Chapter One: Beginning of the End
Draco Malfoy never, in a million years, had imagined that a small, particularly bony fist crashing in to his face would be the beginning of the end. He should have known, he supposed, because that damn girl had been on his mind in some form from the very moment he laid eyes on her. He had noticed her eyes first, shockingly enough, with the fucking mane that had sat atop her little know it all head. But her EYES. They were like bursts of stars lighting up her face. Brown, yes, but so far from boring. Colors bloomed deep in them, shades of grey and green erupting into the cracks of chocolate. He was lost, for a moment, speechless for the first time in his short life. It had taken a jab from Pansy, his childhood best-friend-slash-bully, and her hissing "Look at the bushy mudblood, Drake," to snap him out of his reverie. His heart sank and he forced his eyes away. That was that, then. Pretty eyes couldn't be worth the rage of Lucius Malfoy.
As a young child and up until he had started swaying from bullying into well out tormenting his fellow students, Draco had loved the notion of space. He had accidentially caught a snippet of conversatin once, as a boy not much out of toddlerhood, about stars and space. Stars, he understood. Draco WAS a star, at lease in name, and he had been obsessed with his constellation the moment his mother had shown it to him. Space, then, appealed to him, if it had to do with stars. He had asked his mother about it and she had brushed him off, glaring over her shoulder as she whisked him down the path to Gringotts. "Muggle rubbish, darling, I assure you. Don't let it rot your head."
Naturally, he had dug and scrouged what information he could and built a basic concept of outer space. He developed a new found fascination with much more of the sky than his own namesake, and hid it from veritably everyone because he knew it would be frowned upon, and possibly even a punishable offense in his father's eyes. His father was one he would rather avoid, if he could.
So the moment he had locked eyes with Hermione Jean Granger and seen those starburst globes, he had been engrossed. Hopelessly captivated, at the tender age of 11. Of course, like any 11 year old boy with a morbidly dysfunctional home, he had panicked and acted out the very instant he found out that she was a Muggle-born. At that time, he used a much different term, and to this very day, regretted it deep in his bones. He had lashed out at her any chance he could, trying to create any distance he could manage. He feared that if he didn't, he would reach out to her. He watched her covertly in every class all of first year. He watched her brow knit together when Snape scolded her for having the correct answer. He watched the fear in her eyes when Hooch announced that the class would be mounting their brooms that day . He watched her face light with delight at every tedious, horrendous story that Professor Binns drawled his way through in History of Magic. He especially loved late night classes atop the Astronomy Tower, when Professor Sinistra would enthrall the class with myths and legends about the stars above them. Hermione, without fail, would scribble away furiously, not wanting to miss a word. Draco compensated for his staring with harsh insults and slurs. He mocked and ridiculed her every chance he could, ripping a divide so deep that he would never be tempted to mend it. His pride would never allow that, surely. He was too proud, raised to believe he was better than, more than, worthier than.
That damnable day, he had gone too far. He had invoked the rage of Hermione, conjured her sense of Gryffindor compassion, a trait he prenteded to scorn but was so deeply jealous of. She had wound up and socked him square in the nose, shattering it. He knew he deserved it, but something else was there too, reaching up quietly in the back of his head, taking root and spreading. That one bash to face had sparked up that hidden affection he had kept such a lid on and suddenly, the wall was gone. Instead, there was awe, and respect and fascination. He was astounded to find how deeply her courage affected him. It made him begin to ask questions at home, and of course recieved his own onus for it. Father didn't appreciate Draco questioning the strange and dreary figures sweeping through the Manor late into the night, or the rumblings that carnage was to come.
Draco learned quickly to keep his head down and do as he was told... until he mastered Disillusionment charms at the age of 14 (a secret he kept to himself, of course) and was able to listen in on the meetings his father conducted. Death Eaters, mudbloods, a rise to power... Never an outright name, but Draco was no fool. For the first time, he choked down his pride and went to the most courageous person he could think of- Hermione. He had snuck into the library one night, hopeful to find her out past curfew. By the sheer luck of Merlin, she had been there. Her hair, still wild, was now sleeker, with her wand stabbed through the bun tied to the back of her head as if it could tame it. Her robes were shed and tossed carelessly into a puddle in a chair nearby and the sleeves of her blouse were shoved up her arms. Ink smudged her fingers and wrists, and Draco could feel his pulse thud through his veins, positive that even though she could not see him through his Disillusionment Charm she could hear the thundering from his chest. He knew that once he took this step, there was no going back. No turning around, no longer putting his self preservation first as was the Slytherin way. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and noticing the faint scent of lilac in the air. Of course she smelled like lilac, like his mother but so much less obtrusive to the senses. It was sweet and soothing. He flicked his wand and sent the Disillusionment scattering, and in the same sweep, casting a bubble of silence around their small corner of the Restricted Section. He had also disposed of Mrs. Norris for the evening, locking her in a broom cupboard with a handful of mice. He couldn't be interrupted tonight, this was too monumental.
"Hermione," he murmured, holding his wand up in his hands, a sign of surrender.
Hermione, as he had predicted, jumped about forty-seven feet into the air, shrieking like a banshee. Draco winced, the noise rattling his brain. He hadn't slept in days, agonizing over his conscience, agonizing over making a decision that would literally change the course of his entire life.
Summoning her wand back into her hand, Hermione whipped it, pointing it dead on Draco's nose. He shuddered, remembering the last time she targeted that particular appendage. Madame Pomfrey hadn't been able to completely correct the minor bump her wrath had left. He had learned to love it, like all of his other scars. It was a badge of honor, almost. A reminder of a turning point.
"Granger, please, hear me out, okay? Take my wand, here," he supplicated, pointing the handle in her direction in good faith, other hand still raised in the air.
Ever the Gryffindor, she had cocked her head, shook herself a little, and reached for the wand. Draco handed it over without complaint. She gave him a small smirk, sitting cross legged on a ledge, a banner over her head reading simply "DOOM" to mark the section. What she could possibly be looking for in the Doom portion of the Restricted Section, he really didn't want to know. Both of their wands rested on her knee, and she looked at him, looking part weary and part intrigued. This was a once in a life time opportunity, after all, to get inside the head of Draco Malfoy, he thought mirthfully.
"Well... Let's hear it, Malfoy."
And hear it she did. Well, the pertinent parts. He told her all about his father's gatherings, and named all of the gross assortments of their company he could manage. He told her his fears about He Who Must Not Be Named ("Honestly, Draco, it's just a name!"), and his concerns for his mother, who, while not entirely innocent, was still not invested in anything like her fearsome husband was. He poured over his regret for being a damnable twat to her for so long, and admitted that he had been trying to keep his distance for reasons he couldn't even begin to explain. She had taken that well, not prodding into his secrets or demanding more answers than he was willing to share with her. That was new to him. It was so typical of the people in his life to leech any information that could come to their benefit. He talked and talked and talked until he had nothing left to say.
Occasionally, Hermione interrupted with questions, like about his surety of the names he gave, or about his technique with his Disillusionment charms. But the next thing he knew, the moon was begining to disappear and the early colors of dawn could be seen across the lawn of Hogwarts. He was shocked and turned to apologize for keeping Hermione up literally all night and was startled to see that she had moved incredibly closer. She had given his wand back ages ago, but now, she slipped it out of his hand and set it on the ledge. She was so close, he could see those spatters of color in her eyes, could still smell the lilac from her shampoo. She grinned and he suddenly saw the Gryffindor Lioness people whispered about. Instead of fear, however, he felt a rush, an explosion of feeling he couldn't describe. Nothing short of torture frightened him anymore, but he had the feeling she wasn't actually scary. She was just so intense, it made people uncomfortable. Her intensity made her smile, and that scared people too. What they mistook for insanity, Draco took for wonder. Amazement. A revel and yearning to devour all she could of this magical world she felt blessed with. An adament pursuit of justice, and a heroic need to protect those around her with a ferocity that rattled those who meant them harm.
Her lips curled up and the sun streamed in through the window behind her, casting her in a glow. Draco's heart stopped and his eyes grew wide when she whispered, "So, Draco, answer me this... Why?"
The normally cool, stoic Draco lost all his sense of self. His body moved of his own accord, his hands flying up to catch her cheeks, wanting to memorize that look of surprise and the slow heat of her cheeks. He took his moment, and then crashed into her lips, his long fingers tangling into the bun of her hair. A startled gasp left her lips, and Draco braced himself for her to shove him away, to strike out, to scream.
He quite literally flinched when her fingertips brushed the collar of his Oxford and settled against the jut of his collar bone. This was... not a touch that he was used to. He caressed her lower lip and lost himself in a sensation that brokered no pain, no resentment. He was aghast at how gentle she could be, after all of the abuse she had suffered from him.
They both jumped this time, when feet could be heard thundering down the halls, giggling at the disheveled look of themselves. Draco couldn't ever remember giggling before, and almost guffawed when Hermione said "I guess that answers that," and nearly fell over laughing at herself.
That night, Draco had seen a side of Hermione he had never observed before. That night changed everything, without a shadow of a doubt. Hermione had done something no one else had accomplished before- she showed Draco compassion and a sense of worth, and in doing so, had won his loyalty, which had only been previously awarded to himself and his mother.
Had he known, of course, that that loyalty would lead to him disposing of a body for none other than Hermione fucking Granger... well, to be perfectly honest, he probably wouldn't change a god damn thing.
A/N: Hi, putting this at the end because there's kind of a spoiler! Don't worry, it won't happen again. This is my FIRST FIC, and I am sooooo excited. Please, be gentle. I want to go ahead and say right off the bat that this story begins kind of at the end. The next chapter will be from the beginning of the relationship and work its way back around the dead body, more like a prequel xD I promise to try and make this transition as smooth as possible, and appreciate your patience and hope you're enjoying my work!
Thank you for reading! 3