Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from the Potterverse. Written for cedrixfan's "F-Word Challenge" on the HPFF forums.
Frontogenesis: n. a meeting of two different air currents, creating a weather front.
Hermione Granger was not Prefect and top of her class by sheer accident. Her brains were unparalleled in Hogwarts, and possibly throughout the world. Half her class predicted that she'd be a world-class researcher before she turned twenty; the other half assumed that she'd become Minister of Magic before that. So, no, thought processes were not her weak point, not by any means.
That just left the question (to her, at least) as to why she'd be stupid enough to take a fancy to her oldest enemy, Draco bloody Malfoy.
It wasn't like they had anything in common. He was pureblood; she was Muggleborn (or, as he liked to say, a "mudblood"). He was an arrogant bastard with two Death Eaters for parents; she was kind and compassionate (she liked to think) and lived with two Muggle dentists at home. He thought he could play Quidditch; her sports enthusiasm was limited to cheering whenever Harry kicked his miserable arse.
And yet…that didn't explain why she had watched him so closely throughout their sixth year.
They were both Prefects, and she would often observe him during those long and (frankly) boring meetings together; Ron just said, to hell with it, and slept right through them. Malfoy—no, Draco—no, she gave up—wore robes that were magically enchanted to hug his lean, athletic frame without being unreasonably tight. They perfectly showed off his Quidditch musculature, shifting every time he moved to raise his hand, lean over, stretch…his motions were enough to make Hermione lose her concentration during said meetings, as she was struck with visions of seeing what was beneath those robes. She'd have been even more stupid if she denied that Draco Malfoy had a body worthy of any girl's sexual fantasy.
She knew he studied her as well, but not during prefect meetings. Rather, during Care of Magical Creatures and Potions, she'd feel his eyes traveling over her body in a not-unfriendly manner, observing her as she bent over her cauldron or reached out to feed her Pyromander—both positions being quite favorable to her anatomy. She'd be confirmed in her suspicions when Professors Snape or Hagrid would snap at Malfoy—Draco—whatever, telling him to pay attention if he wanted to leave class with all of his limbs still in the right places. Once, she turned around and found him still staring at her bum; he had immediately contorted his face into a sneer and gave her a rude gesture before getting back to his own project.
Try as she might, Hermione couldn't dredge up as much disgust at the thought of Malfoy ogling her as she thought she could. She desperately tried to bury the subconscious hope that he at least liked what he saw, but it continued to revive itself at the most inopportune moments.
Such as when she was kissing Ron for the first time, in a secluded corner on the fourth floor. The thought of Malfoy seeing her in such a compromising position—or, even better (or worse), taking Ron's place instead—made her push Ron away with more force than she had intended. Ron had assumed that she wasn't ready for intimacy and had backed off, leaving their already-precarious relationship hanging on the edge of a break-up. She secluded herself even more into her studies, drawing concern from both Harry and Ron…but what else could a poor, confused soul as herself do?
That lasted for a while, until winter holidays that year, when she and Malfoy—Draco—damn that blasted Slytherin!—were doing a routine patrol through the dark corridors of Hogwarts. Hermione had chosen to stay at school, to do research for an Arithmancy project using books only available in the school library. Why that stuck-up prig of a pureblood had chosen to stay behind as well, she had no idea. In fact, she was so immersed in her thoughts as to why that might be the case that she tripped over a false step on the staircase—
And crashed straight into the Slytherin's back, sending both of them tumbling head over heels down two flights of stairs until they rolled to a stop on the marble landing. When her vision cleared, Hermione had found herself staring into two dark grey eyes and surrounded by a halo of golden hair, as Malfoy was now on top of her. And she discovered that she actually liked it…though she would probably have liked it more if they were lying on top of a bed instead of hard stone.
But what surprised her more was when Malfoy had leaned in and kissed her with a ferocious passion she had never expected from him. It tasted like mint, and it was just as intensely exciting as she had ever dreamed of.
The rest of the night's patrol was quickly forgotten, and soon enough they were ensconced in a tiny broom closet, stripping each other as fast as their hands could reach the clothing. During that entire time, they never broke the kiss; and it was only when Hermione's knickers were around her ankles that they paused for breath. Draco watched impatiently as Hermione quickly cast a contraception charm before pulling her to his own naked body, letting the contact stimulate a whole whirlwind of emotions within her.
Lust. Greed for more of him. No small amount of disgust, both with herself for betraying Harry and Ron this way, and at him for standing for everything that was against her. And an overwhelming explosion of ecstasy as he fulfilled both of their desires with one swift push.
As they staggered back to their rooms that night, Draco had turned to her before they parted ways. "No matter what happens," he said grimly, "no one must find out that we did this." Hermione had nodded, thinking the request reasonable—what would Harry and Ron think of her if they did find out? She would lose the two friends she had ever had, as well as her first lover.
But now, as she lay on the green grass of Stonehenge—where she and her family had been ambushed by Death Eaters—bleeding profusely and her broken wand just out of reach, she wondered if there were more reasons behind those hypnotising grey eyes than she had seen before. Her parents were long-dead by means of spell crossfire, but she had held out against a veritable battalion of Voldemort's supporters before being struck by six different bludgeoning and cutting curses at once. It was a battle for any Gryffindor to be proud of.
A shadow fell over her face. She turned her head to the side, but was unable to move anything else from the neck down. Feeling, however, was another matter. "Kill me," she gasped, choking on the blood that filled her torn lung. A few more minutes before she would drown in it, but she didn't need any more pain. "Just do it—please—"
The stranger knelt beside her, and she could barely see a strand of blonde hair trail out beneath the Death Eater mask.
A second shadow joined them. "Ah, I see you have the Mudblood, my son," purred Lucius Malfoy. "You may have the honor of—exterminating her."
Draco hesitated, and Hermione felt some hope burning in her chest—or was that her other lung starting to fill? But then Draco stood up and pulled something long and thin out of his pocket; her vision was fading, but she knew well enough what the object was without having to see it for herself.
"Avada Kedavra!"
As the green light sped to her eyes, she was again struck by a storm of emotions—different ones this time around. Resignation to her fate. Regret that it couldn't have worked out differently. And, if she still had strength to speak, the peace of mind to forgive her murderer for his crimes. She would much rather have him survive over her than herself over him…and that was her last thought before her spirit sped away from this earth.
"Well done, Draco," Lucius praised his son as they stood over the body of the dead Hermione Granger. "The Dark Lord will be very pleased with your accomplishment." He clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder before turning away to join his colleagues.
He never saw the glistening drops that fell on the girl's body, as Draco Malfoy wept for the one person who could have been his salvation from the eternal storms to come.
FINIS