Prologue
UGLY.
The word had slipped out of the red headed boy's mouth unthinkably, it was damaging and degrading and it shattered her fragile self-esteem in only a second.
She was 17, curvy, elegant and understated. She was by no means ugly, but the girl would always be the 11 year old frizzy haired, buck toothed, pale little girl, embarking on a big journey into a new world.
Draco stood amongst the gathering crowd of students and looked at the brunette standing frozen and tight lipped within the centre. It was obvious that she was fighting back her tears.
She was natural… it was the only way to describe it, Draco mused as he studied her. The quiet of the crowd allowed him the opportunity to actually look at the girl in question.
She wasn't the usual definition of beauty in the fact that she wasn't fake. She didn't wear make-up, she didn't dress up to impress people, she was just…her. But by no means was she ugly.
Her large brown eyes were almost other worldly in their intensity, her every emotion shining in the dark liquid pools of colour. It was her eyes that made her so breath-taking to look at. Sure she had a nice figure - she had been an early developer - but she hid her body away choosing to cover it up with her robes, it was her body and her choice at the end of the day.
Her hair, whilst still wild and thick, hung in long silk curls framing her heart shaped face. Her face itself was understated, she had the bone structure pureblooded girls would kill for, her skin was clear of any blemishes, and the only imperfection was the smattering of freckles across her nose. Her lips were plump and sensual and formed a perfect pink cupid bow. But it was her eyes, so raw and passionate, so emotive. They were captivating. If Draco could use any word to describe her, ugly would not be it.
Such a shame she was a mudblood.
She stood there frozen, rooted to the spot as the red headed boy sneered at her in disgust. Draco couldn't help the sneer that appeared on his own face in regards to the lanky Gryffindor. That boy wouldn't be able to appreciate beauty unless it kicked him in the balls, perhaps not even then. His definition of beauty, if the conversation was any indication, was limited to the tart, Brown.
Lavender Brown.
Draco shuddered, 80% of that girls beauty could be taken off with a quick scourgify spell, he half contemplated casting it just to see the look on the Weasel's face. Perhaps not, he didn't really want to get involved in this, after the final battle he wanted to keep a low profile, the Malfoy name was mud thanks to his father, he didn't need the extra attention.
And yet, even still, every nerve in his body was screaming at him to do something, to intervene and move the Gryffindor Princess. It was as if she was facing what seemed like the wizard equivalent of the muggle firing squad, sans guns. No guns weren't needed here, words were the Weasel's weapon of choice, they cut deep and wounded the girl before him. It was almost as barbaric as seeing the bloodshed.
Draco looked on as Hermione Granger stood staring at Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown, the latter draping herself and clinging to the red head. Why were her friends not intervening? Where was the boy-who-fucking-wouldn't-die, Harry Potter, the hero of the hour? And what of his red headed girlfriend the she weasel?
Nothing, no-one.
No-one spoke or defended the brains behind the plan that finally killed Voldemort.
Draco wanted to scream.
If this was him he would understand, but her, her?!
She was just as much the saviour as Potter was, and yet now, no-one stood up for her, no-one defended her, when she had fought and risked her life to safe their pathetic ones.
Un-fucking Believable.
The screaming started again. The voice was male, shrill and tinged with hate.
"For crying out loud Hermione, don't you get it? I don't want you! No-one wants you! You're plain, you're bookish and you're… you're UGLY!"
It was that word again.
"I'm doing you a favour telling you this now, because believe me, I'm being nice, no-one will ever want you, you will never be pretty or beautiful or anything else. Get used to that."
He'd had enough; he couldn't listen to this drivel anymore.
He pushed his way to the front, he didn't think twice about touching his peers and removing them from his way, he had to get to her, he had to protect her, defend her somehow, if only to remove her from the situation. He just couldn't leave her like this.
Finally he was through, he wasn't even thinking as he clasped Hermione's small hand in his own whilst sneering at both the red head and the Brown girl, before pulling her back through the crowd of students.
He continued pulling her away from the crowd until he reached the portrait to the head dorms. Only then did he stop to look at the girl, whose hand was still held tightly in his own. She looked at him and he was lost.
Those eyes.
Her eyes were so dark, so expressive, so alluring. They shimmered with tears that clung to her long dark lashes and cascaded down her cheeks. He reached out to brush the droplet of moisture away, the softness of her skin shocking him momentarily. But before he could even remove his hand she was gone.
He wouldn't see her at dinner, and the Weasel's smug expression only served to anger him.
He wouldn't see her at breakfast the next morning either.
He didn't even see her at graduation.
That was 5 years ago.
A/N: So this idea just came to me, what do you think so far?
For all my regular readers, I will now be back to finish my other stories as I have FINALLY finished university and have the time to dedicate to my stories, I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting.