Breaking Storm
Disclaimer: Don't own characters, just the plot.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Draco and Hermione are most likely to be out of character in this story, but I'm trying my best.. He may be a bit more.. well, nice? I don't know. It'd be great if you guys would review and let me know what you think of it so far, though. Thanks.
This story is.. Well, I don't think it says how he fell in love with her, but the feelings are already there. He just doesn't know it yet.
Congrats to my amazing cousin Joanne, for getting into SDSU, This one is for you.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter One: Blame
Draco Malfoy sat across the Slytherin table, watching the Gryffindor table. But he was watching a particular person. A person he knew he shouldn't be watching and observing, but couldn't help but to, no matter how much force he put into putting his mind and gaze elsewhere. Maybe, for a moment, he would think of something else, look at something else. But they always managed to wander back to the Gryffindor table.. Back to the girl with the dark brown hair, and haunting brown eyes. He blamed himself, for going to the library that day. He blamed himself for not going the day before, or hours later. He blamed himself for seeing her there.. On the library floor. Crying. He blamed himself for watching her, and saying nothing as she looked up at him.
He blamed himself for letting her catch him in her trapping gaze.
He blamed himself for not smirking, for not shooting his usual cold remark to the Gryffindor girl. He blamed himself for feeling.. Drawn to her. He blamed himself for not turning to walk away, after finding his throat dry and mute. She had just stood up and wiped her eyes hastily, not uttering a word to him, not making him swear on his blood not to tell anyone. She hadn't done anything like that. She had just looked at him with her glossy, dark, sad eyes, and brushed past him and out the library. And he remembered standing there, frozen, almost stunned.
It was not only the fact that he had never ever found anyone crying in the library before, or that he never thought anyone would go to the library to cry.. But the fact that it had been Hermione Granger who had been crying, sprawled out on the library floor. It had been Hermione Granger with the tear-streaked face; it had been Hermione Granger with the sad, dim eyes, who pleaded at him almost like he had a kind heart. Like he wasn't Draco Malfoy, the cruel Slytherin who had been tormenting her and her two little prat-faced friends with no mercy.
He had been caught off guard, thrown off balance. He had thought she would at least pull out her wand and force him to swear he wouldn't tell a soul about what she had been doing. But no, instead she was silent, got up and walked past him, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just caught her and her spilled tears in the back shelf of the library. It bothered him, it did. But not as much as the way she had looked at him.
Her brown gaze had been on his mind ever since that day. How sad and solemn, how they were dark but pleaded at him mentally. He had never.. Never in his life. He had never seen someone look at him like that before. There was no trace of disgust, no trace of anger or hate, or even the slightest bit of annoyance. There had been none of those when she had looked at him.
And it confused him. And he couldn't blame himself for that. No, he
couldn't. The blame was on her, for this one. It was her fault she
looked at him like that, her fault he couldn't get her off his mind.
It was her fault she had chosen the bloody library to cry in, instead
of her dormitory. But expect Hermione Granger to do almost everything
in the library.
But of course, while he had expected to find her in the library, for it was a well-known fact she was constantly there, he hadn't expected to find her crying. It made him almost curious as to why she had been crying there.. Instead of somewhere else. Maybe she knew that no body barely went in there on weekends, and chose it as a place to hide. But who to hide from? Draco furrowed his eyebrows.
There wasn't anyone he could think of, that she'd want to hide form. But who could make her cry? Who was close enough to her that they'd hurt her brutally with their words? Suddenly, it hit him.
Potter and Weasley.
But even with that guess, there were still obvious vast holes. What could they say to make her cry? Why hadn't they gone after her almost immediately, for it was obvious she had been there quite a while. What sort of insensitive remark could have they aimed at her to make her go to the library, and cry?
Suddenly, he felt something snap inside of him. Sort of a bitter, tight, cold bind around him. Around his heart.
He scowled at himself for wondering. His gaze turned cold, as he glared at her. She was talking, smiling at the raven-haired boy beside her. There was no sign of her being unhappy in any way, any grudges being held against her friends. He felt anger boil up inside, as he quickly turned away, his fists clenching underneath the table.
He didn't know why she was occupying so much of his thoughts, his mind, his time. He didn't know why her sad brown eyes had managed to haunt him every single night, kept him awake and restless, thinking about her. He didn't know why or how he could possibly care if she was in the library crying, or who had managed to make her. He didn't know why he kept watching her, even faintly urging her to look his way.
She never did.
It angered him, she angered him. That mudblood wasn't even worthy to think of, not to him. She was lowly, a Muggleborn, friends with the legendary bloody Harry Potter. She didn't deserve to be thought of. She didn't deserve any of this. Any of his questions, any of his thoughts.. She didn't deserve it. Any of it. He hated her. He hated her.
Because she looked at him that way. Like he wasn't cold hearted and cruel, like she knew there was something else in there that nobody else could possibly see. He hated her because she acted as if nothing could possibly go bloody wrong, laughing and smiling, when it was only a week ago he saw her completely destroyed. He hated her because she was a mudblood, and she didn't deserve to be here. He hated her because she appeared to him constantly, unconscious or awake. He hated her. He hated her.
He hated her because he was supposed to.
He hated her because she kept him awake at night. He hated her because she made him feel this way. Because he had never felt this before. And he despised it. He wanted it to go away, but it was there, every single bloody day. Thriving and roaring inside of him like a restless fire, getting more intense and hot with every single second the world let pass. He hated her because he watched her, through every class, through their meals.
He hated her because she never looked up. He hated her because she never looked at him. Only at her stupid half-wit friends, and he hated her more for that.
He gave one last look at the Gryffundor table, the pretty brown haired girl laughing and smiling, her brown eyes twinkling like he had never seen before. He hated it. Harry Potter leaned over and put his hand over hers, and he felt something rise and spread throughout him, something that felt infectious and bitter, intense. He felt his chest tighten with anger, finally looking away. He stood up and strode out of the great Hall, obviously not feeling like watching Harry Potter try to court his best friend. He didn't know why, but it absolutely infuriated him.
He walked down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the walls. It was quiet, the noisy chatter from the Great Hall slowly and faintly fading. His eyes were hard, angry. His hands felt cold and icy, as they were still clenched. He made his way to his Prefect room, anger bubbling inside him like he never felt before.
He hated her.
He hated Harry Potter.
He hated the fact that he was the only one who saw that Harry Potter didn't deserve her.
He hated the fact that nobody did. Not even him. For even with his pureblood and wealthy family, she was still so out of his reach.
He hated the fact that he knew no matter what he did, she would always and forever be out of his reach.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Hermione felt his gaze on her again. She had to fight the urge to look up, to meet his eyes, but it was getting harder and harder each day. It puzzled her, confused her, but she knew all too well not to let her curiosity take over. Not when it was to Draco Malfoy.
It was ever since that day, that he had found her in the library. She had been surprised that he just looked at her, not a bit of coldness in his eyes. And he hadn't said anything, anything at all. He hadn't made fun of her, or tormented her about why or just the fact that she was crying. Maybe that was the reason he had been on her mind constantly over the past few days.
Her thoughts weren't hate-filled, or angry, and sometimes she was annoyed at that. She would've thought her mind had forgotten just who Draco Malfoy was, and that he had been cruel and mean to them ever since they had set a foot in Hogwarts. Also the fact that he hated Muggleborns, which, she knew, he hated her the most. He hated her. It slightly disturbed her, for she hadn't done anything to him. Well, that he didn't deserve, of course. But of course, she would try to push her thoughts about him away, only to see his silver gray eyes, which was forever burned in her mind.
Another thing that annoyed her, was that feeling she got every time she saw them, or felt his gaze on her. It was a deep, warm but at the same time frosty feeling that filled her, that rushed through her veins. First she would get lost in the feeling, and lose sight of everything around her, or let her mind and thoughts go astray. She could almost feel herself lost in a hazy, sweet fog that embraced her. There were countless amounts of times where she had been so close to losing herself enough to look up. But of course, she never did. She would gain her control slowly, as she felt her gaze wander up, and abruptly turn it towards her plate. Then she would close her eyes, and try to compose herself, telling herself that this was Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.
The name that was supposed to trigger anger and hate, annoyance and despise.
But it never came. It never made her angry. He never made her angry. Instead, something else had managed to dominate.. But the thing was, she had no clue as to what it could possibly be.
Or deep inside, she could possibly be scared to understand it, to suddenly know what she was really feeling for the silver-blonde haired Slytherin.
She shook that thought away, as she suddenly felt something warm on her hand. She looked up, and saw that Harry was smiling at her. She laughed at what he said, and didn't take away her hand from underneath his, although people might see and get the wrong assumption. The last time that possibility had been assumed, she had been on gossip newspapers here in the Wizarding world, and received large amounts of hate mail, threatening her. Sure, she had been offended and angry, for going for more than a mutual friendship with Harry was never on her mind, and never had been. She also remembered that it had also angered Harry, who was cursing under his breath as he had managed to rip out a letter from her hands.
She remembered that that had been the one that said she was going to hunt her down and poison her.
Suddenly, she felt something inside her that made her look up, towards the Slytherin table. She watched him as he got up, and walked from his table. She could've sworn that she could see that his eyes were cold, dark and angry, but he had gone out of the Great Hall by the time she had realized it. Her gaze had lingered on the open doors of the Great Hall, and looked down. Something inside was tugging at the edge of her heart, making her feel sort of guilty, although she had no clue as to why. Something was telling her to go after him, but it was faint and did little to try and convince her to.
And why would she go after him, anyway? Why would she want to?
The answers to those questions she could not find.
Or maybe it was a matter of not wanting to find them.
Disclaimer: Don't own characters, just the plot.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Draco and Hermione are most likely to be out of character in this story, but I'm trying my best.. He may be a bit more.. well, nice? I don't know. It'd be great if you guys would review and let me know what you think of it so far, though. Thanks.
This story is.. Well, I don't think it says how he fell in love with her, but the feelings are already there. He just doesn't know it yet.
Congrats to my amazing cousin Joanne, for getting into SDSU, This one is for you.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter One: Blame
Draco Malfoy sat across the Slytherin table, watching the Gryffindor table. But he was watching a particular person. A person he knew he shouldn't be watching and observing, but couldn't help but to, no matter how much force he put into putting his mind and gaze elsewhere. Maybe, for a moment, he would think of something else, look at something else. But they always managed to wander back to the Gryffindor table.. Back to the girl with the dark brown hair, and haunting brown eyes. He blamed himself, for going to the library that day. He blamed himself for not going the day before, or hours later. He blamed himself for seeing her there.. On the library floor. Crying. He blamed himself for watching her, and saying nothing as she looked up at him.
He blamed himself for letting her catch him in her trapping gaze.
He blamed himself for not smirking, for not shooting his usual cold remark to the Gryffindor girl. He blamed himself for feeling.. Drawn to her. He blamed himself for not turning to walk away, after finding his throat dry and mute. She had just stood up and wiped her eyes hastily, not uttering a word to him, not making him swear on his blood not to tell anyone. She hadn't done anything like that. She had just looked at him with her glossy, dark, sad eyes, and brushed past him and out the library. And he remembered standing there, frozen, almost stunned.
It was not only the fact that he had never ever found anyone crying in the library before, or that he never thought anyone would go to the library to cry.. But the fact that it had been Hermione Granger who had been crying, sprawled out on the library floor. It had been Hermione Granger with the tear-streaked face; it had been Hermione Granger with the sad, dim eyes, who pleaded at him almost like he had a kind heart. Like he wasn't Draco Malfoy, the cruel Slytherin who had been tormenting her and her two little prat-faced friends with no mercy.
He had been caught off guard, thrown off balance. He had thought she would at least pull out her wand and force him to swear he wouldn't tell a soul about what she had been doing. But no, instead she was silent, got up and walked past him, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just caught her and her spilled tears in the back shelf of the library. It bothered him, it did. But not as much as the way she had looked at him.
Her brown gaze had been on his mind ever since that day. How sad and solemn, how they were dark but pleaded at him mentally. He had never.. Never in his life. He had never seen someone look at him like that before. There was no trace of disgust, no trace of anger or hate, or even the slightest bit of annoyance. There had been none of those when she had looked at him.
And it confused him. And he couldn't blame himself for that. No, he
couldn't. The blame was on her, for this one. It was her fault she
looked at him like that, her fault he couldn't get her off his mind.
It was her fault she had chosen the bloody library to cry in, instead
of her dormitory. But expect Hermione Granger to do almost everything
in the library.
But of course, while he had expected to find her in the library, for it was a well-known fact she was constantly there, he hadn't expected to find her crying. It made him almost curious as to why she had been crying there.. Instead of somewhere else. Maybe she knew that no body barely went in there on weekends, and chose it as a place to hide. But who to hide from? Draco furrowed his eyebrows.
There wasn't anyone he could think of, that she'd want to hide form. But who could make her cry? Who was close enough to her that they'd hurt her brutally with their words? Suddenly, it hit him.
Potter and Weasley.
But even with that guess, there were still obvious vast holes. What could they say to make her cry? Why hadn't they gone after her almost immediately, for it was obvious she had been there quite a while. What sort of insensitive remark could have they aimed at her to make her go to the library, and cry?
Suddenly, he felt something snap inside of him. Sort of a bitter, tight, cold bind around him. Around his heart.
He scowled at himself for wondering. His gaze turned cold, as he glared at her. She was talking, smiling at the raven-haired boy beside her. There was no sign of her being unhappy in any way, any grudges being held against her friends. He felt anger boil up inside, as he quickly turned away, his fists clenching underneath the table.
He didn't know why she was occupying so much of his thoughts, his mind, his time. He didn't know why her sad brown eyes had managed to haunt him every single night, kept him awake and restless, thinking about her. He didn't know why or how he could possibly care if she was in the library crying, or who had managed to make her. He didn't know why he kept watching her, even faintly urging her to look his way.
She never did.
It angered him, she angered him. That mudblood wasn't even worthy to think of, not to him. She was lowly, a Muggleborn, friends with the legendary bloody Harry Potter. She didn't deserve to be thought of. She didn't deserve any of this. Any of his questions, any of his thoughts.. She didn't deserve it. Any of it. He hated her. He hated her.
Because she looked at him that way. Like he wasn't cold hearted and cruel, like she knew there was something else in there that nobody else could possibly see. He hated her because she acted as if nothing could possibly go bloody wrong, laughing and smiling, when it was only a week ago he saw her completely destroyed. He hated her because she was a mudblood, and she didn't deserve to be here. He hated her because she appeared to him constantly, unconscious or awake. He hated her. He hated her.
He hated her because he was supposed to.
He hated her because she kept him awake at night. He hated her because she made him feel this way. Because he had never felt this before. And he despised it. He wanted it to go away, but it was there, every single bloody day. Thriving and roaring inside of him like a restless fire, getting more intense and hot with every single second the world let pass. He hated her because he watched her, through every class, through their meals.
He hated her because she never looked up. He hated her because she never looked at him. Only at her stupid half-wit friends, and he hated her more for that.
He gave one last look at the Gryffundor table, the pretty brown haired girl laughing and smiling, her brown eyes twinkling like he had never seen before. He hated it. Harry Potter leaned over and put his hand over hers, and he felt something rise and spread throughout him, something that felt infectious and bitter, intense. He felt his chest tighten with anger, finally looking away. He stood up and strode out of the great Hall, obviously not feeling like watching Harry Potter try to court his best friend. He didn't know why, but it absolutely infuriated him.
He walked down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the walls. It was quiet, the noisy chatter from the Great Hall slowly and faintly fading. His eyes were hard, angry. His hands felt cold and icy, as they were still clenched. He made his way to his Prefect room, anger bubbling inside him like he never felt before.
He hated her.
He hated Harry Potter.
He hated the fact that he was the only one who saw that Harry Potter didn't deserve her.
He hated the fact that nobody did. Not even him. For even with his pureblood and wealthy family, she was still so out of his reach.
He hated the fact that he knew no matter what he did, she would always and forever be out of his reach.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Hermione felt his gaze on her again. She had to fight the urge to look up, to meet his eyes, but it was getting harder and harder each day. It puzzled her, confused her, but she knew all too well not to let her curiosity take over. Not when it was to Draco Malfoy.
It was ever since that day, that he had found her in the library. She had been surprised that he just looked at her, not a bit of coldness in his eyes. And he hadn't said anything, anything at all. He hadn't made fun of her, or tormented her about why or just the fact that she was crying. Maybe that was the reason he had been on her mind constantly over the past few days.
Her thoughts weren't hate-filled, or angry, and sometimes she was annoyed at that. She would've thought her mind had forgotten just who Draco Malfoy was, and that he had been cruel and mean to them ever since they had set a foot in Hogwarts. Also the fact that he hated Muggleborns, which, she knew, he hated her the most. He hated her. It slightly disturbed her, for she hadn't done anything to him. Well, that he didn't deserve, of course. But of course, she would try to push her thoughts about him away, only to see his silver gray eyes, which was forever burned in her mind.
Another thing that annoyed her, was that feeling she got every time she saw them, or felt his gaze on her. It was a deep, warm but at the same time frosty feeling that filled her, that rushed through her veins. First she would get lost in the feeling, and lose sight of everything around her, or let her mind and thoughts go astray. She could almost feel herself lost in a hazy, sweet fog that embraced her. There were countless amounts of times where she had been so close to losing herself enough to look up. But of course, she never did. She would gain her control slowly, as she felt her gaze wander up, and abruptly turn it towards her plate. Then she would close her eyes, and try to compose herself, telling herself that this was Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.
The name that was supposed to trigger anger and hate, annoyance and despise.
But it never came. It never made her angry. He never made her angry. Instead, something else had managed to dominate.. But the thing was, she had no clue as to what it could possibly be.
Or deep inside, she could possibly be scared to understand it, to suddenly know what she was really feeling for the silver-blonde haired Slytherin.
She shook that thought away, as she suddenly felt something warm on her hand. She looked up, and saw that Harry was smiling at her. She laughed at what he said, and didn't take away her hand from underneath his, although people might see and get the wrong assumption. The last time that possibility had been assumed, she had been on gossip newspapers here in the Wizarding world, and received large amounts of hate mail, threatening her. Sure, she had been offended and angry, for going for more than a mutual friendship with Harry was never on her mind, and never had been. She also remembered that it had also angered Harry, who was cursing under his breath as he had managed to rip out a letter from her hands.
She remembered that that had been the one that said she was going to hunt her down and poison her.
Suddenly, she felt something inside her that made her look up, towards the Slytherin table. She watched him as he got up, and walked from his table. She could've sworn that she could see that his eyes were cold, dark and angry, but he had gone out of the Great Hall by the time she had realized it. Her gaze had lingered on the open doors of the Great Hall, and looked down. Something inside was tugging at the edge of her heart, making her feel sort of guilty, although she had no clue as to why. Something was telling her to go after him, but it was faint and did little to try and convince her to.
And why would she go after him, anyway? Why would she want to?
The answers to those questions she could not find.
Or maybe it was a matter of not wanting to find them.