Of the wizard populace that stretched across the globe, the title of the most beautiful came to a young man named Mikah. He was famed for his soulful brown eyes and perfect physique. However, following his engagement, he became desk worker at the Ministry. His soulful eyes he kept; his perfect build, he lost. Following his fall from beauty, the title passed to Frederique, who was loved for his thick, curly hair. Perhaps even more famed was his hair than Gilderoy Lockhart, Frederique was loved globally, until, at the age of 23, he faced a dragon, who decided that she liked his hair as well. Unfortunately, as thick and curly as his hair was, it was also very flammable.
And so it was that the title moved yet again, this time to a young man with whom our story begins. Our opening scene: four in the morning, when he was finishing up his homework, unaware of Frederique's loss of locks or Mikah's pudginess. All he cared to think about was that Quiddich practice had gone late yet again, and as he sat in the Slytherin common room, he still wore his Seeker's uniform, the lacings of his collar trailing on the table before him.
With a sigh, he removed the arm-guards from his weary arms, rubbing the sore muscle with large, strong-looking hands. After a side-ways glance at his clock, he ran a hand desperately through his straight, white-blonde hair. Looking at the scroll before him, what should have been his Astronomy essay, he realized forlornly that he had only written his name, Draco Malfoy, across the top in neat cursive. He sighed yet again, dipped his expensive eagle-feathered quill in the ink pot before him, and continued writing.
The next day, a Wednesday, dawned gray and cloudy. Walking into the cafeteria, Draco tiredly noticed the usual: Cho Chang, a pretty girl (who had bad taste in boyfriends) was gossiping at the Ravenclaw table. His eyes traced the other tables. A glance at Hufflepuff table did not prove interesting; only the flickering wonder why no one important to the plot ever came from there (seriously, besides Hannah Abbot, Ernie MacMillian, and Susan Bones, who do we know?). That thought, as always, was dismissed. He traced his eyes to the Gryffindor table. Potter, he noticed, was rubbing his forehead. Draco wished him a headache. Across the table, Weasley was stuffing his face. Draco wished him a stomachache. Granger was reading Hogwarts: A History (like always). Draco wished. . .never mind what he wished, he scowled at her and her demented friends and wished them pain and suffering. Like always, nothing happened; he wasn't going to become a brilliant, non-verbal, wandless-magician overnight, especially when hadn't had any sleep. Exhaustedly, ignoring the many furtive glances being shot at him from across the Great Hall by many girls (and some boys), Draco slumped into his seat beside Crabbe and Goyle, and poured himself a glass of orange juice magically. He was too tired to actually lift the jug.
Meanwhile, the three innocent Gryffindors (okay, not so innocent, but ignorant of the wishing and cursing) were having a normal, Wednesday-morning conversation. This consisted of Harry and Ron complaining about – okay, Ron complaining about his homework, Harry listening with a distant expression, and Hermione commenting vaguely on how Ron should be more responsible while devoting most of her attention to the open book.
"What's even in that?" asked Ron with a full mouth.
"History. About Hogwarts," Hermione replied.
"I know that," replied Ron. "Anything interesting?"
"Well," Hermione said, looking up from her book and realizing that Ron actually wanted to talk to her. He had randomly been talking to her like this, whenever Harry seemed quiet, ever since that time in their fourth year when he had seen her with Victor. Or had it been the dress?
"Did you know that the Hogwarts motto is Draco Dormiens Nunqum Titillandus?"
"What about Malfoy?" asked Harry, coming out from his reverie.
"And since when where you a first-name basis with Malfoy?" asked Ron quickly, bristling.
"No, no," Hermione sighed. "It's Latin for 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon'."
"Oh." Ron looked reproachful. "Why didn't you just say that, then?"
"Because it's in Latin."
"What is?"
"The Hogwarts motto." And with that done, Hermione returned to the book, trying to ignore Ron's eyes on her.
The day continued blandly; Trewlany stuttering through another painful Divination Class under probation, Hagrid looking beaten-up (Draco was jovial during that class), Hermione and Draco taking an Arithmacy test, the former of whom filled hers out quickly, the latter of whom fell asleep in the middle.
It was only in Transfiguration that something out of the ordinary occurred; Draco, who was sleepily practicing a Vanishing Charm, managed to ignite his table on fire. Once the fire was extinguished and calm was restored, the result was only a slightly scorched Draco (thankfully with all his hair intact) and a very angry McGonagall who assigned Draco practice into his lunch hour.
As much as Draco enjoyed laughing at the Gryffindors during Potions when Snape greasily insulted Potter and his friends, Harry and Ron snorted into their sleeves at Draco's dismay, unable to understand how he had been hoping to take a nap during his break. Hermione, however, was silent, with a "you deserved it" look, not unlike the one she had worn following Ron's Howler in their second year.
When lunch finally came, it was with great excitement that Harry and Ron – okay, just Ron, with Harry plodding along half-heartedly, ran to the Great Hall. Soon the entire Transfiguration classroom was empty, except for Hermione and Draco; Hermione was packing up methodically and neatly, while Draco was staring sulkily at the same spot on the wall (as he had been for the last fifteen minutes). Hermione finally got up, and after a few moments, Draco heard the door close.
It was warm in the Transfiguration room, warm like those cozy chairs by the fire. Draco felt his eyelids grow heavy and close. Finally he succumbed to his exhaustion.
Meanwhile, Hermione was barely a few steps from the Transfiguration classroom when she met up with Ginny and another fourth-year Gryffindor that Hermione was unfamiliar with.
"Hey, Hermione," Ginny called, trotting to meet her. "I need something from the Transfiguration room. Wanna come?"
"I was just there," responded Hermione. She suddenly realized something and added, "And Malfoy's in there, practicing."
Ginny shrugged. "Who cares?" She began walking, and Hermione followed.
"I just need one of those birds. McGonagall's teaching us to turn them into teapots." Ginny was at the door and opened it, continuing, "I couldn't get it quite right, and I'll just borrow one to practice with later. Most people are just using their owls but I thought it–"
Standing in the classroom, the three girls were completely bewildered to find Draco Malfoy sprawled, sound asleep, on the desk.
"Do you think he's asleep?" whispered the other girl.
"I guess so," replied Hermione.
"Let's see!" Ginny replied. She walked over to Draco and poked him firmly in the back. He didn't move. Ginny and her friend stifled giggles. Hermione walked around him, watching his expression. He looked different; he obviously was not scowling in his sleep, and Hermione found it oddly strange to see someone who always had an unattractive expression on his face look so human. Somehow, she could better see his handsome features. As he slept, his gentle breathing made his silken bangs flutter. Hermione, unconscious of anything for once, reached out and smoothed the hair back.
"Stop," muttered Draco. "That tickles."