache that was building up behind her eyes. "I know. It happened so fast, I barely had time to think." Ron opened his mouth to say something, but she stopped him by holding up her hand. "I think I'm going to skip dinner tonight. You two go on ahead, I have a horrid headache. I'll see you in the morning." Before either of them could protest, she was halfway up the stairs.
Once inside of her dormitory, Hermione flung herself on top of her bed, drawing the curtains up for privacy in case one of her roommates happened to come in. She lay there for a while, thinking about what had just happened, mulling over the possible explanations she could give. 'I could always say I mistook him for a Ravenclaw,' she mused. Eventually, she drifted to sleep, unaware that everyone in the Great Hall was discussing her surprising heroics.
xxx
The first thing Draco was aware of as he came to consciousness was the pain in his shoulder. It wasn't as severe as when the bludger first hit, but it was still pretty bad. Madam Pomfrey had to administer the potion that would re-form the crushed bones when he was awake, and the pain relievers she had given had obviously worn off a while ago. He grimaced and slowly looked around. The curtains around his bed were drawn, and all he could see was white. It was quiet in the infirmary, and he lay there for a bit just staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together what exactly had happened. He had been thinking about Granger ('Stupid Mudblood, it figures'), and realized the bludger was headed for him too late, which is how he ended up with a crushed shoulder, and then he went unconscious ... but how did he end up in the infirmary? Obviously someone had managed to save him, but who? A team mate, or someone else? He vaguely recalled the feeling of hovering in the air without the aid of a broom, but couldn't tell if that was real or something his mind was making up.
Looking over to the table on his right, Draco rolled his eyes at the sight of a slew of cards and assorted sweets. 'These will probably pile up,' he thought. He enjoyed the sweets, but cards? They were most likely all from girls, and he just didn't feel like reading all of that mush. Even if it was about him and how much they adored him and loved him and were so glad he was still alive because they couldn't live without him ... it was still mush, and he was in a very un-mushy mood at the moment. He closed his eyes, favoring the idea of going to sleep, but was prevented from doing so by Madam Pince, who bustled in with a beaker filled with a light green potion.
"Ahh, so he finally awakens. I have your potion, Mr. Malfoy. You sustained quite an injury, and I've been unable to properly fix it without you being fully awake," she told him. "Now, this won't taste too nice, but try to swallow all of it. Otherwise, your bones won't re-form correctly, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"
He stared at her, and reached out with his right arm for the beaker. She helped him into a sitting position, and he raised the beaker to his lips. Closing his eyes and bracing himself, he threw it all back at once, fighting the urge to gag. It tasted like metallic, curdled milk. When he had swallowed all of it, he attempted to reach for one of the sweets beside him, but was unable to do so without using his left arm. Madam Pince tutted and warned him, "No food until that has been in you for eight hours. You'll survive. Now, get some sleep, and in the morning you should be as good as new."
Draco wanted to argue with the silly old bint, but he felt his eyelids getting heavier and instead settled back down into his bed and let sleep overtake him. Right before he fell asleep, he remembered that he had meant to ask her what happened.
xxx
It was twelve minutes past midnight when Hermione awoke. She had dreamed of falling bodies wrapped in silver and green, whispered words, and a dancing Snape holding up an essay on which both her name and a fat, red D were visible.
'My essay! Oh my goodness, I need to finish my essay!' she thought, panicked.
It was only after she was in the common room, her dressing gown hastily thrown over her nightdress and slippers on her feet, that she realized it was only Sunday. 'Bugger.' She drew her dressing gown around her and idly stared out the window. The moon's reflection was shimmering on the lake. Her thoughts shifted to the events of the day, and she wondered if Malfoy was all right. She figured he was. Madam Pomfrey regrew all of Harry's bones in one night -- surely she could repair a crushed shoulder. And at any rate, what did she care? A rumbling in her stomach made Hermione aware that she hadn't eaten in a long time.
Heaving a sigh, she walked over and quietly climbed through the portrait hole. Before the Fat Lady could start asking questions, she turned around and held a finger to her lips, pointing at the badge on her chest (Hermione had it charmed to hop onto the front of whatever item of clothing she was wearing without command) and giving the portrait a pleading look. The Fat Lady was half asleep anyway, and so she simply smiled and waved Hermione off with a sweep of her hand before resuming her eyelid examination. 'Being a Prefect does have its perks.' As silently as possible, she made her way through the dark, deserted hallways, and down the many staircases that led to the basement hall that showcased a huge painting depicting assorted fruit.
Reaching out, she tickled a grape. It giggled loudly and she winced, looking behind her, half expecting to see a Professor standing there ready to chuck her into detention. To her great relief, there was no one, and with a deep breath, she turned the knob that had appeared, stepped in through the door, and gaped at what she saw.
xxx
Around midnight, Draco's eyes snapped open. He registered that it was still nighttime, and cautiously moved his shoulder. It was a bit sore, but back in the right places, and it definitely was in good working order. Quietly sitting up, he listened for any sort of sound coming from elsewhere in the large room. It was as silent as the grave, and he relaxed. That old witch who ran the infirmary annoyed him, so hopefully she was actually asleep. 'Though I would like to know what exactly happened,' he thought crossly. A growl deep inside of him brought his mind to another matter: food. 'The old bint said I had to wait eight hours ... it has to have been more than that by now. Wonder where I could get some real food?' He cast a contemptuous glance at the pile of sweets by his bedside (it seemed to have doubled in size).
Then he remembered -- house elves! There were a whole load of them in the kitchen, which he knew the "secret" to. The stupid blighters were always willing to fix a meal for "Master Malfoy."
'And right they should be!'
Ten minutes later, he found himself resting luxuriously on a pouf one of the house elves had conjured up for him. A dozen of them stood close by, waiting for him to beckon them over for a bite of whatever it was they held in their arms. He even had a few of them massaging his feet. 'Ahh ... what a life!' Just then the door opened, and Draco froze with his mouth open (only because he was waiting for one of the special imported green grapes, sent from Spain, to be placed inside by the nearest house elf ... Wanky, or something). Staring back at him, seemingly just as shocked as he felt, was none other than the Mudblood herself. And she was in her pajamas!
xxx
Hermione stared back at Malfoy for about a minute before she blinked, got hold of herself, and straightened up to her full height of 5'5". Narrowing her eyes, she opened her mouth and scolded in a shrill voice, "Draco Malfoy, you prat! What are you doing?!"
He closed his mouth and his face twitched into his usual smirk. "Eating. And you?"
She glared. "I'm not an idiot, Malfoy. Eating is something you do on your own. What you are currently up to is slave labor!"
"Slave labor? Come off it, Granger. Is it my fault if they feel like helping me out a bit? They're house elves. It's what they're for!" He had jumped to his feet, speaking in an indignant voice, his face and ears a bit pink with anger.
Hermione strode forward, ignoring the attempts Dobby (who had appeared out of hiding at the sound of her voice) was making to pull her back. Standing barely two inches from his now visibly paler face, Hermione shouted, "THEY ARE NOT JUST FOR WIZARDS TO PUSH AND ORDER AROUND! THEY HAVE FEELINGS AND THOUGHTS AND DREAMS JUST LIKE US! WE SHOULD TREAT THEM WITH RESPECT AND DIGNITY, INSTEAD OF PRANCING AROUND GIVING ORDERS! AND," she stopped to take a huge breath, lowering her voice to almost a whisper, "as a Hogwarts Prefect, I'm giving you detention! Ten points from Slytherin!"
Malfoy rolled his eyes, and Hermione had to concentrate her full effort on not jinxing him. "Well, that's nice, Granger, it really is, but you forgot a few small things: One, I'm a Prefect, too. I could just as well give you detention for wandering the halls at this time of night. Two, house elves like to serve wizards. They get some sort of sick pleasure out of it, so why not take it to our advantage? And three, I don't take orders from screechy, stupid mudbloods!!!"
xxx
As predicted, she stepped back, looking hurt. Draco, sensing a victory, opened his mouth for just one more insult. Before he could get a word out, Granger seemed to regain her cool, straightening her shoulders, and fixing him with an almost sly grin. 'Hey, that's my move!' With a look of defiance, she told him, "Well, maybe it's not a habit, but you could at least be somewhat kinder to the mudblood that saved your life."
With an even bigger smile, this one giving the old bird-that-swallowed-the-canary impression, she turned on her heel and left the kitchen, Dobby hurrying after her with a plate of muffins balanced on his head. Draco stared at the door in confusion. 'Saved my life? When?' Crossing his arms over his chest, he stalked out of the kitchen, ignoring the prickles of pain in his shoulder. He pondered their conversation all the way back to the infirmary, letting his mind wander. 'She's kind of pretty when she smiles,' he thought absently.
"Bloody hell!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
iWas it you who spoke the words that
Things would happen, but not to me?
Oh, things are gonna happen naturally .../i
Silky, milk white skin contrasting with black silk ... tumbling, spiraling hair falling gracefully everywhere at once ... red, smooth lips, perfectly straight teeth ... big, chocolate brown eyes, long eyelashes fluttering in the early morning dawn. Legs crossed and uncrossed, brow furrowed in concentration, lips twitching into a smile as she finally found the answer she was looking for, then edging back into a frown as a perfectly manicured hand picked up the quill resting on the table and began to write in the neatest of handwriting. The other hand reached down and absently scratched at her bare leg, revealing more of it than the standard Hogwart's robes usually allowed. 'Oh, man. Look at that. Nice legs, better than most of the girls I've seen. I wonder if she shaves her -'
"Hey, Malfoy!"
Draco looked up, startled from his rather embarrassing reverie involving none other than that stupid (yet semi-attractive) mudblood Hermione Granger. Marcus Flint stood at the end of the table, close to the doors. His broom was swung over his shoulder and he puffed out his muscular chest. His good body shape contrasted sharply to the ugliness of his face, which was the sole reason he could get girls to actually go for him. 'Pity him if he were ever to get fat,' Draco thought, smirking at the image of a round, Goyle-esque Flint.
"Malfoy?"
Draco snapped to attention, drawn out of his second disturbing reverie of the morning. "Yeah, what?" Marcus indicated towards his broom. "Oh, yeah, okay. I'll be there in a minute," Draco called, throwing Flint his best sneer. Fortunately for Draco, Flint and the rest of the team practically worshipped him. 'All it takes is a bit of Father's money thrown in here and there, and I've got them right where I want them.' Smirking at the dozen or so Slytherin first year girls who had the habit of clambering at every meal for the closest spot to Draco, he threw his broom carelessly over his shoulder and, with a slight glance over at the Gryffindor table where Hermione had her nose, as usual, buried in a large book, he swaggered out of the Great Hall and headed toward Quidditch practice.
xxx
Across the room, the girl who had unknowingly held his attention for the past few minutes looked up and watched him strut out of the room. 'He just loves the fact that half of the girls in this room hold their breath anytime he's near them,' she thought, rolling her eyes. It was common knowledge that Draco Malfoy was the nastiest kid in school by far, but in the last year or so it also became clear to any female within a 100 mile radius that he was also one of the best looking boys as well. Aside from Harry Potter, Malfoy was one of the most desired male objects in the school, a fact that drove the girls wild and the boys insane with jealousy. Hermione Granger, unlike her roommates Parvati and Lavender, was not affected by his good looks. She had seen him at his worst many times, and it didn't phase her that his hair was always perfect or that long hours riding a broomstick had given him a particularly nice set of muscles. He was a prat, and she was glad to not be affected by the silly adolescent crush that befell most of the student population when it came to Malfoy. When he was out of the room, she went back to her History of Magic homework without even the slightest idea that he had been staring at her for almost the entirety of breakfast.
xxx
Up in the air, the wind flowing through his hair, stinging his eyes, his trusty Nimbus 2001 underneath him ... this was where Draco truly belonged. Potty and his stupid little Gryffindor friends might think he bought his way onto the team ('Come to think of it, I did buy my way onto the team,' he mused, grinning), but even if his father's generous donations to the Slytherin Quidditch team helped him acquire a position, Draco's talent and actual love for the sport kept him on it. The team might fear his father's wrath, but Snape sure as hell didn't. If Draco played halfheartedly, he'd be demoted to an alternate.
But Draco didn't plan on playing anything less than 110%. He loved the thrill of competition, making Hufflepuffs cry, and getting yet another attempt to beat out Harry Potter ('though Potter has a sick tendency to wriggle out of it every time'). Best of all was the feeling he got whilst flying high above everyone else. Searching for the Snitch gave him plenty of solitude, as the only other thing he had to watch out for was an occasional rouge bludger headed his way, and during practice it was habit for him to drift off, staring into the sky above, and just think. When he was on his broomstick, somewhere between the clouds and the sun, he wasn't the person everyone loved to hate ('or just loved, as so many do'). He wasn't a Malfoy, whose sole purpose in life was to meet his father's expectations and uphold the family name. He was no longer a cold, emotionless Slytherin, future Death-Eater, enemy of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws alike. He was Draco. Just Draco. He was a boy on his broomstick, simply enjoying the elation of flying and the pleasures of nature that were so unbelievably non-magical, yet just as enchanting as the most complex of spells.
As he closed his eyes and let himself rise just a few more meters higher, Draco's thoughts drifted back to breakfast. Back to the shiny hair ('How did she get it to be so shiny all of a sudden?'), the bottom lip that was swollen from being bitten so hard in the midst of concentration, that exposure of leg... he shook his head. She was a Gryffindor, a member of the Potter fan club, and a mudblood. Sure, she was attractive. He and a hundred other boys had realized that at the Yule Ball a year ago. But it was the principle of the matter -- and the fact that her personality was less pleasant and slightly more screechy than her looks.
It's all in your head, Draco,' he told himself. 'Silly thoughts about a stupid girl with stupid hair and stupid teeth and stupid legs .. oh. So soft-looking, so long, so -'
A shout from below him jerked Draco out of his thoughts in time to register the bludger headed straight for him. Unfortunately, he didn't react quickly enough to do anything about it, and the bludger smashed right into his left shoulder. Draco felt woozy and grimaced as a shock of pain spread from his shoulder to the surrounding areas. As everything faded away, he tightened his grip on his broom and slumped over onto it.
xxx
Inside the immense Hogwarts castle, Hermione sat in a large chair beside a tall window, her legs curled under her and an immense book entitled Uncovering Vanishing Solutions by Barty Benbow covering her lap. Snape's class this year was proving to be quite difficult, and his recent fascination with 2-foot essays was absolute insanity. She was barely keeping up with her homework -- which was just a hint at how badly poor Ron and Harry were doing. From the window beside her, one had a perfect view of the Quidditch pitch, where the Slytherins were holding practice. Hermione, of course, wasn't paying a bit of attention. She barely ever received this kind of solitude, especially on a Saturday afternoon, but Harry and Ron were busy helping Fred and George out with some sort of "project" they were working on, giving her the time she needed to catch up on her potions. She was reaching for her bag to take out a quill and some parchment and get started on her essay when muted shouting from outside drew her attention to the window. Hermione audibly gasped.
High above the Quidditch pitch, Draco Malfoy was slumped over his broomstick. The other players were racing toward him, trying to reach him before he fell off. Unfortunately for them, as Hermione could see, Malfoy was already sliding off. She jumped up and, with shaking hands, undid the locks on the window and threw it open. Madame Pince looked up from her desk and gave a shout of protest, but Hermione wasn't paying any attention. She reached inside her pocket, drew out her wand, and leaned as far as she could out of the window. Malfoy was now falling through the air, his teammates diving desperately toward him in order to save their Keeper from his impending doom. Hermione pointed her wand at the falling body and shouted, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Malfoy's body abruptly halted in midair, arms dangling as he hovered. One of the Slytherins reached him and began to hoist him onto his broomstick.
Hermione wasted no time in gathering her bags and racing to the Infirmary. She threw open the door, which slammed against the wall and emitted a loud bang. Madam Pomfrey came bustling into the room from her office, looking severely upset at the noise. "Child! This is not the place for the banging of doors!" She screeched at Hermione.
"There's been an accident. Draco Malfoy fell off of his broom. I-I don't know what happened, but it looked serious. I just thought you should know."
Pomfrey's whole demeanor changed, and she became all business. "Yes, well, then I had better get a bed ready. He'll be brought in, right?" Before Hermione could answer, someone shoved her out of the way violently and rushed forward. She saw that they were Slytherins, dressed in their silver and green Quidditch uniforms. They were carrying someone whom Hermione guessed to be Draco Malfoy. When they placed him on the bed Madam Pomfrey had gestured them to and stepped aside, Hermione saw that it was Malfoy, but he didn't look like his usual well-dressed, smug self. She inched closer and saw that his face was ashen, his hair askew and messy. His left arm was hanging at an odd angle.
"What happened to this young man?" Madam Pomfrey asked.
"He was hit by a bludger in the shoulder," one of the boys, a burly 6th year, told her. "We tried to warn him, but he didn't see it coming. Must've dozed off.."
"And did you manage to catch him before he fell off of his broom?"
"Yes .. erm .. well, sort of. He kind of .. stopped in midair," the sixth year said, obviously confused.
"That was my doing." Both of the Slytherin team members whirled around at the sound of Hermione's voice, and looked even more shocked when they saw her. Madam Pomfrey also turned around to look at Hermione, obviously waiting for an explanation. "I .. well, I was in the library and I heard shouting, so I looked outside the window and saw him slumped over on his broom," she gestured toward the unconscious boy on the bed. "I knew he was going to fall off, and when he started to, I couldn't just let him fall. No one appeared to be able to reach him fast enough, so I opened the window and used wingardium leviosa to stop his fall. I kept him there until someone got him onto their broom and then rushed here to tell Madam Pomfrey what had happened."
The Slytherins looked stunned, and as she told her story, Hermione began to feel the same way. She had just saved the life of her worst enemy, a person who had called her Mudblood and tortured her friends, a liar, a future Death-Eater, the world's biggest prat. Why had she even bothered? 'Because it would have been worse than anything he's ever said or done to me if I had just let him fall.' He might be a prat, but it wasn't in her to just let someone die because they were rude.
"Well, I'm sure Mr. Malfoy will be most gracious to you once he wakes up," Madam Pomfrey said, beaming at Hermione. "In the meantime, out, out, out! I need to fix this young man up, so be gone!"
Hermione and the two Slytherins hurried out of the room. She looked at them, half expecting some sort of thanks, but to her chagrin they merely scowled at her and walked away. Hermione shrugged it off. They were Slytherins, she was a Gryffindor. She didn't even congratulate herself for what she had done, so why should they? Lost in her thoughts, Hermione walked back to the library to retrieve her things. She ignored Madam Pince's rantings about quiet in the library and asking of permission before opening windows as she gathered up her hastily dropped bag and the book on vanishing solutions, which she returned to its proper book shelf. She would do it tomorrow. As if walking through a haze, Hermione somehow found her way up to Gryffindor Tower, where she quickly gave the password and climbed into the portrait hole.
She was relieved to find the Common Room nearly empty, aside from a group of first years in one corner practicing various charms, and flopped into the chair farthest away from them. She sat there, brooding, for nearly two hours before someone came into the Common Room. She glanced up to see Harry and Ron staring at her with the same shocked look Malfoy's team mates had given. "For heaven's sake, anyone would have done it!" She snapped irritably.
Ron's mouth quickly closed and Harry looked slightly embarrassed. Ron's expression, however, quickly changed to one of accusation as he folded his arms across his chest, opened his mouth and practically shouted, "You saved MALFOY?!! Malfoy, our worst enemy? He almost died and YOU STOPPED IT?!! Hermione, how BLOODY STUPID can you get? What has he EVER done to give you a reason to SAVE HIS LIFE?!!"
"Oh, stop it, Ron! What else could I have done? Just because he's an evil git doesn't mean I'm going to watch him fall to his death and do nothing!" Hermione said, exasperated. She had known he would react to this badly, but she still wasn't prepared to deal with it. "So ... does everybody know?"
"Pretty much," Harry replied.
"Oh. What are the Slytherins making of it?" She asked.
"They're honestly really confused, just as confused as we are. I have to say, Hermione, that for all of the things I've known you to do, this is the most confusing and just ... odd. You're perhaps the most decent of all of us, but saving Malfoy's life? Not exactly on my list of the top ten things I'd expect Hermione to do."
Hermione shrugged and closed her eyes, wincing at the headache that was building up behind her eyes. "I know. It happened so fast, I barely had time to think." Ron opened his mouth to say something, but she stopped him by holding up her hand. "I think I'm going to skip dinner tonight. You two go on ahead, I have a horrid headache. I'll see you in the morning." Before either of them could protest, she was halfway up the stairs.
Once inside of her dormitory, Hermione flung herself on top of her bed, drawing the curtains up for privacy in case one of her roommates happened to come in. She lay there for a while, thinking about what had just happened, mulling over the possible explanations she could give. 'I could always say I mistook him for a Ravenclaw,' she mused. Eventually, she drifted to sleep, unaware that everyone in the Great Hall was discussing her surprising heroics.
xxx
The first thing Draco was aware of as he came to consciousness was the pain in his shoulder. It wasn't as severe as when the bludger first hit, but it was still pretty bad. Madam Pomfrey had to administer the potion that would re-form the crushed bones when he was awake, and the pain relievers she had given had obviously worn off a while ago. He grimaced and slowly looked around. The curtains around his bed were drawn, and all he could see was white. It was quiet in the infirmary, and he lay there for a bit just staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together what exactly had happened. He had been thinking about Granger ('Stupid Mudblood, it figures'), and realized the bludger was headed for him too late, which is how he ended up with a crushed shoulder, and then he went unconscious ... but how did he end up in the infirmary? Obviously someone had managed to save him, but who? A team mate, or someone else? He vaguely recalled the feeling of hovering in the air without the aid of a broom, but couldn't tell if that was real or something his mind was making up.
Looking over to the table on his right, Draco rolled his eyes at the sight of a slew of cards and assorted sweets. 'These will probably pile up,' he thought. He enjoyed the sweets, but cards? They were most likely all from girls, and he just didn't feel like reading all of that mush. Even if it was about him and how much they adored him and loved him and were so glad he was still alive because they couldn't live without him ... it was still mush, and he was in a very un-mushy mood at the moment. He closed his eyes, favoring the idea of going to sleep, but was prevented from doing so by Madam Pince, who bustled in with a beaker filled with a light green potion.
"Ahh, so he finally awakens. I have your potion, Mr. Malfoy. You sustained quite an injury, and I've been unable to properly fix it without you being fully awake," she told him. "Now, this won't taste too nice, but try to swallow all of it. Otherwise, your bones won't re-form correctly, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"
He stared at her, and reached out with his right arm for the beaker. She helped him into a sitting position, and he raised the beaker to his lips. Closing his eyes and bracing himself, he threw it all back at once, fighting the urge to gag. It tasted like metallic, curdled milk. When he had swallowed all of it, he attempted to reach for one of the sweets beside him, but was unable to do so without using his left arm. Madam Pince tutted and warned him, "No food until that has been in you for eight hours. You'll survive. Now, get some sleep, and in the morning you should be as good as new."
Draco wanted to argue with the silly old bint, but he felt his eyelids getting heavier and instead settled back down into his bed and let sleep overtake him. Right before he fell asleep, he remembered that he had meant to ask her what happened.
xxx
It was twelve minutes past midnight when Hermione awoke. She had dreamed of falling bodies wrapped in silver and green, whispered words, and a dancing Snape holding up an essay on which both her name and a fat, red D were visible.
'My essay! Oh my goodness, I need to finish my essay!' she thought, panicked.
It was only after she was in the common room, her dressing gown hastily thrown over her nightdress and slippers on her feet, that she realized it was only Sunday. 'Bugger.' She drew her dressing gown around her and idly stared out the window. The moon's reflection was shimmering on the lake. Her thoughts shifted to the events of the day, and she wondered if Malfoy was all right. She figured he was. Madam Pomfrey regrew all of Harry's bones in one night -- surely she could repair a crushed shoulder. And at any rate, what did she care? A rumbling in her stomach made Hermione aware that she hadn't eaten in a long time.
Heaving a sigh, she walked over and quietly climbed through the portrait hole. Before the Fat Lady could start asking questions, she turned around and held a finger to her lips, pointing at the badge on her chest (Hermione had it charmed to hop onto the front of whatever item of clothing she was wearing without command) and giving the portrait a pleading look. The Fat Lady was half asleep anyway, and so she simply smiled and waved Hermione off with a sweep of her hand before resuming her eyelid examination. 'Being a Prefect does have its perks.' As silently as possible, she made her way through the dark, deserted hallways, and down the many staircases that led to the basement hall that showcased a huge painting depicting assorted fruit.
Reaching out, she tickled a grape. It giggled loudly and she winced, looking behind her, half expecting to see a Professor standing there ready to chuck her into detention. To her great relief, there was no one, and with a deep breath, she turned the knob that had appeared, stepped in through the door, and gaped at what she saw.
xxx
Around midnight, Draco's eyes snapped open. He registered that it was still nighttime, and cautiously moved his shoulder. It was a bit sore, but back in the right places, and it definitely was in good working order. Quietly sitting up, he listened for any sort of sound coming from elsewhere in the large room. It was as silent as the grave, and he relaxed. That old witch who ran the infirmary annoyed him, so hopefully she was actually asleep. 'Though I would like to know what exactly happened,' he thought crossly. A growl deep inside of him brought his mind to another matter: food. 'The old bint said I had to wait eight hours ... it has to have been more than that by now. Wonder where I could get some real food?' He cast a contemptuous glance at the pile of sweets by his bedside (it seemed to have doubled in size).
Then he remembered -- house elves! There were a whole load of them in the kitchen, which he knew the "secret" to. The stupid blighters were always willing to fix a meal for "Master Malfoy."
'And right they should be!'
Ten minutes later, he found himself resting luxuriously on a pouf one of the house elves had conjured up for him. A dozen of them stood close by, waiting for him to beckon them over for a bite of whatever it was they held in their arms. He even had a few of them massaging his feet. 'Ahh ... what a life!' Just then the door opened, and Draco froze with his mouth open (only because he was waiting for one of the special imported green grapes, sent from Spain, to be placed inside by the nearest house elf ... Wanky, or something). Staring back at him, seemingly just as shocked as he felt, was none other than the Mudblood herself. And she was in her pajamas!
xxx
Hermione stared back at Malfoy for about a minute before she blinked, got hold of herself, and straightened up to her full height of 5'5". Narrowing her eyes, she opened her mouth and scolded in a shrill voice, "Draco Malfoy, you prat! What are you doing?!"
He closed his mouth and his face twitched into his usual smirk. "Eating. And you?"
She glared. "I'm not an idiot, Malfoy. Eating is something you do on your own. What you are currently up to is slave labor!"
"Slave labor? Come off it, Granger. Is it my fault if they feel like helping me out a bit? They're house elves. It's what they're for!" He had jumped to his feet, speaking in an indignant voice, his face and ears a bit pink with anger.
Hermione strode forward, ignoring the attempts Dobby (who had appeared out of hiding at the sound of her voice) was making to pull her back. Standing barely two inches from his now visibly paler face, Hermione shouted, "THEY ARE NOT JUST FOR WIZARDS TO PUSH AND ORDER AROUND! THEY HAVE FEELINGS AND THOUGHTS AND DREAMS JUST LIKE US! WE SHOULD TREAT THEM WITH RESPECT AND DIGNITY, INSTEAD OF PRANCING AROUND GIVING ORDERS! AND," she stopped to take a huge breath, lowering her voice to almost a whisper, "as a Hogwarts Prefect, I'm giving you detention! Ten points from Slytherin!"
Malfoy rolled his eyes, and Hermione had to concentrate her full effort on not jinxing him. "Well, that's nice, Granger, it really is, but you forgot a few small things: One, I'm a Prefect, too. I could just as well give you detention for wandering the halls at this time of night. Two, house elves like to serve wizards. They get some sort of sick pleasure out of it, so why not take it to our advantage? And three, I don't take orders from screechy, stupid mudbloods!!!"
xxx
As predicted, she stepped back, looking hurt. Draco, sensing a victory, opened his mouth for just one more insult. Before he could get a word out, Granger seemed to regain her cool, straightening her shoulders, and fixing him with an almost sly grin. 'Hey, that's my move!' With a look of defiance, she told him, "Well, maybe it's not a habit, but you could at least be somewhat kinder to the mudblood that saved your life."
With an even bigger smile, this one giving the old bird-that-swallowed-the-canary impression, she turned on her heel and left the kitchen, Dobby hurrying after her with a plate of muffins balanced on his head. Draco stared at the door in confusion. 'Saved my life? When?' Crossing his arms over his chest, he stalked out of the kitchen, ignoring the prickles of pain in his shoulder. He pondered their conversation all the way back to the infirmary, letting his mind wander. 'She's kind of pretty when she smiles,' he thought absently.
"Bloody hell!"