Okay, i'm going to write a prequel for this, but here's the basic story so you understand properly: Crookshanks attacked Draco, he wanted revenge and broke into Gryffindor tower and the girls dorm. Hid Hermione's wand, stunned crookshanks but not before crookshanks had attacked him. Draco screamed and Hermione woke, saw Draco hightailing it and chased him. Are we good?

Enjoy!

"I'm evil?!" I stared at her in stunned disbelief, the fact that she actually believed her ludicrous statement filtering gradually through my mind. "You think I'm evil," I repeated blankly, frozen into place. Her despicable (now stunned) pug-faced cat dangled limply in my hand, over the empty toilet bowl. My other hand held a wand, pointed loosely at the crying, pleading girl before me.

And while I must admit that sneaking into the girl's dorm room, stunning and stealing a domesticated animal, and attempting to flush it down a toilet was … slightly cruel …

No – it wasn't. My plan was ingenious and cunning, not cruel. And certainly not evil! The world was well rid of this beastly creature, especially since it was prone to attacking innocent bystanders! Yes, I definitely wasn't evil.

My father must be so disappointed.

"Granger," I sighed, lowering my wand, "I cannot kill your cat …"

"Thank heavens!" she gasped fervently, reaching out

I raised my wand sharply, and she froze. "I cannot kill your cat …" I repeated slowly, "while you believe that I am wickedness itself! Though it may be hard for you to comprehend the eternal truth in this statement … I am not evil."

"But you are!" she cried desperately. "You stole and molested my cat – "

"Molested!"

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy! Yes, you molested my cat – incompetently, might I add, since I woke up when you screamed – "

"I didn't scream!" I protested. Of course I didn't, Malfoys never screamed. We were Herculean, almost, in our dignity, strength and endurance. "And if I did," I added grudgingly when she scoffed derisively, "It was because this beastly creature," I waved her cat around, "practically gouged my eye out! I have the most magnificently unique silver eyes, and – "

"Malfoy!" she shrieked. I jumped back, tripping and almost falling into the toilet bowl. That would have ended my reputation quite like nothing else. "Will you shut up and let me explain why you are evil!"

"If you must," I muttered, wincing. Granger sure had a pair of lungs on her.

She backed down, cheeks blazing red and her hair exploding out of its bun. Trust Granger to look perfectly indecent at all hours of the day and night.

"First," she began primly, "you support and actively encourage prejudice against muggle-born citizens of the wizarding community." I rolled my eyes.

"You support and actively encourage prejudice against Slytherins and dark wizards," I countered. Her eyes bulged comically.

"Yes, well," she blustered, hands fluttering uselessly around her head "everybody hates dark wizards and Slytherins! I mean … they're … "

"Evil?" I finished dryly, and she blushed.

"Well, yes …"

"Mudbloods," I said grandly, "are all imbeciles."

Granger shrieked as loud as her demon cat, doubling over in … laughter? I frowned. This was definitely not the reaction I had been expecting.

"That's … rich, Malfoy," she gasped, tears running down her already tear-stained face. "Considering that I … surpass you … in every exam!" She collapsed onto the floor, beating the grimy tiles with her fists and shaking her head helplessly.

"Well aren't you just tickled pink," I sneered, and a renewed bout of giggles swept over her. I slammed down the lid and sat on the toilet bowl, waiting sullenly for Granger to finish and gingerly placing her mutated cat on my lap. I received no respect at all these days, even from my inferiors. No doubt due to The-Boy-Who-Won't-Die, spreading ridiculous ideas of equality for House Elves and Mudbloods. Next thing you know he'd be claiming Voldemort had been resurrected … much like that foolish muggle belief.

Granger finally staggered to her feet, scrubbing tears from her face. I regarded her with as much disdain and condescension as I could muster sitting on a toilet seat in a flooded bathroom on the third floor with a disgusting petrified cat in my arms.

Apparently not much, because Granger's eyes were bulging again, though this time she was smothering laughter.

"What were we talking about?" she asked faintly

"Finally under control, are you?" I spat. She just giggled, peering at me from under her mane of bushy hair. "You were telling me," I declared loftily, "Why you consider me to be – and I quote – 'evil'"

Her eyebrows rose, and her voice once more took on a didactic tone. "Of course, apart from your inherent genetic evil – "

"Excuse me?"

"Don't try and deny it Malfoy – "

"No, Granger," I heaved a long-suffering sigh, "what does 'genetic' mean? I don't trouble myself with trivial muggle terminology."

She just stared at me with incomprehension, and then shook her head impatiently.

"Never mind, Malfoy," she snapped. "Just listen. Apart from the genetic evil, the House evil – since you are, undoubtedly, the most evil person in a House dedicated to evil – "

She cut off my protests, pointing to the cat. "I convince you of your own malevolence, you give me Crookshanks. Right?"

I nodded, doubtfully.

"Okay – evil Slytherin. You look like a Vampire, also, and are a deceitful, sly, conniving, stupid – "

"What?" I exclaimed, jumping to my feet. Granger gave a screech as her cat tumbled onto the flooded tiles, scooping the sodden bundle into her arms.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," she said without looking up at me, devoting full attention to her familiar, "but you are stupid, and I can explain why easily – "

"No, no, no," I huffed, beginning to pace the room. "I look like a Vampire? Why? How?"

Granger stared at me, eyes wide. "You mean … you don't know?"

"Know what!" I cried, frustrated. The mudblood had important information and she chose this moment – of all the moments! – to suppress her know-it-all-ness!

"You have extremely pale skin," she said simply, "and a very bony kind of face …"

"I do not have a bony face!" I snapped. "My face is … well-defined."

She smirked, and dragged me to a mirror, wiping it clean with her sleeve. I stared back at my reflection, unsure.

"Smile," Granger instructed

I complied, imagining how Father would feel if I beat Potter at Quidditch for once. My cheeks twitched upwards, my lips parted and curved …

"Aaaargh!"

I jumped back from the mirror, heart pounding. A dim memory was emerging from the recesses of my childhood …

"Smile for the camera, Draco!" My mother crooned, handing me a stuffed teddy bear. I was sitting on my Father's lap, unable to see his face, but I could still hear the coldness of his voice when he said: "Don't be a fool, Narcissa … Malfoys don't smile. We smirk." Mother shook her head, retreating out of the photo. 'Smile', she mouthed at me, making my Father snort. The photographer disappeared behind a black curtain.

"Cheese!" he cried

I smiled.

"Oh!" Mother cried, hands over her face. The photographer sagged at the knees, barely managing to remain vertical in his horror. My face crumpled; I began to sniffle. I didn't cry, obviously. Malfoys never cried.

"What?" Father asked frantically. "What happened?"

A solitary paper fluttered to the ground, out of a slot in the camera. Father leaned down slowly to pick it up, regarding the picture silently for a long time.

"Well, son," he said at last, turning me to face him, "Looks like you've got the infamous Malfoy Smile!"

He chuckled, absolutely delighted, while mother sobbed beside the ashen photographer.

"I look like a Vampire when I smile…" I moaned.

Granger smirked, patting me on the head. "Yeah," she said bemusedly, "you really do, Malfoy."

I crumpled, placing my head between my knees and taking deep breaths. My wand clattered to the floor beside me, and in my shock I didn't even register that Granger had picked it up.

"Evervate," she said, and like a scene from a bad horror movie the Thing blinked its eyes slowly, wobbling to its feet like a newborn giraffe. I hissed at it, and Granger slapped the back of my head. Crookshanks merely scratched me once, creating three parallel bloody lines on my cheek, before sauntering away with its tail held high.

Granger sat down beside me, not quite touching.

"It's your teeth," she said finally. "My parents' are dentists – trust me, I know teeth."

"What?" I stared at her with hollow eyes, my ego utterly destroyed in one fell swoop.

"Your canine teeth – they're overlong. Like Vampire fangs?" she elaborated helpfully. I continued to stare at her blankly. She sighed turning away – but I grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face me again. We were eye to eye, our noses touching.

"Hermione," I breathed out softly

"Draco?" she asked gently, her breath fanning across my face. I couldn't take my eyes away from her mouth …

"Your teeth are small!" I exclaimed, utterly delighted. Her once gigantic buck teeth had shrunk down to a quaint, petit, perfectly normal size. Granger withdrew, wrinkling her nose.

"Morning breath, Malfoy," she gagged.

I was so euphoric – there was hope for small teeth after all! – that the insult didn't register.

"Please tell me how you did it," I pleaded. "I'll do anything to get rid of this accursed smile. Anything!"

Granger's eyes lit up, and she smirked at me smugly. "Anything, Malfoy?"

"Yes," I snapped, "Didn't you hear me Granger? Let me slow it down for you … a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g."

She scowled, surging to her feet and glaring down at me. I cursed myself silently: if Hermione refused to tell me I had no choice but to steal her diary – another foray into the Gryffindor dorms.

"Granger –" I began insincerely. Perhaps, if she had listened to me, I might have apologised. Then again … maybe not. I was a Malfoy after all, and we show no remorse – especially not to mudbloods.

"Save it, Malfoy," she growled, whirling around and stalking away. She paused at the door, staring at me for a second longer, before the hate solidified on her face and she stormed off.

I groaned, sprawling onto the ground in abject defeat, lying dazedly in a puddle of what I desperately hoped was water. It was then, alone, deserted, lying on a disgusting floor staring at the stained ceiling in a derelict girl's bathroom, that just for a second … I thought

that maybe …

I shouldn't blindly accept my father's ideals.

That maybe Hermione wasn't a mudblood, but an unfortunate muggle-born who deserved my pity instead of my scorn.

That maybe Potter was doing the right thing …

"OW!" I bellowed … weakly, because Granger had just reappeared from nowhere and dropped a stack of heavy books onto my stomach, and all the breath had been heaved out of my lungs. Black spots danced in front of my eyes as I gasped desperately for breath.

"Oh, sorry," Granger said carelessly, kicking the thick volumes onto the ground by my head. I craned my head to read the nearest blurry title, ignoring the feeling of my lungs spasming desperately for oxygen.

Your teeth and you! A guide to perfect pearly whites, By Gilderoy Lockhart

I swivelled my eyes to Granger, who was regarding me silently. "Lockhart?" I asked faintly. "I'm having an emotional crisis and you … you bring me Lockhart?"

"Take it or leave it, Malfoy … I mean, Dracula," she smirked.

I winced. As far as I was concerned, that was just below the belt. "You interrupted my epiphany," I argued weakly, struggling to my elbows and groping the floor blindly for my wand, "now I'll never regain that wisdom."

"It can't have been that important," Granger said simply, picking up my wand from the ground and chucking it at my face … my face which made me look like a Vampire.

I was, quite literally, heartbroken.

I plucked at the tomes, dragging them into my lap and growing more astonished with each one. Half of these books must be extremely rare! The pages were amazingly white and shiny, the print legible and regular.

The Cranial Skeletal System

The Oxford Succinct Medical Dissertation on Teeth

The Toothfairy meets Mr. Candyman

Pearls of Wisdom

Dental Hygiene: The Do's and Don'ts

Vampirism through the Ages

Dracula, By Bram Stoker

"Thanks," I muttered, surprised. But when I looked up, she'd already gone. A small scrap of parchment was tucked into the pristine pages of 'Dental Hygiene: The Do's and Don'ts'. I pulled it out curiously – an old bookmark? My name was scrawled hastily onto the front, in Granger's unmistakably small, concise calligraphy. A note, then – for me. I smirked. It was probably a confession of her fanatical desire for me … even though I resembled an evil blood sucking scourge of the human race. I flicked the crisp parchment open …

Malfoy,

By the time you have finished examining the books and found this letter, your Eagle Owl, 'Lancelot' (who was a muggle, by the way – read "Arthurian Legends and the Wizarding World, by Iulia Featherwing"), will be in my clutches. I am going to feed him to the Giant Squid.

Yours truly,

Hermione Jean Granger

The books scattered onto the ground as I scrambled frantically to my feet, hurtling to the owlery. I shoved my way roughly through throngs of sleepy students just heading for Breakfast, my heart straining painfully in my chest and vague half-formed hopes fluttering in my thoughts.

Maybe she was bluffing …

I might reach them in time …

The squid could be allergic to feathers …

My legs pounded up the stairs, burning with exertion. I skidded to a stop on the landing, chest heaving raggedly. Dozens, maybe even hundreds, of softly hooting owls surrounded me, their unpleasant animal aroma stifling.

None of them, though, bore Lancelot's stunning gold plumage. My blood froze in my veins, and my flesh began to go numb as I staggered woodenly to the window. A small, effeminate figure was huddled on the shore, clutching a bundle in its arms. Almost as if she sensed my gaze, Hermione turned back to face the castle, her hair whipping around her face. I caught my breath; I could just distinguish the faintest smudge of gold from the pile she was carrying, before she turned away again and began to wade into the water.

Thoughtlessly, I whirled around and sprinted down the stairs, winding my way agonisingly slowly to the ground floor. I shot into the crowds of students, desperately wiggling my way to the doors, and suddenly smacking straight into the hard, engraved wood. The doors were locked.

"Oh, shit," I gasped, clasping my side, where a knife was stabbing into my organs. I could feel tears prick my eyes, and the inquisitive gazes of Hogwarts' student population, but foremost in my mind was Hermione's slim figure plunging purposefully into the lake. I didn't care if the mudblood drowned, but Lancelot?

Impossible.

It couldn't happen.

I didn't want it to happen, and Malfoys always get what they want.

Without stopping to consider my decision, I hurtled into the Great Hall, sprinting straight through the aisles between the House tables. At the end of the track, there was a small, translucent square of bright glass.

Hogwarts could do without it.

To the music of a thousand screams and gasps, I wrapped myself into a tight ball and launched myself through the window, landing heavily on the dewy grass outside.

For a second I simply lay winded, surrounded by tiny glinting faux-diamonds, nausea crawling up my throat. My left arm burned where a ragged piece of glass had sliced it from wrist to elbow, and I could feel blood trickling down my back.

Do I really want to go through such agony for an owl, of all things?

Yes.

I rolled painfully to my feet, ignoring the distant figure of Snape billowing towards me, followed by Madam Pomfrey's portly silhouette and a horde of swarming students. I shuffled desperately towards the lake, holding my arm and finally collapsing on the shore. Scanning the area, I couldn't see either of them, murderer or victim.

Tears threatened to spill over onto my cheeks, blurring my vision. I slumped onto the rough, tangy sand, hating that vile, filthy mudblood with every fibre of my being.

And she had the gall to call me evil!

Distantly, I heard someone calling my name. They sounded concerned, even pitying. I narrowed my eyes, dragging myself upwards with sheer willpower. My hair was a tangled mess, hanging limply over my eyes, there was sand and mud imprinted onto my face and my robes were bloody and torn. Nonetheless, I fixed a ferocious glare onto my face and turned to face the intruder.

No one pities a Malfoy.

"Draco?"

I fixed a sneer onto my face, hastily blinking tears out of my eyes. The hazy silhouette resolved into a person. A person with gorgeous teeth and disgusting hair. Granger, of course – who else would have the indecency to interrupt my grieving?

Granger and –

Holy Shit.

Lancelot hooted softly at me, ruffling his feathers proudly before swooping onto my shoulder and nipping at my ear. I stared at Hermione in utter disbelief, certain that she was a hallucination, borne of wishful thinking.

"I couldn't do it," she whispered, nibbling on her bottom lip. "I couldn't hurt your owl, Malfoy."

And all at once, illogically, unbelievably, I was awash with a feeling of amazing gratitude that Gryffindors were so stupid, and that this Gryffindor was so –

So –

Beautiful. Only on the inside, mind you, but it was good enough for the moment.

Without knowing quite what I was doing, I enveloped Hermione in my arms, swinging her around so enthusiastically her feet left the ground and her thin arms wrapped around my neck. And when I put her down, I kissed her.

Properly.

And she kissed me back, because when Draco Malfoy's kissing you it's just impossible not to. Dazedly, we broke apart, arms still wrapped around each other, to the thunderous sound of applause.

Slowly, dreading confirmation of my worst fears, I turned to face the noise. The entirety of the Hogwarts inhabitants was clustered on the edge of the lake, wolf whistling and hissing, cheering and shrieking. Professor McGonagall was teetering on the edge of the crowd, looking thunderous, her mouth a grim slash in the tight planes of her face. Snape was huddled in his cloak, looking not enraged as I'd expected, but nostalgic. His gaze lingered on an old, stunted tree on an opposing shore of the lake, seemingly lost in memories. Madame Pomfrey bustled forwards, face pink with delight. She wrapped a thick blanket around Hermione, who I now noticed was soaked almost to the waist and blushing almost as red as Weasley. As Madame Pomfrey hurried us to the Hospital Wing and Lancelot crooned softly to himself from my shoulder, I scanned the crowd for that ghastly cat. This was his fault entirely.

I guess I owed him a favour.

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