Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Though if Draco's for sale, call me.
Hey guys. This is my first fic. I really enjoy reading about two people who banter and bicker so be prepared for lots of that. Constructive criticism is appreciated, but I am not going to drastically change the story line for anyone. And now, I proudly present…
*Edit* Weeee. So now it's rewritten…and up to par with everything I've written recently…knida. Why is it so damn hard to write exposition? Anyway. Review baby dolls.
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Hermione Granger had come into the world a spitting image of the ideal child. She listened to her parents. She turned in her homework on time. She even remembered to feed the cat after dinner. She'd always done exactly as she was told and performed every task to perfection. Her life sat on the right shoulder of perfect.
Her parents, as parents have a habit of doing, adored her as well. They provided for her, cared for her, and had always been present to set her back on her feet on those rare occasions that she fell down. They simply wanted her to make them proud of her as a daughter, to always do her best in any situation.
Hermione, being the aforementioned good girl, always did her best. Whether it was something as important as an essay on avian transfiguration at high altitudes or something as small as making sure the dishes were pristinely clean before she put them away. Hermione performed both tasks with a smile on her face, perfectly as she could. She enjoyed the art of perfection and the journey to reach it.
However around her fifteenth birthday, the house had begun to fill with quiet friction. The issue revolved around the fact that Hermione's view of her best and her parents' view of her best were on two entirely different planes. If she got and A, they wanted an E. If she got an E, they wanted and O. If she got an O, they wondered why she didn't get O's more often. Everything she did could have been done better, more efficiently, or more precisely. Everything she said could have been said more eloquently, more concisely, or more politely. She could always be more. She never met their standards which they set so high with no regard for her opinion. And lately, she was sick of it.
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"Hermione! Where are you? We're going to be late!"
"Yes, mother, because we are going to Hogwarts. And we are going to have a good time. And we are entering our last year of school." Hermione came down the stairs carrying her purse, several bags, and a large box of her favorite decorative embellishments from her room.
"Don't you dare take that tone with me, young lady! I am your mother!" The woman gave her a stern look, and then continued. "Why are you insisting on carrying all of this with you? It won't help you get better grades."
"You know what? It might." Hermione's voice was short, annoyed slightly by her mother's superiority.
Her mother laughed in a self-conscious trill. Hermione looked up at her. Her parent was wearing a consciously plain brown dress that had been chosen for its lack of attention-catching qualities. It was a deliberately ugly garment but tailored so expensively that the effect was of a double standard. It called for attention then made the viewer shrink in guilt at having looked.
"Darling, a hundred shiny trinkets does not an education make." She chuckled again. Hermione forced a smile. It was her mother's favorite phrase. "You know you'll be in the library most of the time so what does it matter what your room looks like?"
"It's this revolutionary concept called enjoyment, mother. It means that when I am in my room, I will like being there."
Her mother waved her hand as if to wave off the comment."Nonsense. If you really have to carry all that with you, I don't see why you can't just magic it there."
Hermione bit back a vulgarity. She hated this particular attitude of her mother's toward magic. Even though Hermione had told her a hundred times that she had to be seventeen to use magic outside of school, when she was particularly stressed the cynic came out
"Hermione?" Her mother snapped her fingers. "You must be day dreaming again. Now, you don't need all this do you?
Hermione debated whether or not to answer. On one hand, if she answered it nicely, she would be forever the lovable daughter that could do no wrong. On the other hand, if she sassed it, she would be a bawdy disgrace and not be spoken to during the car ride to King's Cross. She decided to take the latter.
"Well, you see, mother," she began, putting a heavy emphasis on her maternal parent's name, "I have always had this fabulous fantasy that, if I loaded myself down with parcels, a strong, handsome man would come to my rescue just as I was about to fall from the weight of my load. Then he would sweep me off my feet and carry me away to a far distant castle where we would live happily ever after. A hundred years from now, I will be in a book read to young children by –"
"That is quite enough!" Her mother barked at her, eyes bulging slightly. "I don't know what has gotten into you lately! I thought your father and I did a better job raising you than to have you talk like sarcastic school boy. Then maybe you would turn out to be-"
"A wonderful, caring daughter who made you proud and married a sensitive man who was good to his mother-in-law," finished Hermione under her breath. She had heard this speech so often as of late that she found it a bit wearing.
"What was that?"
Hermione plastered a smile on her face. "Oh nothing. Now, we had better be off. We wouldn't want to miss the train now would we?"
Before her mother could reply, Hermione sped out the door and down the steps into the waiting car.
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The steam engine sat in the station platform. Its' tall, regal presence overwhelming Hermione for a brief moment before the familiar smells of the platform wafted over her. Her parents had dropped her off only moments before, her mother's lips pulled tight in an obligatory smile. Even though they said good-bye, Hermione could tell her parents were having a very serious talk about her right now. Not that it mattered, she would be seventeen in just over six months. Most of her studies this year were advanced, giving her much to do and think about. She would be plenty busy. Family squabbles would be forgiven.
The platform was packed with bodies. Faces she recognized and faces she didn't pushed past her on all sides, blurring together in an electrically excited mass. She began to make her way in the general direction of the train, aiming her movement toward the white column of vapors rising to the station ceiling. It was slow work as all the students and parents were intent on getting to their destination. Just as she reached a clearing in the crowd, she heard her name called from over her right shoulder.
"Hey! Hermione!" She turned to see Harry and Ron striding toward her.
The summer had been good to the boys. Harry had grown another four inches and filled out across his chest and shoulders. Summer Quidditch had turned pre-teen fat into hard, condition muscle that pulled and stretched attractively under his clothing. He had retired the ever-broken glasses for contacts that made his green eyes more prominent and intense. His moderately tall frame was dressed in dark khaki pants that hung a little snuggly for Hermione's taste and a forest green shirt that was slightly arrogant in the fit. Judging by the group of love-struck fourth years gathered behind him he pretended not to notice, Hermione deemed him handsome.
Ron, on the other hand, remained tall and thin as he always was. His red hair was cut asymmetrically, lending a rock-inspired air to his still boyish features. Maintaining this uncharacteristically edgy look was a tee shirt for a band resting snugly over a modestly defined torso. Fitted jeans held up by a studded belt adorned his legs, slimming in at the hems and ending in black high tops. Though the two boys had very different styles, one couldn't say they were unattractive.
Hermione smiled calmly, security washing over her as she walked to them.
"Hello there, boys." Hermione let go of her luggage trolley and enveloped them both in hugs. "What have you been up to?"
"Nothing much," replied Harry, smiling as he flicked his hair out of his eyes. Hermione saw the girls collectively inhale behind him. "You? Did you get a job or anything?"
A handful of snarky comments popped into her head, each more cruel than the last. Hermione pushed them down. She'd been rude enough for one day. Just because her parents were overbearing didn't mean she had to punish the two people in the world that gave her comfort.
"No. I've just had a pretty quiet summer. We went on holiday to Ireland. The countryside is so beautiful in the –"
"Well Harry here has had some pretty cool stuff happen to-" Ron didn't get the sentence out before Harry hit him hard in the shoulder. "Ow! I was just telling her about-"
"One more word and I'll kill you," Harry growled.
"What? You honestly think she wouldn't know?"
For an answer, Harry caught Ron around the neck and tried to take him down. Ron, who was having none of it retaliated. He however did not have the grace of a seeker and left his abdomen exposed to Harry's fist.
Hermione watched amusedly for several minutes. Though the boys were indeed caught in a tussle against one another, they were overtly conscious of the female collection standing watch to the side
"Boys!" She barked at them suddenly. "Is this necessary?"
They grinned up at her and in unison said, "Yes!" then went back to their scuffle. Hermione only had time to feel exasperated for a second before the fight got out of hand. Harry's leg came out from the fray and managed to hook itself around her ankle, toppling her balance in one motion. She tried vainly to lessen the impact of her fall, twisting around, planning to bear the brunt of her weight with her hands.
Instead of meeting the stone slabs that made up the train platform, she met a well-muscled torso clad in a dark blue tee shirt. The arms of the man she'd fallen against automatically went to her waist to steady her.
Oh how disgustingly clichéd. Perhaps he can be gorgeous to further complete this romance novel stereotype. She laughed to herself, flicking her eyes up to meet the face of her rescuer.
"Hello Granger." The egotistical face of Draco Malfoy stared down at her.
You have got to be kidding. Her face pulled into a defensive smile as she pushed away from him, his chest flexing distractingly.
"Did you have an enjoyable summer, Granger?"
"Malfoy," she said, mocking his use of her last name, "that really isn't any of your concern." Her icy words contrasted violently with the jovial simper on her face.
He grinned a little. "I see. It's nothing I just usually like to keep tabs on people who dream about he. But you, of course, are entitled to your secrets."
Oh you want to fight? Alright then.
Hermione threw up her hands in an imitation of being discovered. "You caught me! I did dream about this snobby spoiled little mouse who was always mean to the other mice on the playground. But he would run crying to daddy mouse when baby mouse's pocket change ran low. Then Daddy Mouse would pat him on the head and say 'There, there. Here's some more money. Go squander it on a classless whore mouse because no one else will love you.'" She paused. His eyebrows had risen a fraction of an inch. "Yes, I think that was you. Am I right?"
He only looked taken aback for a second, eyes adjusting to her words, before a sexy smirk fell across his mouth. "Well, well, well. My secret has been let out. But, if I do say so myself, classless whore mice are generally much more entertaining that little mice that sit at home and get far too over excited when the latest edition of Webster's Dictionary comes out." His smirk grew, a rogue bang falling across his ice-blue eyes. He mock-tipped his hat at her and said, "Have a nice day" before striding off towards the train.
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So…I hated this chapter. To the point that I couldn't even read it because I hated the writing so much…so I fixed it. Now I likes it a good deal more. Even though it won't alert you, you should review if you read this. Pwetty pwease? With my paws clasped Puss-In-Boots style around a badass feather hat?