What Will Never Be
Dedicated to Nadia Hussein
The sky was puking cold rain in Hogsmeade, spitting steely drops onto the roofs of the taverns, flickering the lanterns filled with warm fire outside. All of the visiting Hogwarts students were sitting inside the pubs or shops, huddled together to escape the cold air from every crack in the room. Hermione Granger had her hands around her Butterbeer mug, her nose red and her head warm, the soothing drink slipping down her throat and hugging her, placing a shawl in her against the bitter air. She was sitting alongside Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, staring outside the window and watching the rain drops slide down the panel. It was supposed to be a Spring day with the sun out and the grass green-instead, it was gray and damp. Professor McGonagall expected four scrolls of parchment on the transfiguration cycle under the full moon by tomorrow, and Hermione had yet to revise her draft the third time. On top of that, Harry's scar had been hurting again. Hermione sighed and looked away from the window and past the top of Ron's ginger head. Madam Rosemerta was serving butterbeer to a couple of first years from Hufflepuff at the bar, where a little distance away was a group of people Hermione would have loved to toss into the rain. Draco Malfoy and his cronies were sitting in the corner of the pub, talking about something along the lines of pure blood status. Hermione glanced over at Harry, to see if he spotted them. Though Draco was a piece of trash and a good-for-nothing, the rivalry between Harry and him was a bit tiring at times. She sighed once again, thinking of a world where Draco Malfoy neither knew her nor bullied her.
Draco looked out the window and into the empty streets of Hogsmeade. He told Crabbe and Goyle that he would rather be a Mudblood than step inside this lowly dump. But Goldsmith's pub was closed for the day and this was the only place that could sit the three of them. He thought Pansy Parkinson would follow his heels when he left the candy shop, but to his surprise she didn't. Malfoy knit his eyebrows, thinking why. What was wrong with that twat? Though Crabbe and Goyle were stupid enough to do whatever he told them to do, the were idle in conversation and stalled in the head. They were dull company and often, it became lonely. Malfoy glanced over the room and immediately he spotted Granger. His eyes lingered on her bushy brown hair and her soft brown eyes. He glanced down her slim body and stopped at her hands, wrapped around the mug she was holding. A smile crept onto his face as he watched her, nothing but her in his eyes. Without thinking, he got up, and distantly he could hear the shuffles of chairs being pushed back as Crabbe and Goyle followed him.
Closer...he was getting close to Granger, to Hermione. Her head tilted upward, her eyes lingering on his for a moment, but it felt like a lifetime. Her lips were rosy and her nose was red. They were parted halfway, her two big front teeth showing from underneath. He didn't mind whatever Potter or Weasle-bottom said. He just wanted Hermione.
"Isn't it about time you went to a concentration camp?"
"Fuck off, Malfoy."
The End.