Summary: Post HBP. Ron walks in on Hermione and gets a shock. DMHG.
Prologue
An owl pecking vigorously on the window of Hermione's temporary bedroom at number 12, Grimmauld Place- where she was currently accomodating- caused her to rise from sleep.
Confused, she unclasped the window sill, allowing it to fly in. The unrecognizable beige own landed on her bed, a letter and a package in its beak. Accepting them, Hermione ruffled the bird's owls- which was its cue to leave.
Deciding to open the letter first, Hermione rubbed her drowsy eyes and squinted at the text, which was written in tiny scrawny handwriting.
Dear Hermione,
It's really noble of you to devote your spare time into examining Draco Malfoy's physical appearance in order to catch that faggot (forgive me for my language, but wasn't he partially responsible for Professor Dumbledore's death?) Death Eater red-handed- but then again what more can we expect from one of Harry Potter's best friends? Fortunately, I do happen to have snapshots of him, taken at previous Quidditch matches. I did not intend to take the pictures of him actually, just of others of course, but he' happened' to appear in those photographs anyway- any idiot could tell it was most likely on purpose… always trying to steal Harry's limelight, wasn't he?
I must admit though, I find your request very odd. For one thing, Malfoy's been in your class for the last six years wasn't he? Surely you know him well enough by now. Also, there are plenty of pictures of him displayed on the Hogwarts' Yearbooks, which I know you own copies of, as well as on the Daily Prophet. Wouldn't those have been sufficient enough? But whatever. I'm sure you have your reasons. Hope they come in handy. I really, really, do.
It was wonderful hearing from you. Say 'hi' to Harry for me, and tell him to attend Hogwarts should it reopen (please persuade him?)
Yours sincerely,
Colin Creevy.
Hermione groaned in frustration and embarassment. She recalled last night, in which she had wakened up to find a pillow squashed between legs. She was dreaming something indecent about a certain nemesis!
The night before the previous one, which had also been haunted of dreams of icy gray eyes, white-blonde hair and a tall, thin imposing figure, she had gone downstairs hoping to shake off these thoughts with a night-time stroll.
She had run into Blaise Zabini, one of Draco's former close friends. He, Zabini, had shocked everyone once he'd requested to join the Order. He claimed to be useful, seeing he had connections with Dark Wizards and was a former Slytherin who knew a lot about sons of Death Eaters. Ron and Harry didn't trust him ofcourse, but when Professor McGonagall herself insisted that he sleep at one of the many guestrooms within the Headquaters, Harry had grudgingly agreed, as the Headquaters had a Secret Keeper and were implottable anyway- should Zabini turn out a traitor. No one knew the reason behind McGonagall's strange behaviour, but dismissed the issue hastily as they had more pressing matters to think about: the Horcruxes, the Death Eaters, Voldemore's havoc, the war, Voldemort's victims, strategy, and Voldemort, Voldemort and shockingly, Voldemort.
When Hermione had ran into Zabini that night, an overwhelming desire and a thirst for knowledge on Malfoy caused her to the initiate the following conversation.
Hermione: "Oh! Zabini! I wasn't expecting you here…"
Zabini (absently gazing out of the window into the starry night sky, merely shrugs in indifference, not looking away from the window)
Hermione: "I was just –er- here to quench my thirst with a glass of water. Um, listen, Zabini, I have to ask you something which might strike you probably wouldn't want to answer due to the fact that I'm a Gryffindor and you obviously have prejudiced grudge against us. But… did Malfoy ever, um, do anything peculiar regarding me?"
She was reffering to her sudden obsession. Perhaps he had slipped her a potion of some sort before he'd disappeared during the attack on Hogwarts?
Zabini (turning from the window to peer at her at last): "Why would he, when he was too preoccupied with his Death Eater duties?"
Hermione: "I don't know… is that a no?"
Zabini (turning back to the window, as if he was afraid of missing something significant should he avert his eyes away from it): "Are you aware that you're in your night-gown?"
Hermione (face flushing from humiliation, rushes to the coat hanger and drapes Harry's cloak around her and runs back to Zabini): "I will not leave until you have answers for me!"
Zabini (annoyed): "Well, I wouldn't know, would I now, if he did? Our friendship faltered through half-term over an issue with Parkinson. Not that it's any of your business."
Hermione (slightly disappointed): "Oh."
Zabini: "But in the earlier years, he would mention you a lot."
Hermione (suddenly snapping back to paying rapt attention): "Really?"
Zabini (nods in affirmation): "But it wasn't just you he'd ramble on about. It's also Weasel and Potty. The only reason Draco and I never got too close was partly because I would get bored out of my wits listening to nothing other than his camouflaged jealousy over you three. As in, your friendship and strikes of luck. But in your case, I'm afraid, it wasn't pure jealousy, so don't jump on to your Gryffindor Ego Horse… it was pure contempt at your muggle parentage. As for Harry, it's always been something about the day in First Year when Harry chose Weasel over him- well, you know."
Hermione (ignoring the last few comments): "What else would he say about me?"
Zabini (glares at her in frustration): "Stuff about academics… you do ask a lot of questions. Well, for one thing, he'd gotten into trouble because of you. You see, Draco's smart… very intelligent. Hell he would be if he'd be the first to ever allow the unwanted into Hogwarts in history. But you would beat him in every class, except for Potions, which you were both equally good at. So his father would give him a hard time, especially during the summer holidays, because of that. What's with the sudden interest in him, anyway?"
Hermione reminescences to a conversation with Harry in which he'd recounted an incident where he was hiding in a store, and Malfoy Senior was scolding his son for not achieving grades as good as hers, back in the summer of first-year. She feels a swell of something nice.
Zabini (impatient): "This conversation is clearly over. You'd run off to bed, if you know what's good for you."
Hermione practically skips off to bed whilst emanating merit.
When she'd awoken from that night, she'd been horrified and revolted. What was she thinking? Malfoy had caused her and her friends nothing but grief throughout her school days and her strong dislike for him was as fresh as ever before. And what's more, she couldn't explain her temporary obsession with him. Later on during that day, he was completely driven out of her mind when discussing tactics with Harry- they were planning on heading to Codric's Hollow in a few days to claim a Horcrux.
The previous night, however, the one she'd just awoken from, Hermione had woken up and emptied her trunck.
She'd retrieved the Daily Prophet, and snipped out a photograph of Draco from a detailed recap from an article on the events that had occurred at Hogwarts, as well as an article on the fugitives list. She'd also taken out Hogwart's Yearbooks (comprised from her first year until her fifth- there wasn't one for sixth year because of the disruption).
She'd then snipped a headshot photograph of Draco taken during first year, as well as a group class photo. As for the second year, apart from the individual headshot and class-shot, there'd also been one of him and his Slytherin team-mates. He'd been elected seeker that year. So far, she'd had seven lively images of him. For the third year, there were another three photos similar to those of second year- except these ones showed a much older, attractive Malfoy. Fourth year only included two, but fifth had four: headshot, class, Quiditch, prefect and Inquisitorial Squad.
She felt that they weren't enough though. It's as if he'd been her favourite 'celebrity'! She'd owled anyone she'd known from her time at Hogwarts who'd owned a camera asking if they had any pictures of Draco, she needed them "to make observations, for future referances"!
And then she'd fell right back to sleep after stuffing them in her drawer.
And now here she was… clutching the package that contained his photographs, and she wanted nothing more than to puke all over them. Which jackass apart from Creevey would fall for her lame excuse of wanting those photos? She hesitantly opened them and wrinkled her nose with disgust and utmost dislike as she glanced at each one in turn.
Some were obviously aimed at Harry, but Draco, his rival Seeker, had appeared in them. They were both hovering over the grounds, searching for the Snitch. Others were taken at the Great Hall, and Draco was visible in the background…
She threw them into the drawer with the others carelessly. What is wrong with her? Why did she ask for them! Why did this happen to her two nights in a row? She made a mental note to safely burn them when she went out into the open grounds.
Time rolled on, Hermione was busy discussing the Order's agenda and keeping busy doing other things (as for Zabini, he never acknowledged the strange conversation they'd exchanged) so before she having the opputunity to burn the photos, the clock had already struck one AM.
She woke with a start, and began sobbing into her pillow. Never would she see him again. The school probably wasn't going to reopen. And even if it did, she wouldn't attend. And even if she did, he couldn't- because he was a wanted Death Eater!
Maybe she could have Harry plead his case at the Ministry. He'd refused to kill Professor Dumbledore, after all; he'd lowered his wand! And he was frightened and lonely… and under threat! Surely they could set him free?
She knew that she wasn't thinking straight. Standing up, and opening the drawers, she retrieved the pictures. After Collin's owls, three more replies had arrived that day: one person swore she doesn't have a single picture of "that awful Slytherin", and the two others did.
One person had a photograph of Malfoy posing, in his fourth year. The third sender had five pictures. Four were of Malfoy and Zabini and some even included Crabbe and Goyle, taken during various years. The last one, which she was very fond of, was of a five or four year old Draco with his revolting parents. Hermione, knowing she'd be horrified at these thoughts after sunrise, thought that he couldn't be more adorable and even exceeded limitations by hoping to have a son just like him. He was pink-cheeked and a little chubby, grinning mischievously at the camera.
She sighed dreamily, unable to get enough of him, and plastered each of the pictures all over her walls- magically enlarging some.
She snuggled under her duvet and was just about to contentedly drift off when-
SLAM! Ron had barged, and was now walking in.
"Hermione, honey… I was just- HOLY SHIT!"
He'd obviously caught sight of her walls. Hermione sat bolt upright and squealed in panick.
"Ron! Honestly! What are you doing here late at night in my bedouir? What would others say?"
But Ron wasn't paying attention to that. His face was red with rage.
"What's that git doing up on your walls, Hermione? Are you out of your mind? Makfoy, Hermione? MAKFOY THE FOUL, LOATHSOME, EVIL LITTLE COCKROACH!"
Hermione shook her head. She couldn't explain herself to herself, let alone to anybody else.
"I don't get it, Hermione… I thought we were happy! What's wrong with you?"
Hermione got up from bed, slipping a robe on.
"I am happy with you, in the mornings. It's strange… and there is not one book in this library that would explain my behaviour. You see, these erm, feelings, for Malfoy would foster within me during night time. This is the third time. I snap back to my senses once the daylights shine…"
"Are you under the Imperial Curse?" He asked sharply, looking anywhere but at the walls. His ears were pink with displeasure.
"I honestly don't think so…"
"Recite the ingredients used for the brewing of Polyjuice Potion."
Hermione automatically obliged.
"Ok. Ok." He interjected. "Unfortunately, I'm satisfied. No one but you would know them off by heart. Let's think, are you under a love potion?"
Hermione shook her head.
"These aren't the symptoms for a love potion, Ron. Besides, it only happens at night. And I've even taken the antidote just in case, no use."
"This is obviously some kind of magic…"
"Oh, well done!" Hermione said sarcastically. "I wouldn't have guessed on my own."
"Well then somebody's behind this!" He said, practically yelling.
"Sshh… people are asleep!"
"I don't care! YOU'RE in love with MALFOY!"
This was more than she could stand. She began to cry. Why did these things always have to happen to her? She was a good person, wasn't she? Why Malfoy? She hated those feelings, but they were prevailing against ill-wishes. Ron turned away from her in discomfort.
"I need a broomstick!" She whispered, as if her life depended on it. "I need one now!"
Ron glanced at her suspicously and hesitantly, as if wondering whether or not he should reply to that.
"There's a supply here somewhere. What do you need one for?"
"Where are they?"
"You'll find some spare Cleansweeps down in one of the kitchen cabinets… but you didn't answer me-"
She didn't wait to give him an explanation; she had already disapparated, only to apparate back a few minutes later clutching a broomstick. She looked much happier than she'd been moments ago.
"Where are you going?" He asked, bewildered, and his rage forgotten. Hermione had started mounting on the broom.
"Off to find him! I can't cope any more! I think I know where he might be…"
"Hermione! You're flyingphobic!"
"There's no such word, Ronald." Hermione said exasperatedly as she bolted out of the open window into the cloudy night sky.
Ron, starting to panick, went to fetch Harry.
Meanwhile, Zabini was writing a letter to someone.
'It's working. I can hear it via the extendable ears. The bastard is so gone for. We'll have him in short time, assuming the plan continues to succeed. Nice to know that these things don't only work for Potter then, eh? Btw should I release Narcrissa already? Owl back ASAP.'
Faithfully,
Blaise.
Hope you liked that. There's a plot stirring here. If you feel that I'm not updating fast enough, it's because I'm not satisfied with the number of reviews I'm receiving.