Title: Curiosity
Rating: R language and sexuality…
Spoilers: Books
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….
Summary: Hermoine loses her father in a horrible accident, and must return home to take care of her mother; meanwhile, Draco is haunted by his last encounter with Hermoine, and does everything in his power to take his mind off of the recently dispatched mudblood.
A/N: This'll take me time, I'm writing it in AP Gov, (easier than notes, eh?)
**
That settled it.
The bags were packed, the owl was sent and she was in her way…home.
She was dropping out. She was not finishing school; she was a dropout loser whose final year would be taken at the community college back home.
Dropping out from Hogwarts was surprisingly easy.
Her mouth twisted into a sardonic grin. Her, of all people, Hermoine Granger, a dropout from Hogwarts.
The Sylitherins would be amused, if not a little pleased.
Top of the class.
Valedictorian.
Straight fives on all her NEWTs.
My, how they would laugh.
But she wouldn't be around, she made sure of it. When the owl had come with the note, telling her the news, she had packed that night, and all that was left was to shut the suitcase and go home. She hadn't told Ron, she hadn't told Harry. She would just leave and let Dumbledore sort out their questions. She didn't have the strength, nor the compunction to even attempt.
She was tired, and she needed to go home and take care of her mum.
For a moment she felt like laying down on her bed one last time, and just take a little nap, just to pretend that she would wake up the next morning and go to classes like usual; that she would turn in her homework that was done, that she would ace the test she had studied so long for; just to pretend that her mum wasn't dying and that her father wasn't dead; just to pretend.
It would be nice.
But no time for it. She snapped shut the suitcase and slipped it onto her shoulder. Her trunks were already waiting for her at the train station. It would be Hagrid who would row her across the river; he would be the last one to give her a hug goodbye and a tearful smile.
She slipped into the hall quietly. Pavarati and Lavender were asleep and oblivious to her absence. She moved down the halls silently, barely breathing afraid of waking someone, anyone up. She had to get out of here before she would never be able to leave. The Fat Lady grudgingly let her through the door, threatening briefly to scream if Hermoine dared to run off. But even the Fat Lady let her through, finally, tearfully waving good- bye with a clasped handkerchief. It was hard.
She had to.
Hoping that Harry and Ron were not on one of their late-night invisible cloak endeavors, she practically ran down the halls, afraid that if she didn't move fast enough she couldn't escape. She had to leave; mum was waiting.
Involved in her thoughts, unaware of her surroundings, she didn't notice the shadow ahead of her. She only paid notice after she stumbled, tripped and fell into it, a cry of indignation from both parties.
"Bloody hell!" The shadow cursed, "What the fuck do you think you're doing you bloody-stupid mudblood?!?"
She stared at him blankly, briefly cataloguing the fact that their limbs were tangled amongst each other. She did not cry.
She just continued to stare at him, trying to place this blonde-haired boy of whom's legs she was unwittingly in between. She realized her hands were on his chest and her legs were tangled in his own, and that he was staring at her with a mix of anger and curiosity.
Curiosity, she remembered in a non- sequitur sort of way, killed the cat.
And before he could hurl any more insults towards her, she pushed up, and over him, grabbing her bag and disappearing down the hall.
She had left him there, sprawled on the floor, his legs bent at an odd angle, himself, propped up on his elbows, without ever so much as a word. He looked back at the darkness from which she disappeared in and wondered, ever briefly, what he had missed.
No sharp retort.
No if-looks-could-kill.
No nothing.
Just blanked faced unfamiliarity.
He didn't even compute on the scale that she was working on.
And he was curious.
He pushed himself up, straightened the kinks in his back, crooked his neck and went down the hall after her.
Curiosity, he briefly recalled in a non- sequitur sort of way, killed the cat.
**
She was almost to the docks. After leaving Malfoy (She had placed the angry face to the cursed name) in an ungainly heap, she had prided herself for doing one last thing for Harry and Ron. They would have appreciated it, if they had known.
She wouldn't tell them of course, they wouldn't get so much as a letter once she was gone.
She was born from muggle parents, and soon (only another 15 hours) she would be just another muggle as well.
Magic would be a thing for the movies; a witch would be just another replacement for a five-letter word. Robes replaced with jeans, wands replaced with the finger.
About to turn the last corner that would take her to the docks, a foot snared the hem of her robe and a hand angrily pulled her back. Briefly, she wondered if it was Harry or Ron.
Draco Malfoy shoved her against the wall, and held her arms at her sides with his hands. He studied her, his eyes as blank as her own, the gray irises following the lines of her face, the wrinkles of her disheveled robes from their previous encounter, and followed these lines down to her bag that lay limply at their feet. His curiosity got the better of him and he whispered angrily, "Didn't feel the need to apologize, did you mud- blood?"
She didn't want to fight; didn't have the energy to think up a retort, witty or otherwise. "Sorry." She answered, looking just past his ear, studying the crack in the wall that traveled through the ancient brinks.
He studied her some more, his fingers, if she had bothered to notice, digging painfully into her arms.
"Mud blood." He said again, studying the laugh-lines around her tiny mouth, to see if they would react with more emotion than her eyes. They didn't quirk with anger or mirth.
"Mud blood whore." He continued, without the biting tone that usually accompanied his words.
She didn't blink.
Neither did he.
His fingers continued to dig trenches into her arms.
"Mud blood." He tried again.
Nothing.
"Whore." He tried separately.
The spot where her earlobe met her jaw did not react either.
"Slut."
"Bitch."
"Cunt."
Nothing. Didn't blink, didn't react, she continued to deconstruct the wall just past his ear.
"Answer me!" He screamed at her, spittle landing just below her eye, like a tear.
"Sorry." She whispered again.
"Is that all the infamous Hermoine Granger can come up with?" He asked again, his voice bouncing off the walls. He was angry.
She didn't meet his eyes. She saw her mum and dad though. She saw her mum back at the hospital, still hooked up to the regulator. She saw her dad's body on the metal table back at the coroner's office. The bruises on his face reminded her of the car accident. She wasn't there and she couldn't save them.
Madam Pomfry had taught her the bone-mending spell one time after Harry got into a particularly bad scrape. She thought it would be best if one of the triumvirate would have some knowledge on how to mend the broken bones that the three of them got so often. If Hermoine has been with her father at the hospital when he died, she could have saved him. She could have fixed them. She remembers exactly what she had been doing at the time that her parents got into the accident. She was studying for her Potion's exam on a petrifying tincture that she was having trouble with.
She could have…
His fingers were lost in the folds of her shabby robe; beneath the velvet was just her bony arm, cold even through the fabric.
Something in her eyes seemed to fade (if possible) and he suddenly found that his hands, gripping viciously into her skin, were the only things holding her up. Her body went limp, and he let her go. She slid against the wall until she came to a stop on the floor, she continued to stare ahead, not really seeing Malfoy crouch beside her to examine her some more.
His eyes were still hard, still angry. He slapped her, once, twice, seeing if physical violence would do anything to snap her out of her reverie and get her to react, anything to get a rise out of her, anything to get her to acknowledge him.
It worked.
Her eyes flashed, something came back to them that wasn't there before and for some reason it made Malfoy happy.
She slugged him.
He fell back, clutching his face, and for a brief moment she stood over him, her hands still clenched into fists. She looked at him; she kicked him in the stomach, once, twice. She picked up her bags and walked over him and turned the corner.
He lay on the floor of a Hogwart's hall for the second time that night; nursing a bruise caused by Hermoine Granger. This was different, though, this time, he didn't care. He got what he needed. Pushing himself up, brushing off his robes he headed back down the hall, away from Hermoine Granger and her problems.
He had his bruise, she carried her own.
Think of it, he looked back down the hall where the mudblood had disappeared, as a gift.
**
Hagrid met her at the docks. He helped her with her bag and helped her onto the boat. The ride was cold and rough and when she reached the other side she was completely soaked through. She was freezing, her teeth chattered, her skin was covered with goose bumps; but her cheek still burned from where he hit her.
Where did he get off? She thought angrily (for the first time since the accident) as she shoved her bag into the NightBus that would take her to the station.
She hugged Hagrid (as much as she could, she reached one of his legs still at 17) He tearfully helped her onto the bus and waved to her good-bye as the bus pulled away.
Hermoine was livid.
Pissed.
Angry.
Scratch that: Furious.
Two hours and forty-three minutes after Draco Malfoy slapped her she came up with the perfect retort: "Draco Malfoy," she should have said, "Would you please go somewhere else and self-fornicate." She would have then pried his fingers from his arms, the fingers that made ten livid marks, and maybe she would have slapped him back, picked up her bags, stepped over his shocked pure-bread face and leave without another word.
Her foot hurt where she kicked him in the stomach.
The Night-Bus arrived at the station and she was packed off into a carriage that would carry her to the 9 ¾ station.
The ride was 10 hours, and she spent the majority of it with her head against the windowpane, studying the tracks left by water at it condensed. She looked into the intricacies of the stains and found no comfort: just water and what it left behind.
**
A/N: Some of the names are spelled incorrectly, and I apologize, I will try to go back and fix them as soon as possible.
R&R and I'll love you.
Really.
-dafnap
Rating: R language and sexuality…
Spoilers: Books
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….
Summary: Hermoine loses her father in a horrible accident, and must return home to take care of her mother; meanwhile, Draco is haunted by his last encounter with Hermoine, and does everything in his power to take his mind off of the recently dispatched mudblood.
A/N: This'll take me time, I'm writing it in AP Gov, (easier than notes, eh?)
**
That settled it.
The bags were packed, the owl was sent and she was in her way…home.
She was dropping out. She was not finishing school; she was a dropout loser whose final year would be taken at the community college back home.
Dropping out from Hogwarts was surprisingly easy.
Her mouth twisted into a sardonic grin. Her, of all people, Hermoine Granger, a dropout from Hogwarts.
The Sylitherins would be amused, if not a little pleased.
Top of the class.
Valedictorian.
Straight fives on all her NEWTs.
My, how they would laugh.
But she wouldn't be around, she made sure of it. When the owl had come with the note, telling her the news, she had packed that night, and all that was left was to shut the suitcase and go home. She hadn't told Ron, she hadn't told Harry. She would just leave and let Dumbledore sort out their questions. She didn't have the strength, nor the compunction to even attempt.
She was tired, and she needed to go home and take care of her mum.
For a moment she felt like laying down on her bed one last time, and just take a little nap, just to pretend that she would wake up the next morning and go to classes like usual; that she would turn in her homework that was done, that she would ace the test she had studied so long for; just to pretend that her mum wasn't dying and that her father wasn't dead; just to pretend.
It would be nice.
But no time for it. She snapped shut the suitcase and slipped it onto her shoulder. Her trunks were already waiting for her at the train station. It would be Hagrid who would row her across the river; he would be the last one to give her a hug goodbye and a tearful smile.
She slipped into the hall quietly. Pavarati and Lavender were asleep and oblivious to her absence. She moved down the halls silently, barely breathing afraid of waking someone, anyone up. She had to get out of here before she would never be able to leave. The Fat Lady grudgingly let her through the door, threatening briefly to scream if Hermoine dared to run off. But even the Fat Lady let her through, finally, tearfully waving good- bye with a clasped handkerchief. It was hard.
She had to.
Hoping that Harry and Ron were not on one of their late-night invisible cloak endeavors, she practically ran down the halls, afraid that if she didn't move fast enough she couldn't escape. She had to leave; mum was waiting.
Involved in her thoughts, unaware of her surroundings, she didn't notice the shadow ahead of her. She only paid notice after she stumbled, tripped and fell into it, a cry of indignation from both parties.
"Bloody hell!" The shadow cursed, "What the fuck do you think you're doing you bloody-stupid mudblood?!?"
She stared at him blankly, briefly cataloguing the fact that their limbs were tangled amongst each other. She did not cry.
She just continued to stare at him, trying to place this blonde-haired boy of whom's legs she was unwittingly in between. She realized her hands were on his chest and her legs were tangled in his own, and that he was staring at her with a mix of anger and curiosity.
Curiosity, she remembered in a non- sequitur sort of way, killed the cat.
And before he could hurl any more insults towards her, she pushed up, and over him, grabbing her bag and disappearing down the hall.
She had left him there, sprawled on the floor, his legs bent at an odd angle, himself, propped up on his elbows, without ever so much as a word. He looked back at the darkness from which she disappeared in and wondered, ever briefly, what he had missed.
No sharp retort.
No if-looks-could-kill.
No nothing.
Just blanked faced unfamiliarity.
He didn't even compute on the scale that she was working on.
And he was curious.
He pushed himself up, straightened the kinks in his back, crooked his neck and went down the hall after her.
Curiosity, he briefly recalled in a non- sequitur sort of way, killed the cat.
**
She was almost to the docks. After leaving Malfoy (She had placed the angry face to the cursed name) in an ungainly heap, she had prided herself for doing one last thing for Harry and Ron. They would have appreciated it, if they had known.
She wouldn't tell them of course, they wouldn't get so much as a letter once she was gone.
She was born from muggle parents, and soon (only another 15 hours) she would be just another muggle as well.
Magic would be a thing for the movies; a witch would be just another replacement for a five-letter word. Robes replaced with jeans, wands replaced with the finger.
About to turn the last corner that would take her to the docks, a foot snared the hem of her robe and a hand angrily pulled her back. Briefly, she wondered if it was Harry or Ron.
Draco Malfoy shoved her against the wall, and held her arms at her sides with his hands. He studied her, his eyes as blank as her own, the gray irises following the lines of her face, the wrinkles of her disheveled robes from their previous encounter, and followed these lines down to her bag that lay limply at their feet. His curiosity got the better of him and he whispered angrily, "Didn't feel the need to apologize, did you mud- blood?"
She didn't want to fight; didn't have the energy to think up a retort, witty or otherwise. "Sorry." She answered, looking just past his ear, studying the crack in the wall that traveled through the ancient brinks.
He studied her some more, his fingers, if she had bothered to notice, digging painfully into her arms.
"Mud blood." He said again, studying the laugh-lines around her tiny mouth, to see if they would react with more emotion than her eyes. They didn't quirk with anger or mirth.
"Mud blood whore." He continued, without the biting tone that usually accompanied his words.
She didn't blink.
Neither did he.
His fingers continued to dig trenches into her arms.
"Mud blood." He tried again.
Nothing.
"Whore." He tried separately.
The spot where her earlobe met her jaw did not react either.
"Slut."
"Bitch."
"Cunt."
Nothing. Didn't blink, didn't react, she continued to deconstruct the wall just past his ear.
"Answer me!" He screamed at her, spittle landing just below her eye, like a tear.
"Sorry." She whispered again.
"Is that all the infamous Hermoine Granger can come up with?" He asked again, his voice bouncing off the walls. He was angry.
She didn't meet his eyes. She saw her mum and dad though. She saw her mum back at the hospital, still hooked up to the regulator. She saw her dad's body on the metal table back at the coroner's office. The bruises on his face reminded her of the car accident. She wasn't there and she couldn't save them.
Madam Pomfry had taught her the bone-mending spell one time after Harry got into a particularly bad scrape. She thought it would be best if one of the triumvirate would have some knowledge on how to mend the broken bones that the three of them got so often. If Hermoine has been with her father at the hospital when he died, she could have saved him. She could have fixed them. She remembers exactly what she had been doing at the time that her parents got into the accident. She was studying for her Potion's exam on a petrifying tincture that she was having trouble with.
She could have…
His fingers were lost in the folds of her shabby robe; beneath the velvet was just her bony arm, cold even through the fabric.
Something in her eyes seemed to fade (if possible) and he suddenly found that his hands, gripping viciously into her skin, were the only things holding her up. Her body went limp, and he let her go. She slid against the wall until she came to a stop on the floor, she continued to stare ahead, not really seeing Malfoy crouch beside her to examine her some more.
His eyes were still hard, still angry. He slapped her, once, twice, seeing if physical violence would do anything to snap her out of her reverie and get her to react, anything to get a rise out of her, anything to get her to acknowledge him.
It worked.
Her eyes flashed, something came back to them that wasn't there before and for some reason it made Malfoy happy.
She slugged him.
He fell back, clutching his face, and for a brief moment she stood over him, her hands still clenched into fists. She looked at him; she kicked him in the stomach, once, twice. She picked up her bags and walked over him and turned the corner.
He lay on the floor of a Hogwart's hall for the second time that night; nursing a bruise caused by Hermoine Granger. This was different, though, this time, he didn't care. He got what he needed. Pushing himself up, brushing off his robes he headed back down the hall, away from Hermoine Granger and her problems.
He had his bruise, she carried her own.
Think of it, he looked back down the hall where the mudblood had disappeared, as a gift.
**
Hagrid met her at the docks. He helped her with her bag and helped her onto the boat. The ride was cold and rough and when she reached the other side she was completely soaked through. She was freezing, her teeth chattered, her skin was covered with goose bumps; but her cheek still burned from where he hit her.
Where did he get off? She thought angrily (for the first time since the accident) as she shoved her bag into the NightBus that would take her to the station.
She hugged Hagrid (as much as she could, she reached one of his legs still at 17) He tearfully helped her onto the bus and waved to her good-bye as the bus pulled away.
Hermoine was livid.
Pissed.
Angry.
Scratch that: Furious.
Two hours and forty-three minutes after Draco Malfoy slapped her she came up with the perfect retort: "Draco Malfoy," she should have said, "Would you please go somewhere else and self-fornicate." She would have then pried his fingers from his arms, the fingers that made ten livid marks, and maybe she would have slapped him back, picked up her bags, stepped over his shocked pure-bread face and leave without another word.
Her foot hurt where she kicked him in the stomach.
The Night-Bus arrived at the station and she was packed off into a carriage that would carry her to the 9 ¾ station.
The ride was 10 hours, and she spent the majority of it with her head against the windowpane, studying the tracks left by water at it condensed. She looked into the intricacies of the stains and found no comfort: just water and what it left behind.
**
A/N: Some of the names are spelled incorrectly, and I apologize, I will try to go back and fix them as soon as possible.
R&R and I'll love you.
Really.
-dafnap
