(This is my Harry Potter/Cinderella Story fanfic and I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Basically, this is the plotline of A Cinderella Story but to Harry Potter, with some slight alterations.

I don't own the characters; they belong to JK Rowling and her fabulous imagination. The plotline isn't mine either. So nothing belongs to me really.)

Chapter One

It was early in the morning; before breakfast. Draco wandered up the spiral staircase to the owlery, letter in hand. He ran his pale fingers along the parchment as he stared at the stone steps. Suddenly, he bumped into someone; knocking them backwards.

"Ouch!" Hermione Granger exclaimed as she landed on a step, hitting her coccyx. Hard. She looked up and saw Draco, who sneered at her.

"Move Granger." He snarled, stomping past without even offering a hand to help her up.

"Inconsiderate idiot." Hermione mumbled under her breath as she got up and continued to descend down the stairs.

Up in the owlery Draco sighed. He'd lived up to his reputation once again. He scowled as he tied the letter to the foot of one of the school owls. The large barn owl glared at him questionably. Draco hadn't addressed the letter and he hadn't told the owl who to send it to.

"I don't care." Draco murmured to the owl as he stroked the owl's feathers in a tender way. "I don't care which witch or wizard this letter goes to. They won't even know it's me. All I need is someone to read about what I'm going through. Choose who you like. It doesn't bother me." He held out an owl treat which the owl took gratefully before hooting and flying out of the window.

Draco left the owlery in the same fashion Hermione had done. He didn't bump into anyone.

In the great hall, Hermione entered muttering angrily to herself. She sat down next to Ron and Harry out of routine.

"Alright 'Mione?" Ron asked. Hermione shook her head. "What's up?"

"I just delivered a letter and on my way out of the owlery Draco knocked me down and didn't even offer to help me up. He is such an arrogant ass. Just because he's rich and popular he thinks he can do what he likes. Well, he can't. Idiot." She grumbled angrily as she spread some butter on her toast. The boys exchanged glances. They were used to Hermione ranting and raving about all sorts of things. They continued to eat breakfast without saying another word to her.

After a few minutes Draco walked in. Heads turned, eyes widened. Hermione sighed at the school's reaction. What made Draco so great? She shook her head to herself. She couldn't believe it. Everyone knew his father was a Deatheater. Most people knew he himself was one, and that it was his duty to kill Dumbledore last year but he had failed. Yet, when he returned for their seventh year; he was welcomed back as some kind of god! Hermione frowned as she chewed on her toast. She watched Draco strut over to his seat at the Slytherin table and wrap an arm around Pansy Parkinson; his almost equally popular girlfriend. Hermione glanced around at the expressions of adoration that most of the Slytherins wore. She saw the same look on a couple of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor student's faces. Hermione started muttering under her breath and both Ron and Harry all knew what it was about.

Meanwhile on the other table Draco was acting up to his usual reputation. His eyes scanned the great hall in a cool, relaxed manner. A few people copied him, and Draco found himself both amused and disgusted. He hoped his letter would find someone.

Hermione crossed her fingers under the table. She'd poured her heart out into a letter last night, and sent it off this morning with no address. She was wondering who'd get it. It could go to any wizard or witch in the entire world; well maybe not the entire world. She couldn't see one of the school owls going off to Africa or Australia. No. The owl was probably delivering it to some witch in London or Bristol. Hermione didn't mind who got it. She just wanted someone to read about what she was going through, how she felt. Hermione put her elbow on the table and rested her head upon her palm. She'd left no name. Only a nickname she'd invented. The owl delivering the letter knew her nickname and knew that it was her, so that if anyone ever addressed a letter to her nickname, it would be delivered straight to her. Hermione groaned into the palm of her hand. There was no way anyone would reply to her letter. Why would they? Who would listen to the ranting and ravings of a muggle-born witch who was top of her year, and misunderstood by everyone? Even her best friends. Hermione felt her eyes water with tears. She picked her bag off the floor, ready to leave the hall, but stopped. The post had arrived, and an owl had just dropped a letter in front of her.

'Odd' Hermione thought 'How very odd. Why is there a letter for me? No-one writes to me. My parents don't. Ron and Harry, my only friends, are both at school with me. So why on earth have I received a letter?' Hermione picked the parchment up and turned it over with her hands. 'Especially a letter that isn't signed with my name. It doesn't say Hermione. Therefore it can't be for me. Maybe it's a mistake. It must not be for me. So…do I read it or not?' Hermione asked herself. She found herself opening the letter. Her eyes scanned the page as she sat back down.

To whom ever this letter reaches.

I'm lost. I'm confused. And I'm misunderstood. And I needed someone to read my feelings, because I have no-one whom I can tell them to.

I don't know who I am, only who I am meant to be. Everyone expects so much of me. Everyone expects me to go down one particular path. My father wanted me to be just like him. I didn't turn out that way. Now, since returning to school, I've become sort of Hero. I hate it. No-one seems to understand me. My girlfriend is an accessory, I harbour no feelings for her; and she has none for me. It's all an image, a show, a game. I hate it.

Reputation. That's what it all is. Some façade. I hate it. I want to be me. No-one would understand me. I don't even know what me is. I hear my name and images, words and feelings fill my head. They are what people think of when they hear my name. Those aren't the things I want to be associated with me. If I act out of character, even for a moment, then people talk about me. But I am out of character. The person I truly am is nothing like who everyone thinks I am. I want to be able to decide who I am, and be that person.

I'm lost. I'm confused. And I'm misunderstood. And I needed someone to read my feelings, because I have no-one whom I can tell them to.

So, to whoever is reading this letter. I am sorry to burden you with my thoughts, but I couldn't have the burden on my shoulders alone. Thank you for reading, I won't expect a reply; but if you want to send one, you can address it to the name below.

Yours thankfully,

Confused Dragon.

Hermione gasped as she read the letter. This person was going through a similar thing to her. The same feelings. This person didn't know themselves either. Hermione hugged the letter to her chest. This was a letter; just like her own. She knew she wanted a reply, so she was definitely going to give this poor soul one. Hermione rushed out of the great hall; heading to the library to write a letter straight away.

Back in the great hall, Draco was confused.

'A letter for me? My mother never writes a letter to me, I have no friends outside of Hogwarts and my father is in Azkaban…so how on earth has a letter reached me?' Draco took the parchment from the owl and ran his fingers over it. 'This looks like my letter, but it can't be. The owl is different. So…why is it here?' Draco found himself opening the unaddressed letter and reading its contents as Pansy gossiped with her friends. No-one was watching him as he read, and for that he was thankful.

Dear someone.

I am so misunderstood. Everyone sees me and thinks the same thing. I'm not like that though. Not everyone sees me in that way, I suppose. Some witches and wizards are decent. Blood doesn't mean everything to some people. But to those whom it is vital; they see my nothing more as a filthy, dirty individual.

Those who see me without thinking about that though, they are kind to me and see me for what I am. But, they truly don't. All they see is some intelligent being. I'm more that that.

How much more, I do not know. All I know is that there is more to me than my intellect and my heritage. Unfortunately, no-one knows this. SO I find myself pouring my heart out to some stranger through some ink on a piece of parchment. I apologise to you for making you read this. You can toss it in the fire if you want, or never think of it again…but if for some reason you want to reply to this letter; perhaps to offer my your condolences, advice or general words of support and kindness….then please reply to the name below. The owl will find me. Thank you for reading my ranting and ravings. I just needed someone to know.

Yours thankfully,

Misunderstood Muggle-born.

'Fantastic' Draco thought to himself 'Another person in the exact same position as me, almost. Yes, this person is a muggle-born, but do I care….no. Everyone assumes blood is important to me because of my parents, my heritage and my appalling behaviour over the last few years; but how wrong they are. I'm going to write to this poor witch or wizard, and I'm going to console them. I wanted a reply to my letter, so obviously this person does too, and I will give them that reply. Now.'

Draco stood up, letter in one hand, bag in the other and left the great hall without even kissing Pansy goodbye. Murmured whispers followed. How very out of character.

Draco ran to the library. He entered quietly and rushed over to a vacant desk. He took out some parchment and a quill and started to write a reply.

Over in the corner Hermione sat writing her own letter. She glanced up and saw Draco. She glared at him, but he didn't notice. She continued to write her letter.

Both students finished their letters around about the same time. Their letters consoled the writer and offered their apologies and understandings. They talked about how they were going through a similar thing, and had done a similar thing also.

Both students left the library and headed up to the owlery. They were walking alongside each other.

"Who are you writing to then?" Hermione asked politely, trying to make conversation.

"None of your business." Draco replied, although not in quite the normal manner. His voice didn't carry its normal harsh tone. This went unnoticed by Hermione, but Draco noticed it himself. He'd only been a little less cold and cruel because Granger was a muggle-born, just like the person to whom he was corresponding. Plus, Draco didn't feel like living up to his mean reputation today. It was too tiring, and so unlike who he wanted to be. "Who are you writing to?" Draco asked as the reached the owlery and wandered off to opposites end, grabbing an owl each.

"That is none of your business." Hermione replied in the same tone as Draco had done, as she hid the letter from him, so he couldn't see the name on the front. Draco did the exact same thing. Each fed their owl an owl treat and left the owlery, side by side, in silence. The owls glanced at the letters they were carrying. They hooted and flew out of the windows, one heading towards the North tower, the other to the dungeons. There each owl dropped the letter through a window.

The one addressed 'Confused Dragon' landed on Draco Malfoy's bed, just as one labelled 'Misunderstood Muggle-born' landed on Hermione Granger's.