Disclaimer: I am J. K. Rowling. I own Harry Potter and the whole darned crew. And that's exactly why I'm spending time writing fanfiction when I could just be producing an eighth book to make me even more richer than the darned Queen of England. I do hope you noted my sarcasm.
Chapter Completed: 20 June 2009
Word Count: 1063
Chapter One: Sunburned Penguins & Bunny Pyjamas
She was sprinting towards a hand outstretched towards her, a feeling of urgency clouding her senses. All her focus was on reaching the arm, grabbing the person who made no advancement to her. Her desperation overpowered her frustration in that she only seemed to be inching forwards no matter how fast she ran. But assuredly enough, she slowly closed the gap.
She reached for it nearly diving for it. And as her fingers brushed the fingertips of the hand she began to fall. Scenery bolted by, as if on fast forward.
Trees.
Grass.
Pillars.
A stage.
Images flashed through Hermione's mind as she tossed and turned in her sleep, her legs entangled in the beige bedding, several pillows tossed to the floor. She woke suddenly and inhaled deeply, clearing her raging mind. Closing her eyes, she attempted to settle into a comfortable position to return to sleep. Unfortunately, her attempts were thwarted and she sat up, prepared to start the day. Stifling a yawn as she stretched, she glanced at the egg white digital clock sitting on her dresser, blaring the numbers 2:49 at her in neon green numbers, and cursed inwardly both at the ridiculously early hour and her inability to return to sleep.
She swung her legs over the bedside, and padded to the window, drawing aside the heavy silver brocade curtain. She glanced at the full moon and smiled at the clear sky, her disdain over waking so early quickly dissipating. Her desire to open the window to the cool night air compelled her to open said window and as she glanced outwards onto her lawn her disdain returned full blast, accompanied with shock and confusion.
There, on her front lawn, was Draco Malfoy, son of Death Eater extraordinaire, looking quite dead if the blood and seemingly comatose state were anything to go by.
A sharp breath of air and she was gone, rushing out her house, towards the deathly pale blond taking a nap on her lawn.
Hermione glanced at the ashen form atop her formerly white sofa. Having perceived the fact that he was in a critical condition, she had already sent for Dumbledore a few minutes previous. Twenty minutes ago, the blonde ferret had been on her lawn. Those twenty minutes felt like twenty seconds and twenty hours at the same time. Well, that didn't really seem coherent or logical. But having an arch rival from school—whose father tried to kill your friends and you a few months previous—show up on your lawn half dead didn't make much sense either.
To be honest, the resident Gryffindor queen thought she handled the situation rather well. After pocketing his wand, she had scanned his body for injuries with her wand, the tip emitting an orange glow and a gentle hum when hovering above damaged spots. Considerably disastrous, it was awash in orange for a great majority of the examination and hummed so much you would've thought her wand was composing a song.
Realizing the unlikelihood of him awaking any time soon, she had opted not to petrify him as it might have caused further injury. She levitated him through the doorway of her house and up to her room where he now lay on her sofa.
Acknowledging the reality that she could do nothing but wait for Dumbledore's aid, she took the opportunity to examine him. He wore black trousers, a black shirt, and a black cloak—all of which were tattered and addled with mud. It was ill-timed humour, but she snorted at his outfit's resemblance to Snape's wardrobe. It was highly doubtful that the loathsome potions professor stocked anything else in his closet. His choice of clothing was, lamentably, not the extent of their similarities. The prejudiced blonde sported a broken nose to rival Severus' complimented by the caked blood along the crown of his head. Gashes and bruises littered all of his visible skin, not a square inch being smooth and untainted. His breathing was shallow and laboured. His hair lay in a disheveled mess that vied with Harry's own with a stringy quality similar to Filch's. Conclusively, Hermione Granger realized one thing: Draco Malfoy looked quite a mess.
Her strange and bizarre sense of humour decided to reappear as she recalled an old riddle. What's black and white and red all over? There were the usual answers: a zebra painted red, a newspaper, a sunburned penguin, and so on and so forth. But if at the moment someone were to ask her that question, she'd only have one reply. Draco Malfoy. She chortled at the bad joke and simultaneously scolded herself for being so lax about the obviously pained boy.
A few minutes later, she heard the familiar sound of the floo and watched her headmaster step out, dusting himself off and carrying quite a sense of urgency. He was bedecked in what looked like bunny footsie pyjamas, complete with bunny ears replacing his usual pointed hat. It was a stark contrast to the serious expression upon his face. Hermione's eye twitched.
Not bothering with immediate pleasantries, he strode to Draco and began healing him, that ever present damned twinkle had vanished for the time being. Sparks flew from his wand and the lacerations began to heal, as if being knit together by an unseen force. Suddenly, she was startled when she heard a loud crack, most likely his rib being set in place.
As Dumbledore continued healing him, questions and scenarios developed within her mind. What had happened to the reigning pureblood supremacist of Slytherin? Why had he been on her lawn? Where were his parents? Who had done such a vicious act?
His appearance spoke miles about the cruelty that was bestowed upon and him. And Hermione cringed knowing the extent of his internal system was, presumably, in a much worse state. Magical attacks often targeted more serious places after all, more efficient that way.
His never-ending taunting of her heritage throughout the years had caused her to develop a strong dislike for the snarky teen, but she couldn't help but pity the horrendous plight he obviously had gone through—not even being the complete foul-mouthed bigoted person he was. But, although she felt pity, a thick blanket of curiosity had settled around her and nestled her questions. He was an enigma. She loved challenges.
And assuredly enough, Draco Malfoy was currently quite the puzzle.
A/N: Well, my first fanfiction! Well, kind of my first....I tried once a few years back and failed spectacularly. So here I am again, hoping to write a decent fanfic worthy of your reading pleasure. Although it may be displeasure for others. I know this first chapter is extremely short, but I'm testing the waters first. You know? Feeling how my writing comes across and whatnot. Don't worry though, I plan to gradually increase chapter length till I can pop 'em out at least 2500 words at a time. Please point out any grammar errors I've committed(I'm positive I probably have, just can't locate them) and I'll be sure to correct them. I completely enjoy constructive criticism more than anything, it'll help me make this a better story for you! So till next time. c;