AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This story was written for the 2013 Fandom for Leukemia & Lymphoma Fundraiser.

It is a one-shot, complete, with no intention for a continuation.

Please review!

DISCLAIMER: "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

TIMELINE: Hogwarts 7th Year – Alternate Universe. Novel compliant up to Harry Potter and the Prizoner of Azkaban, borrowing elements from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. No Voldemort resurrection, however, and no war.

MAIN CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy

SECONDARY CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): Susan Bones, Lavender Brown, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Seamus Finnigan, Wayne Hopkins, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Ernie Macmillan, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Padma Patil, Parvati Patil, Harry Potter, Dean Thomas, Ginny Weasley, and Ron Weasley

SUMMARY: The Hope Stone–an ancient, mysterious monolith that has stood alone on the shores of the Black Lake for centuries, once used by the Picts during their religious ceremonies–has become an object of superstition to generations of wizards and witches. It's said that if you place your palms flat upon its dark grey, smooth surface during the Equinox or an eclipse, and speak your heart's one greatest wish, it will come true within a year's time. On the same balmy September eve in 1997, a slew of desperate wishes are made upon the stone by a variety of young, idealist hands. Which will the stone grant, and will those dreams be fulfilled in the manner that their requestors expected?

RATING: PG-15

WARNINGS: Profanity, Blood prejudice issues, Discussion and re-enactment of ancient Pictish religion & rituals (making offerings for blessings), Characters are a bit OOC (out-of-character) because of the alternate-universe nature of the plot.

THIS THING CALLED 'HOPE'

By: RZZMG

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"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all."

- Emily Dickinson

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16 September, 1997

On the shores of the Black Lake near Hogwarts Castle, Scotland

From his hidden position behind a tree near the shoreline, Draco Malfoy watched Luna Lovegood pull from the slouchy, knit bag at her side an oblong egg – Ashwinder, he presumed from the golden sheen of the shell and the size, and most likely frozen, else it would have burned her fingers to touch it. To his great shock, she cracked the egg full force upon the face of the Hope Stone before her, careful of the flames that burst forth, but wholly unconcerned with the destruction of such a precious commodity.

Something of a Potions expert, Draco knew that Ashwinder eggs weren't the easiest ingredients to come by, as they were in high demand for love potions.

When the magical fire from the egg's sacrifice died away, burning off the yolk and scorching a Snitch-sized ash imprint upon the stone's face, she pressed her palms flat on the rock, speaking softly to it.

So, the stone did seem to require some sort of special incentive to work its magic. Either that or all of those witches and wizards who'd already come to pray upon the weathered menhir had assumed such, like he had, for he'd noted that each of them had made an offering as they'd revealed their greatest hopes to the elemental magic that purportedly infused the stone.

He watched the Looney girl's every move, carefully assessing her ritual undertaking, getting a feel for her personal little ceremony to decide if there were elements he might incorporate in his own when it was time – just as he had for all of the others who'd come here over the past few hours.

When the girl stepped back, curtsied once to the inanimate monolith, and turned away, Draco knew she'd finished her bizarre service. Skipping back along the well-worn path the way she'd come, heading towards the castle, Luna's long, blonde locks whipped behind her in the wind. A shy smile decorated her pretty features, and a maidenly blush stained her cheeks.

Bloody hell, she'd certainly grown-up over the summer, hadn't she? The formerly plain-looking, flat-chested witch was all curves and big, blue eyes now. That she was a pure-blood from ancient stock assured her a good match someday – if her and that odd father of hers ever decided to come back into society and leave their bizarre theories alone, that was to say.

If the Lovegoods were to once more find favour in the wizarding Beau Monde, perhaps his parents might even condone a match for him there, rather than with the young, prissy Miss Astoria Greengrass, where they seemed to be uncomfortably, intently focused at the moment.

Not that he was attracted to the Lovegood bird in the slightest, but hell, anyone would be better than the youngest Greengrass daughter, who was not only Draco's junior in years, but also lacking in wisdom and magical strength. Besides, the witch was a bit too candid in her admiration for the size of his family's vaults, and Draco didn't relish spending the rest of his life tied to a status peddler whose only thought was to how best spend his inherited fortune. It might be considered terribly childish and a tad romantic, but Draco wanted the witch he was to marry to want him for the man he was, not for his name or wealth (although he'd never admit to such an emasculating thing aloud). In short, he wanted a love match like his parents had.

In public, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were always the height of decorum and propriety – speaking fondly and touching only as social politesse allowed. However, in private, their amorous tendencies seemed predisposed to seek freedom at the most inopportune times and in the most inappropriate spaces. Just this past summer, he'd caught them shagging in the conservatory when they thought no one was home, and had gotten quite an accidental education in romping, contortionist-style.

Who knew people that old could be so flexible?

Shocking spectacles aside, Draco wanted a relationship similar to his that of his parents: a flirtatious, passionate devotion between him and his lady that continually simmered under the surface, and which exploded into sensuality whenever a secret opportunity allowed. He wanted his witch willing and eager during those times, and maybe even a tad playful, like he imagined he would be with her. He wanted sparks and fire, and sex so good that the afterglow never faded. He wanted her to dote on their children with tender affection, as his mother had done to him.

In effect, he wanted a loving family to come home to every night and a lusty marriage behind closed doors. A bonding without that would simply suck.

All of that was precisely why he'd come here today, during a lunar eclipse, to worship a rock: because he was grasping at any straws he could find to assure the future he envisioned.

Absently, he wondered what Lovegood had whispered in secret to the stone. Probably to fall in love, he thought with a snicker. It seemed that everyone who came here to the Hope Stone wished on that same purpose – at least, that's what he'd heard when he'd eavesdropped on Pansy Parkinson's discussion with Daphne Greengrass and Millie Bulstrode last week at breakfast.

He hated to thank the gossiping geese for providing him with this opportunity, but the truth was, if Pans hadn't been gabbing on and on about the power of the stone to provide wishes, he wouldn't have gotten the idea to come here to make his own.

He also had his best friend, Theodore Nott, to thank for this chance as well. The guy was Slytherin's equivalent to Gryffindor's swot, Hermione Granger (only infinitely less annoying and attention-seeking), and had provided a plethora of interesting information on the monolith's history for him. All Draco had done was casually drop the facts of Pansy's conversation with Daphne, for whom Theo had a weakness as he'd crushed on her for the last three years, and his mate had gone off to the library to do all of the necessary research. When he'd come back later, he recounted for Draco more than he'd ever wanted to know on the subject of the stone.

Apparently, it had been the rumour since Hogwarts' inception that the Hope Stone was the place to go when you needed a little 'divine influence' in winning the wizard or witch of your dreams. The stone had been carved by the ancient Picts, who'd once dominated this area even before the time of the Romans, and was said to grant any wish if the request was true and from the heart, but that it had especially high success at romance and sex matches.

"Which makes complete sense," Theo had said, "since scholars have hypothesised from the start that it had been used for fertility rites. The rare carving of a flower amongst the other symbols on the face of the stone seems to indicate its connection to the more feminine elements of nature."

The caveat to the whole wish-fulfillment thing, however, seemed to be two-fold: first, you were encouraged to make an offering to the Hope Stone once you'd made your wish – a bribe to the pagan gods that the stone had been erected to more than sixteen centuries earlier (the standard, old magical contract hype), and second, the stone's strange power only worked during the Summer or Winter Equinox or during a lunar eclipse, so a person wanting to utilize the power of the stone had to time things just right, because each of those events came only once a year.

Lucky for Draco this particular year afforded two lunar eclipses. One had already occurred this past March, and the other happened today.

By stealthily ditching his last class and coming out here early, when the eclipse had officially begun two hours ago, Draco had been able to park his bum on prime real estate near the stone, setting up perch to watch the action and to time his own move.

At a quarter past four exactly–the time the eclipse had officially began–Susan Bones, a witch from Hufflepuff in his class, had approached the stone first. She'd looked around nervously, pressed a hand to the big rock and whispered her wish, and then had offered it some sort of pink, bubbly brew in a small vial (probably a Love Potion), which she'd poured at its base. She'd quickly re-capped the empty vial and hurried off after that.

At twenty-eight past the hour, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter rounded the bend. They each tried out the stone to the cat-calls and some good-humored ribbing by the others. None of them seemed particularly believing of the miniature monolith's supposed abilities. However, that didn't stop them from peeling a bunch of bananas and breaking up some chocolate bars and throwing the pieces down at the base of the boulder as an enticement to the Pictish heathen dieties. On their walk back to the castle afterwards, the Idiot Quintet laughed up a storm, trying to pass off their embarrassment by mocking each others' requests.

Ten minutes later, Pansy had shown up. Without any futzing around, she approached the menhir, tossed a shot glass full of Firewhisky at the monument's base, and pressed her palms to the rocky carvings with an earnest gravity. Closing her eyes and concentrating, she made her wish and left quickly thereafter with her head held high and a smirk painting her pretty, rouged lips.

Blaise was in so much trouble, Draco thought with a laugh, knowing Pansy had probably been wishing for Zabini to finally ask her out. She'd only been after the guy since fifth year.

Eighteen minutes after his ex-girlfriend left, a nervous Ginny Weasley crept up to the monument, pressed her hands against it and whispered her wish. Then, to Draco's utmost surprise, she reached into her robes, pulled out a pair of lacy girl's knickers, and lit them on fire with her wand. She gathered some of the cold ashes from the grass and pressed them into the stone – her offering for the blessing she'd requested. The She-Weasel quickly ran away then, her face as red as her hair, her hands black from cinder residue.

Draco snickered at her retreating back.

Twenty-five minutes later, the giggling trio of the Patil twins and Lavender Brown appeared over the hillock. Each made a solemn prayer upon the stone, one after the other, eyes closed as they'd silently made their pleas. Before they left, the three offered up the flowers they'd brought along with them and burned some incense, leaving their tribute at the base of the stone as they rushed back to the castle.

At nineteen minutes before the hour, Wayne Hopkins, Ernie Macmillan, and Justin Finch-Fletchley appeared. The three Hufflepuffs made their desires known to the stone only after a round of nervous shoving and chicken-hearted dares ("Dare you to go first, Hopkins." – "Up yours, mate, you go!" – "Betcha won't do it, Erns."). It was Finch-Fletchley who'd actually gotten the ball rolling by walking up to the stone and pressing his palms to its surface to make his wish. Macmillan and Hopkins had followed suit. All three of them had then set down at the base of the rock some apples that they'd brought from the castle – their way of sweetening the pot in their individual favor. The trio took off quickly thereafter, heads bent in serious discussion about what they'd just done.

At precisely six o'clock, Looney Lovegood had arrived.

At the present, it appeared as though Draco was in the clear; there didn't seem to be anyone else on the horizon. He glanced up at the dark sky and checked his wind-up pocket watch. It was fifteen past six, which meant the eclipse was in full black-out mode and now was his chance!

Stepping out from behind his hiding point, stretching his cramped legs, he headed with purpose towards the phallic-shaped rock, his wish firmly in mind. Not wanting to be seen, he slipped behind the monolith, his back to the gently rolling waves of the dark-watered loch.

He pulled his wand out and tapped it against his palm, thinking about his intended bribe. If there was one thing he understood about magical contracts, it was that some sort of sacrifice above and beyond just the spoken word was usually required, and the stronger the evocation, the more potent the offering required. Pans had clearly understood that with her throw-down of the Firewhisky – a powerful payoff to the forces that controlled magic. Apparently, so had the Weasley girl and Lovegood, whose oblations had shown serious forethought and been meaningful. The enticement left by the others, though, hadn't been so spectacular (they'd seemed more like last minute considerations), so he was betting that their wishes wouldn't be granted.

Draco couldn't take any chances that his wish would be denied; he'd have to go out on a limb and throw down the most potent sacrifice of all when it came to magic, because what he wanted was something he couldn't gamble to a few words, a pathetic offering, and a little faith.

With careful skill, he spoke the words of a Slicing Charm, pressing the tip of his wand across his left palm, splitting the skin. Blood immediately welled to the surface, and he pressed his wounded hand against the symbol of the flower etched on this side of the stone. Closing his eyes, he spoke his well-considered wish in a clear voice so there could be no mistakes.

"I wish to fall in love with and marry a girl of my choosing. One who is magically powerful, beautiful, intelligent, witty, crafty, sexually experimental, kind, and who won't want me for my money or status, but for the man I am."

He borrowed from the Weasley girl and pressed his lips to the stone surface to seal the bargain, hoping the extra gesture would work in his favour. It couldn't hurt in any case.

That done, he glanced around quickly to make sure no one had crept up on him in the interim. Seeing no other students or teachers about, he let out a sigh of relief, and turned his attention to healing his cut hand.

The noise of someone scrunching through the grass and then walking along the dirt path, approaching his position, made him freeze on the spot. Going still and silent, he waited an interminable amount of time for the interloper to draw near.

A soft, feminine sigh from just on the other side of the stone told him this new visitor was now less than a foot or so away. Wondering who the mystery girl was Draco quieted his breathing, stretching his senses out to try to determine what he could about her.

The first thing that hit him was the scent of her light, floral perfume riding the wind – a pretty fragrance that he found alluring, and vaguely familiar. Where had he smelled that particular bouquet before? The answer lay just on the tip of his tongue, beyond his immediate reach.

Second, he could tell by the way the fabric of her clothing rustled that she was fidgeting. Clearly, she was uncomfortable being here. A sceptic, perhaps? Or was she simply timid?

A determined clearing of her throat and a hard slap of her palms onto the face of the stone a moment later told him that she was desperate enough to set aside her doubts to give the whole wishing thing a try.

His interest was definitely piqued now.

"So, you're the Hope Stone," the witch stated, and Draco's head jerked back with surprise as he immediately recognized the voice of Hermione Granger. "That's an odd name for you, isn't it?" she continued speaking to the non-sentient rock, completely unaware of Draco's presence. "I mean, you don't exactly grant hope, but wishes, and those are two very different things, after all. Wishes are temporary and fickle, but hope… it's an enduring notion. You should be called the Wishing Stone instead, to be more accurate, because it seems misleading otherwise."

Draco rolled his eyes. Great Lord Merlin! It figured that Granger would be the one person in the entire universe who would question and insult a monument dedicated to gifting good luck just before asking it for a good turn. She just couldn't pass up an opportunity to point out a flaw, could she? It was like her raison d'etre, or some such crike.

Hell, the Head Girl was always on about accuracy, and fairness, and the injustices in the world – most especially while she and he patrolled the corridors at night as part of their student monitoring duties. It was as if she were purposefully using those moments alone with Draco to try to indoctrinate him to her way of thinking. She made his head positively hurt with how much she contemplated and felt about such things, and sometimes (although he'd never admit it out loud), he regretted accepting the Head Boy position from Dumbledore, if only because his ears could use an occasional rest from his counterpart's incessant sermonizing.

Still, she wasn't all bad. In fact, she was sometimes rather tolerable.

First, she was a giver, not a taker, which definitely counted in her favour, second, she was a walking encyclopaedia that he could tap into if he needed help in his classes, and third, she could also be downright funny on occasion, too. True, it was a laugh whenever he caught her doing something she oughtn't. It was during those times that he was privy to her other personality quirks – some of which even made the Slytherin in him smile.

For instance, just this week, he'd spied her in their Heads' common room late one night knitting hats for the Hogwarts house-elves to try to free them ("They must get cold in this drafty, old castle without any hair, don't you think?"). And just last week, she'd snuck into the Restricted Section of the library after rounds to sate her curiosity about forbidden Alchemy practices ("Oh, Draco! You scared me. I was… just making sure no one was in here without permission. This book… it fell off the shelf. I was putting it back."). That's not even counting the very first week of term this year, when he'd come across her in the Owlry when she should have been in classes, sending out an anonymously signed, scathing review to Witch Weekly, berating them for ruining the self-image of women ("Who really cares about a 'Sexiest Smile Award', Malfoy? What I want to know is where are all the articles on the Ministry's discriminatory laws affecting pregnant witches in the workplace?").

Draco had to admit, his colleague had a lot of nerve. The girl was fearless when it came to bucking the system and fighting for what she believed in. It's why she'd been sorted a Gryffindor, no doubt, despite having the ambitious intelligence of a Ravenclaw, the compassionate nature of a Hufflepuff, and the impressive cunning of a Slytherin.

Of course, he'd never let on that Granger's perfect amalgamation of all of the Hogwarts House attributes was a serious turn-on, or that he found her feistiness rather sexy. To do so would most likely be detrimental to his long-term health, especially given her magical adeptness with curses, jinxes, and hexes (she also had a mean imagination when it came to unique uses for ordinary charms, he'd learned over the years).

Granger gave a small, resigned sigh, drawing Draco's attention back to the here and now.

He turned his head and tilted it upwards, hoping to clearly hear her wish on the Hope Stone. Maybe he'd tease her about it later, or better yet, blackmail her into doing his homework for him for a week if her secret desires were juicy enough gossip material.

"Still, despite your unfortunate naming, I've made the trek up here to finally visit you," she informed the stone in a prim tone, "and so I've decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. I'm not here to ask you for a wish, though. I'm here to ask you for a hope."

He listened with some amusement as she sniffed with disbelief, as if she couldn't accept that she'd stooped so low as to be here, at the Hope Stone, about to ask it for a magical favour.

"Right, so here goes," she said, and he could tell by how close her voice had become that she was now only inches from him, separated only by the rock itself. "It is my most fervent hope that Draco Lucius Malfoy will one day realise that his belief in blood prejudice is foolish, divisive, and hurtful. I hope for his sake that he one day discovers that he's been shunning wonderful people, who could greatly influence his life by helping to open up his heart. And I hope he's able to find the courage to one day stand-up against his family's traditions so he can find the kind of happiness I know he wants. In terms of a wife, I mean.

"I know about what his mother and father are trying to do, you see – to set him up with a pure-blood witch, and I know he doesn't want it. I… I admit I peeked into his private journal - but it was quite by accident! It fell over when I was looking for a book in his room, and there was his confession in black and white, and it read so despondently, and… Well." She cleared her throat again, clearly embarrassed. "Just don't tell him any of that. Just... I hope you can help him to be a better man, so he can live the life he wants, rather than the life others expect of him."

Draco's jaw nearly hit the ground in astonishment. It took every ounce of discipline he had not to leap from his concealed spot and confront Granger on wasting her wish on him. The Slytherin within whispered a potent reminder of the power of her wand, though, and that effectively shut down any confrontational intentions he'd had.

She'd kick his arse around the lake if she knew he'd been eavesdropping on her.

Forcing his limbs immobile by will, palms flattened to the lee side of the stone, he waited and listened for more, hoping she'd explain why she'd decided to give up such an important thing as a wish for someone else – for him.

"Well, there you go," she stated, sounding a bit embarrassed. "I know I'm supposed to have something to offer you in exchange for granting my request, but I don't. I'm putting my faith in you, instead. As that comes directly from my heart… well, I think that it is the most powerful offering of all, don't you? Thank you for your time, no matter your decision as to my request. I really do wish for you to grant it, though, because if anyone needs hope right now, it's Draco."

The sound of her shoes traipsing back down the earthen path and over the grass, away from him, let him know that she was leaving and in a right hurry. When the sound faded, only then did Draco let out the breath he'd been holding and give his fast beating heart permission to slow.

Salazar's rod, but that was close! If she'd decided to take a stroll around the stone before heading back to the castle, and she'd seen him… he'd have been turned into bug juice.

Still, a part of him wished he'd peeked around the monolith to talk to the Head Girl, whose dearest wish wasn't for her own benefit, but to give him, her despised rival-slash-obligatory partner, all her hopes. Who did something like that?

Answer: only goody-good Hermione Granger.

He turned to look out over the darkening loch, leaning back against the Hope Stone, and was suddenly struck with the oddest feeling: guilt.

Draco rubbed at his chest. He wasn't used to such an emotion, especially with such painful intensity. Why was he feeling such a weakness now? Why did he care that Granger hadn't shown the mercenary smarts to wish for her own profit? Why did it bother him that her most solemn wish was for him to, essentially, get the one thing he most wanted in life – oh, and to stop calling her a Mudblood at the same time?

Hell, he hadn't even said that word aloud since fifth year! He hadn't thought about her in that way since then, either. She was just 'Granger' to him. Or 'that annoying swot'. Or 'the fuzzy-headed Head Girl'.

It hit him then, out of the blue, like a lightning bolt to his heart: somewhere around the time the two had begun their Prefect duties together two years ago and today, he'd stopped considering her blood status as her defining feature. All of those lectures and debates late at night as they'd walked the empty corridors and stairwells together on patrol, and all of the observations he'd made of her magical talent whenever it was displayed before him at any time had altered his perception of her worth as a witch.

She was no longer a Mudblood. Not to him. Not anymore. She was just… Granger.

Strangely, even the fact that he now called her a Muggle-born didn't seem such a big deal any longer. Plenty of people he knew were from non-magical parents, like Helen Dawlish, who he'd spent a pleasant hour with in a broom closet last April, and Jeremy Stretton, who had taught Draco how to cheat at Exploding Snap in fourth year so he could stick it to the visiting Durmstrang players and collect a few Galleons in the process, and that Hufflepuff, Stebbins, who had given him last-minute pointers so he'd pass his Apparition test on the first try. All-in-all, Muggle-borns weren't the evil his parents–Lucius, especially–had made them out to be, and Draco was smart enough to realise that fact all on his own. His father was just old-fashioned and tied to tradition – hence the attempt to arrange a marriage for Draco before he was eighteen.

Little did his father know, Draco had no intention of being corralled into aligning himself with a harpy for a wife, simply because her family was pure-blood, rich, and could politically connect the Malfoys to the Ministry. Hell, no. It was his choice who he took for a wife, and he wouldn't be forced into it by anyone! He'd marry who he wanted, and his parents would deal, even if it were someone like, well, like Granger!

Not that he'd ever consider the Head Girl in that way.

…Although she had looked lovely the night of the Yule Ball, in a periwinkle blue dress that had flattered her curves, and with her hair up in an artfully done chignon. Truthfully, Draco hadn't been able to stop staring at her that night, much to Pansy's annoyance.

…And she'd filled out her robes quite nicely over the years, too, hadn't she?

…She'd also fixed her teeth (thanks to his spell in fourth year), had taken pains to tame her wild Amazon hair (with product he'd suggested, thank you very much), and was even wearing a bit of girly lip gloss this year (her mouth had looked quite shiny and kissable during their last patrol, he couldn't help but notice).

…And the freckles across her nose were kind of cute. As was the way her eyes sparked when she was angry, and the way she bit her bottom lip while she was concentrating…

Huh.

Hermione Granger was really rather attractive.

Who'd have thought?

He felt a shiver slide up his spine just as a rumble of thunder above called his attention to the fact that the eclipse was still in its height, and dark clouds were now rolling in from the east, carrying with them what looked to be a nasty autumnal storm. Flipping his watch out of an inner pocket, he checked it again. It was twenty till seven – still time enough to get a bite to eat in the Dining Hall if he hurried.

Stepping out from behind the Hope Stone, Draco rushed back to the castle, wanting to beat the incoming storm.

Along the trail, he remembered that he had patrol again later tonight with Hermione. She hated storms, he knew, and had a tendency to stand closer to him during their rounds whenever lightning rocked the castle. He could use that to his advantage, to get acquainted with the flavour of her lip gloss…

He hoped she didn't hex him for taking such liberties, even if it would be totally worth the pain.

His pace quickened, not because of the light sprinkling of raindrops hitting his head, signaling he was in for a wet, uncomfortable run back to the school, but because he was eager for the evening's activities to get underway.

~FIN~

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

On 16 September, 1997, there was a lunar eclipse (the second that year) that was visible in Europe from 16:11 GMT to 21:22 GMT, and the sun officially set at 7:28pm that day.

Please review!