Chapter One
Freak of Nature
Ew. Just plain ew. Textbooks were so…wrong. Why would anyone in their right mind voluntarily open one of those god-forsaken, soul-sucking demon incarnations? Well, they wouldn't. Only the clinically insane would actually do so without a gun to their head or a withering stare from Professor McGonagall. And that's what prompted the conclusion that this girl was clinically insane and needed immediate medical attention. There she was, contentedly flicking through the evil pages of Astronomy, Edition Two with not a gun-wielding psychopath in sight.
Draco stared for a long time at this curious creature. Was she safe to approach? Was she human? Would she lash out in a fit of madness and bite him if he got too close? Despite the immensely high likelihood of such a scenario, Draco had no choice but to risk it for she occupied the only library table with a spare seat. And Draco Malfoy was far too dignified to sit on the floor. He inched forward with great caution while the strange being before him lingered within the malevolent depths of one particular chapter.
"Um," he began, vying with the demon book for her attention. She tore her eyes from page one million, six thousand and twenty-four (Draco approximated) and looked up.
"Yes?" she prompted, not unfriendly but not overly interested.
Her nonchalance flattened his ego like a steam-roller. Draco Malfoy was only the sexiest, wittiest, most intelligent male specimen to ever grace this unworthy planet with his presence. And nonchalance was not a reaction that he was accustomed to. Or ever wanted to be accustomed to. Swooning, giggling, blushing, phone number-offering, flirting…these were appropriate reactions to his godlike face.
An eyebrow raised on the girl's forehead as she patiently waited for a response. He quickly fumbled for his intellect and continued, albeit a little bemused, "All the tables are taken; may I share yours?"
"Sure," she answered, sweeping her army of monster books to one side of the desk, making room.
"Thank you." Draco sat tentatively across from this nonchalant, textbook-loving freak of nature. She didn't bite. Draco breathed an internal sigh of relief that his gorgeous face remained intact. One rabid assault from a dangerous textbook-lover could very well compromise his majesty. He made sure to not allow his own stack of belongings to fraternise with the her monstrosities, most of which displayed terrifying words like 'theoretical' and 'analysis' and 'advanced' on the covers. Ew. Just plain ew. Draco practically gagged when he saw one in particular read 'Molecular Cell Biology'.
Draco Malfoy did actually have a purpose for braving this table. He had some very important research to do, non-inclusive of this inexplicable girl and her absurd affinity for textbooks. Whipping out his oh-so-fancy MacBook Air, Draco prepared himself for the tedious task of scouring the internet. He had only four hours before the scheduled rendezvous and needed every shred of useful information he could gather. He opened Google's home page, today displaying a bunch of oddly arranged pea pods in commemoration of Gregor Mendel's 189th birthday. Why one would name their child 'Gregor' instead 'Gregory', Draco could not fathom.
'Lucius Malfoy,' he typed into the search engine. Immediately, a page of results sprang up on his screen, the first alongside a handsome picture of a very familiar face. Draco sighed. Such an awkward task this was to undertake; an investigation of his own father. Where to start? Draco's brain was still a little bewildered by the events which lead to this inquiry, his neurons firing on fewer than all six cylinders. Where, oh where to start? He clicked upon the first link.
The Ministry of Magic recently appointed the highly accomplished Lucius Malfoy as Head of Department of Mysteries. Mr Malfoy is already in the process of reforming the department's prophecy filing system before undergoing a major department project, the subject of which remains a mystery to the wizarding public.
I already know all that, you stupid, irrelevant, good-for-nothing search engine from Hell. Okay, so perhaps darling Draco was feeling a little melodramatic, but the point still stood that the article sunk its greedy claws into his dwindling time but yielded no useful information.
Second link.
Lucius Malfoy, widely known as among You-Know-Who's most loyal Death Eaters, recently claimed to have been under a long-term Imperius curse. Mr Malfoy's formal statement reveals that his involvement with You-Know-Who was strictly out of his control and had he not been cursed, he would have contribute whole-heartedly to the war against him. Upon You-Know-Who's demise, Mr Malfoy was among the first to rejoin our side.
Draco scoffed. As if. But more importantly, Where in the blazing Hell is all the dirt on my stupid git of a father? Three hours and forty-six minutes remained and an entire world wide web to sift through. Oh goody.
Draco glanced at the bookish girl over the screen of his laptop. Wait one freaking minute.
"Hermione Granger?" he gasped, his tone a cocktail of horror, confusion, incredulity and then finally, awe. For his entire schooling life, he'd known Hermione as the insufferable, know-it-all Potter-crony with freakishly untamed hair and unfortunately bucked teeth. But, but…here sat a girl with a cascade of smooth, chocolate-brown hair, plaited stylishly to the side. Here sat a girl with piercing, caramel-brown eyes and a crème de la crème complexion. Here sat a girl who was actually kind of…hot. Was this really Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor girl from Hell? The resemblance was definitely there, hiding behind the dramatic improvement. The textbook alliance suddenly made sense. No one in their right mind would voluntarily open one of those god-forsaken, soul-sucking demon incarnations…unless they're name was Hermione Granger. But then he supposed she probably wasn't in her right mind.
"Hello Draco," she responded coolly, ever within the depths of literary Hell. Nope, definitely was not in her right mind.
Draco Malfoy sat speechless; an uncharacteristic condition for a self-confessed chatterbox. How in the name of Honeydukes Sweet Shop had Hermione made such a spectacular transformation?
"What in Merlin's name happened to your face?" The words escaped before he could stop himself.
"Excuse me?" Hermione answered, finally meeting his gaze with a look of indignation and bemusement.
"You look so…different," Draco corrected, "good different, I mean."
"Um, thanks," she responded awkwardly. "Long time, no see, I guess." She returned to the fascinations within Astronomy, Edition Two.
Draco sighed. Appearances were deceptive for she was still the same Granger, excruciatingly erudite and conscientious. At least his ego hurt a little less now. He settled in the knowledge that any normal girl would fully recognize his splendour.
Holy mother of Dumbledore! Draco's little Granger-digression had stolen from him a good ten minutes. Forcing his attention back to the arduous project, Draco tried in vain to ignore the uneasiness bubbling inside of him. No matter how hard he focused upon the words on the screen, the ticking of his wristwatch thundered its metronomic beat through his mind, sadistically counting down the seconds until four o'clock.
Twelve thirty-five. There's not enough time! How in Jesus' name was Draco supposed to comply with his assailant's preposterous request? Had the stupid man even considered Draco's inability to research, study or partake in any other scholastic activity? For God's sake, he wasn't Hermione Granger.
Draco's fingers stopped dead in mid-type above his keyboard. Sitting across from him was a human encyclopaedia; a girl with a brain bigger than the internet and a thirst for stupid assignments such as this one. An eager grin spread across his gorgeous, Malfoy face as he stared triumphantly at the key to his success.