All aspects of Harry Potter © belong to J.K. Rowling, except this story, in which the words and tales woven are of my pen.
Note: I accept any constructive criticism, and greatly appreciate it in helping me to improve in my writing. If this story has been written before, I apologize but I can't help what comes from fingers when I place them on the keyboard. Alas, I hope you enjoy my story, and I apologize in advance if I don't update or even abandon the story as I am horribly plagued with writers block often.
This story was inspired from the song "Get Mine Get Yours" by Christina Aguilera. ^_^
Chapter 1: Baby You Pretend That Things Ain't What They Seem...
She could feel his gaze upon her back. It was uncomfortable and yet tingling at the same time. Hermione was casually eating an apple one Sunday morning as she read the Daily Prophet at the breakfast table. Across from her were her two best friends Ron and Harry who were arguing over who was more slimy, Snape or Filch.
"I bet the guy hasn't washed his hair in his entire life," Harry said, spreading jam on his toast.
"Yeah, but I somehow Filch has either." Ron said snickering.
Hermione paused looking over her newspaper. "I dunno Ron, I gotta go with Harry on this one." She said before biting into her apple.
Ron shot a triumphant look at Harry and began eating his cereal and lightning bolt speed. She shot a look of disgust at him when a soggy 'O' flew up and hit her in the forehead and stuck there.
"Why are you eating so fast?" she asked him.
"Quidditch practice." Harry supplied, and then tried to force a whole piece of toast in his mouth.
She rolled her eyes in response and threw down her newspaper. "I'll be in the library."
Hermione had always thought that Ron and Harry would get over their Quidditch obsession once they had grown up, but alas they were in their seventh year and still fought over it like small children. She had given up on even attempting to like the game really, and only attended the matches when they blackmailed her into going.
Making her way across the school, she was oblivious to another person following her.
"Granger." Came a quiet voice behind her, one voice that never once in her life had been quiet when it spoke to her, never gentle tones which she had just heard. She whipped around on the spot and stared at the boy whose face was not impaled with it's usual sneer or smirk, but instead a look of bitter, perhaps pain was there.
"Malfoy?" she said, a question upon her face, not quite gentle in concern but not guarded either.
"I need to speak with you." His eyes darted around them, checking to see if anyone was watching.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "We are already speaking. What does this concern?"
His eyebrows drew together slightly in annoyance. "Would you just follow me and quit with the questions." He said turning to go down the eastern hallway.
"No. Tell me here." Hermione crossed her arms. "Or I'm leaving."
He sighed with deep impatience and quickly looked behind him with caution. "Have you received any strange owls lately?"
"Uh. no? Should I have?" came her response.
"NO! Draco yelled rather loudly. "I mean no." He glanced over her shoulder and then quickly turned on his heel. Somebody was coming it seemed. "Good riddance Mudblood." He said the last part rather loudly and took off, walking extremely fast away from her.
Hermione stared at his retreating back in confusion. "What the hell?" she mumbled and shook her head. Seemed the prat had finally cracked.
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His footsteps were rather light as he made his way towards the Slytherin common room. She had not received the owl, nor letter as of yet. Relief was very high in his mind, although he suspected she would have sought him out if she would have heard the news. Hermione Granger was not a girl to just let things go. Through the last seven years, he had finally stopped his constant harassment of her. He didn't give it up totally though. A weekly spat with her and her two goons was expected of him naturally, and he wasn't one to not keep up appearances. Simply, he was bored with the repetitive insults they traded and he wanted to keep his pretty face in tact now that the Weasel had grown taller than him, and wasn't exactly known for his temper.
Just when would the owl arrive though? He had gotten his just that morning and had been bulldozed by the news. The only solution in his mind was to somehow thwart her owl and keep the news from her, until he could somehow remove the problem. The problem. It was one of great significance. Never in his life had he heard of such circumstances being halted, especially not by an eighteen year old boy. Hopelessness almost came upon him with his thoughts, but he quickly brushed it aside. He was Draco Malfoy and he was used to being able to twist those around him in order to get his way. How was this any different?
'Sweet sorrow' he spoke to the Slytherin Common room entrance, a pair of tall knights who drew aside their axes and the door in the wall appeared. Inside, the room was almost empty. Most were still at breakfast. Only a pair of sixth years remained, who were more than snuggling on a couch. He shot them a look, and they quickly halted their actions. Sighing, he plopped down on an arm chair near the blazing fire. The common room was always cold, being near the dungeons, drafts tended to drift through the room. It being almost November didn't help either.
Staring into the fire, he recalled the contents of the letter just hours before. 'You are to marry once your betrothed is eighteen, like yourself.' When was that? He wondered. 'She is a girl of the seventh year, like yourself, of the Gryffindor house.' He had almost choked when he had read that line. Why the hell would his father betroth him to some idiot girl from Gryffindor? They were all mostly half breeds, or even worse Mudbloods, and he hated even associating with them even in the times of Prefect duties. The last line had been the ultimate worst. 'Her name is Hermione Granger. She is of actual pure blood lines, but has been forced into a life in which she has been raised by Mudbloods, and thus believes herself to be one.' His betrothed was Granger?
His thoughts had almost run away without him when he had read that line. Granger. The filthy little Mudblood he had always detested and tortured all these years. He couldn't believe it. He refused to, and had actually wrote his father immediately, demanded that this not be true. That he was mistaken. A response had come at his breakfast table and had confirmed the truth.
Of course Draco had always known he was betrothed to someone, since he was a small boy he mother had spoken of 'the girl' who would make his dreams come true. At one time he had almost believed her. Then Lucius had informed him that the marriage was just an alliance between the Malfoys and her family. So, throughout Draco's days at Hogwarts he never attached himself to one girl. Of course he had never turned down a good romp in his bed, but never had he been somebody's other half. He had known better to actually love someone, because one day he would meet 'the girl' who he was to love. Of course now, he doubted he would actually love this girl. Betrothals were not about love, only about political alliances and producing heirs. Of course that didn't mean that be respect and consideration were absent.
Throughout all of Draco's breakfast he had stared at Hermione, trying to absorb the fact that he was to marry her. He couldn't imagine what her response would be to all of this. Chances were that she didn't even know she was betrothed and was madly in love with Pottyhead. Draco had felt a surge of anger at that thought. She was his.
Of course the years of aging had done more than benefit her, he could more easily admit now. She had grown her hair long, midway done her back and its length did aid in stopping it from swell and poofing in every direction, although it could not be considered tame by any standards as most people's hair was. It seemed to have a mind of its own, Draco decided as he stared at her back. Every single strand of it seemed to be in argument with the others as of what to do that particular day. Some was curling, some just wavy and even some of her hair could be considered to be pin straight. It was actually rather…endearing? Just at that moment, Hermione shook her head and the light from above made the highlights shimmer. Gold and copper were woven into each strand of darkest brown on her head, and Draco knew that many of witches at Hogwarts had performed spells to attempt to have their hair that natural glow that came from sun or sometimes just naturally. He had witnessed Pansy attempt it just last week, and she had only succeeded in turning her hair a shocking color of black from the summery blonde it normally was.
Draco continued to watch her throughout breakfast and received many of glares from the Gryffindor table, as he dared to look their direction. He didn't care in the slightest though. When Hermione had gotten up and left, he didn't know what he was doing. His legs had a mind of their own when he followed her across the castle it seemed.
Now he was sitting in the common room, debating in what to do in light of his situation. He hadn't the slightest idea of what that was.
To be continued…