Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I in any way affiliated with the franchise. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, and all characters herein are the sole property and creation of the brilliant J.K. Rowling, even if I do like to think of her as my split personality.
Chapter One- Saturday Morning Blues
Some people may claim that the trick to a happy life is to keep a habit of constant honesty with oneself; to lie inside yourself – say, tell yourself how it's alright to smoke your final cigarettes today because, of course, you will quit tomorrow – leads to nothing but the growth of something unhealthy, something that can never be a benefit. Logically, of course, there is nothing that can really refute that besides the concept of the Power of Positive Thinking, but while the difference between one fooling oneself and one simply believing that everything will be okay (or something along those lines) may be as undefined and ever-flowing as the dust motes that swirl through a sunbeam, the difference still exists.
Hermione Granger had, over the work of many years, somehow lost her ability to discern between those two points of balance; the life that she'd cultivated quite literally fed on internal lies, and to her they were unconscious, because one of those lies to herself was that she could do literally anything she set her mind to. And that was positive thinking, wasn't it?
It was a Saturday morning and the sky which hung over the Hogwarts castle was a pristine powder blue, streaked with clouds bathed in the orange light of the rising sun. Already there was commotion outside Hermione's door, but the sounds of tromping feet and raucous voices failed to wake her simply because she'd been awake an hour already. She'd started from sleep as completely and jarringly as if someone had grabbed her by her ankles and yanked her out of bed. She'd become an expert at waking herself as early as possible to squeeze the absolute most from her day, eyes snapping open in the middle of a dream and rolling from under her covers as if she had a fire to fight, but things had changed a little. It was no longer a chipper feeling to be awake. It wasn't bad, necessarily, it was only that once her brain kicked into even the slightest consciousness, she found herself briskly running through a list of things she hoped to strike off her List during the day, simultaneously panicking in the back of her mind that she'd never get them done.
This morning was no different, even if it was Saturday.
Alone in her private room, (one of the perks of having a Prefect's badge tucked away in the drawer of her bedside table), she'd risen from sleep and immediately started on the task of dressing herself using only half her attention. With the other half she scanned through her mental schedule.
There was a foot and a half due to Snape on the proper use of darkness detectors for Tuesday to complete, alongside the analysis and response to the essay question of the chapter they'd been assigned to read; she'd yet to even read the chapter, a fact which knocked against her left temple like a persistent neighbor. God, then there's Runes, she thought, and as she pulled an olive green sweater over her mane of hair and smoothed it over her body, she wondered, not for the first time, why she'd elected to continue that infernal course. At one point, she'd found it fascinating, but Runes, much like History of Magic, had become redundant and demanding.
She stuck one leg through a pair of black pants hurriedly, wobbling around for balance as she lifted the second. So much to do, she thought, even her internal voice echoed with harassment. She tore a brush through her hair and tied it into a bun near the top of her hand, trying to breathe slowly with her arms in the air, hoping to calm down the quaking anxiety. It wouldn't be that hard to do; she knew that by the time she sat down for breakfast and her issue of the Daily Prophet, she would be A-Ok, just swell.
Once she finished she flew through her bedroom in long, purposeful strides, skipping down the spiral staircase into the common room, which was now bursting with Saturday morning activity. Ron and Lavender Brown were groping each other just in front of the staircase, as if Ron had accosted her the moment she'd come from her dormitory. Hermione nearly collided with them, missing by less than a foot, and then had to sidestep a first year girl running past with a knitted bag clutched to her chest, the ponytail on the top of her head bobbing wildly.
Hermione sighed in exasperation, but the way was clear to the portrait hole and the traffic to the Great Hall was at its minimum.
At the Gryffindor table Harry was already halfway through a bowl of thick, steaming porridge. He only looked up when she sat down.
"Morning," he said, picking up his orange juice and drinking heavily.
"Hello," Hermione said cheerily. The ceiling above them reflected with brightening clouds, the air all around the hall was crisp and cool, bringing on her favorite smell of soft cleanliness. Today would be a good one, if she allowed it to be. Starting now, she would do that. "Hungry this morning?" she observed.
"I feel like I've been on a hunger strike," Harry grinned. "I dunno, maybe I just feel the need to bulk up."
"Right, because you're such a feeble thing." She teased.
There was a heavy thud as Ginny Weasley fell onto the bench next to Harry, her forehead falling straight to his shoulder as she let out a sigh to combat the god of wind.
"I don't want to be awake. Why am I awake, Hermione?" She twisted her head against Harry's shoulder (who hadn't even batted an eye) to look at Hermione through bleary eyes.
"Because you're sensible, Ginny, and you want to squeeze all you can out of life." Hermione replied lightly, picking an orange from the golden, glimmering bowl to her left.
"There's just something so awful about the morning." Was all Ginny said, and promptly went to shutting her eyes and keeping them closed, until Ron and Lavender sat down to Hermione's right, arms around each other's waists.
"Pour some pumpkin juice for me, Won-Won." Lavender crooned, nuzzling Won-Won's neck as he worked to disentangle himself and reach for the flagon.
"Anything for you, my love," he replied seriously.
Ginny picked her head up from Harry's shoulder and looked Hermione in the eyes, her face a blank slate. "I think I see Luna." She said, and with that and a kiss to Harry's cheek – so forceful he leant a little to the side with wide eyes – she departed, her robes swishing behind her. Hermione heard her mutter distinctly as she went "bloody nut-jobs, those two."
Hermione glanced at Lavender, whose face was pinched as she looked after Ginny.
"I wish she would have stayed." She said forlornly. "I feel as if she's my sister too, you know. We should really get to know each other, shouldn't we, Ronald?"
"Erm… Well, if she's open, I mean – You can ask, " He blustered for a moment and then chuckled, waving his hand awkwardly. Then he looked to Harry, feigning a casual expression. "Want to take the brooms out for a bit, mate?"
"Perfect day for it," Harry said, finally looking up again from his bowl. "Sure, yeah. What'll you be doing, Hermione? Want to come down to the pitch?"
"I would, but I've got loads to do," said Hermione. "I'll be barricaded in the library until Thursday."
"You can study at the pitch," he said, waving this off. "Come on out with us."
"How can you stay in that musty old cavern on a day like this?" asked Ron incredulously. "Hermione, you need the sun. And as of right now the only exposure you've had is through the glass during Herbology. Greenhouse gasses are bad for you, you know. I say this as your friend."
He pressed a hand to his chest in sincerity, only a hint of mockery on his lips. Lavender, tired of having no part of the conversation, spoke up with, "That isn't how greenhouse gasses work, you silly."
Hermione snorted into her pumpkin juice and Ron only grinned and clapped her on the back; he was accustomed to the way his humor sometimes glided straight over Lavender's head.
"As dear as your concern is, Ron, I need to be away from distractions." She said. "In fact, I think I'll go ahead and get there now, I have loads to do."
"You haven't even eaten anything!" Harry cried, but Hermione rose to leave, shouldering her messenger bag and smiling wanly. He was right; she hadn't even stayed long enough to receive post.
"Yes, but unlike the two of you," she stared between Ron and Harry pointedly. "I prefer to get my things done before the last minute."
She stepped over the bench, striding through the Hall and passing through the great oaken doors. She'd taken no more than three paces into the main corridor when she collided with a solid barrier; or, rather, a solid barrier mowed her over, sending her straight into the stone doorway to the hall. A sharp pain flooded her through her spine.
"Ugh, bloody hell," snarled a hateful voice. Hermione looked up to meet the stormy eyes of Draco Malfoy, his trademark scowl making the silver in them swirl like molten alloy. "Perfect way to start the day."
"It wasn't as if I meant to," said Hermione, her colour rising almost immediately. "Besides, you're the one stomping around like some great oaf."
Malfoy scoffed. "You should simply try looking where you're going, Mudblood," he said, his mouth spitting the last word like venom. "Maybe that way you'll find you never ruin the mornings of the important people."
He shook the sleeve of his cobalt blue Oxford shirt with disgust, as if flicking off dried vomit.
"You're daft," said Hermione, laughing derisively, shouldering past him with more guts than she'd thought she had. Something about Malfoy just made her seethe, melting away any of her usual shyness or trepidation with people who intimidated her.
Perhaps intimidated wasn't the right word; Malfoy had this quality of constant antagonism just etched on every line of his face. Every expression the nerves there seemed to muster apparently served no other purpose than the ruffle the feathers of decent people. Right from the day she'd first met him she hadn't liked the look of him; the stark aura of superiority that hung around him like vapor seemed to emanate from him and become palpable to those around him with any ounce of proper class and thinking, like the dense humidity of a Floridian swamp. Not that Hermione had ever been to Florida, but one minute with Malfoy made her feel like she was in adaption training to live in a bog or something equally horrific. And it had only increased the more she saw of him, skyrocketing during that moment in the second year - that day he strode up to poke barbs at Harry, backed by his purchased teammates of the Slytherin Quidditch team - spitting at her much as he was doing now when she'd tried to defend her best friend… otherwise known to Hermione as the first time he'd ever called her a Mudblood. The first time anyone had ever called her a Mudblood.
He would never let her forget that look of deep-seated antipathy in his eyes either, as if taking in the sight of her caused him a very great personal cost. He'd flung it at her every time their eyes chanced to meet.
Still, however, she had every intention of walking away from him and letting the sleeping dogs lay at rest, until he suddenly came barreling up from behind, clamping his cold hand over her wrist and steering her around to face him.
"You owe me an apology, Granger," he said quietly, eyes narrowed. Her face showed him nothing but defiance and indignation, the only expressions she'd ever offered him. "That's once you've touched me on accident, and once on purpose. That makes two strikes in my opinion, which is plenty enough for me to hex you until we're even."
Hermione jerked herself free and took a wide step forward, forcing him to back up a few paces. Malfoy tried to stumble in a dignified manner. Hermione was now angry enough to forget to point out that he'd just been touching her himself.
"You self-postulating animal," she hissed. "You and I both know I'd have you on the floor in agony before you so much as raised your wand. Don't waste your feeble threats on me, Malfoy. You haven't even come close to posing a challenge to me since third year."
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Or have you forgotten that I don't even need my wand to make you sorry?"
He backed away even further, fuming and hating how close he'd been to her. He could practically feel the anger radiating from her, minglingwith the smell of her foul blood.
"The only reason you failed to lose that weak hand of yours was because I don't hit women." He said, eyeing her from her feet to her face. "Although, the term woman may not even apply here…"
Hermione simply chortled, finding a grotesque sort of amusement in his childishness.
"Right." Was all she said, and with that she turned from him and headed for the library, making sure she looked as unbothered as possible to Malfoy, as though she knew he would watch her go.
A/N
This is my very first attempt at writing fanfiction. I won't beg for reviews, but I do hope that any of you who do happen to read this chapter may find something worth noting, whether it's encouragement or criticism. I tried to keep the style of writing as close to the original work of the brilliant J.K. Rowling, and I will continue to do so. I'll also try my very best to keep the characters along the same track as their original counterparts. I hope to maintain as much authenticity as possible.
However, this story is from the point of view of characters completely different from Harry Potter, so there will be stark differences. Plus, you know, I'm NOT J.K. Rowling, no matter how much I wish I were.
I genuinely hope those of you who read my chapters will find enjoyment in them. I want to provide you good people with some good writing. It would help to know how I'm doing, but like I said, if you can't find anything worth mentioning to me in a review, that's quite alright. I'm mostly doing this simply because I love to write, and it feels nice to have something "published", you know?
Anyway, I'm going to be posting a new chapter soon enough. Perhaps within a day, but I'm sure we all know how busy an adult life can be.
Yours Truly,
Emma Perry