I started a Dramione fic a while back- I put that on hiatus because I want to rewrite it. Instead, I toyed with a modern! au for a while based on the amazing book Eleanor and Park and decided that I wanted to write that. Well, it uh, didn't come out as expected. Instead, there's this. I did really want more dramione in my life, though, and so I figure if I write one based on the book, I'll get better at perfecting the characters. At the moment, my Draco's angsty and Hermione's too nice, idk, it might be a little ooc because this is practice for me.
Headphones shoved in his ears could hardly drown out the loud screeching of Pansy Parkinson.
Draco slid in his seat as if that would make the cackling laughter go away. If a witch and a pug dog had a love child, her name would be Pansy. Theodore Nott did (quite ironically) not help the situation by egging her on to keep yapping like a nasal bird.
"She's so fucking weird. I don't know why she goes to our parties," Theodore stated.
"She's rich, Theo," Pansy explained (still shrill-y). "Honestly. Her dad's, like, got this weird magazine that sells."
"The girl's mental, Loony is!"
Draco can hear then arguing over the pros and cons of Luna Lovegood being kept (in the far, far corner) of their social circle. Pansy argued that she was rich and her house was large, Theo argued that she was a weirdo.
Draco liked to sit by himself solely for that reason. The pointless debates. What was there to see about anything? Lovegood was weird and rich. They already avoided the girl as it was in school, might as well take it one step further. Yes, he's cynical, because popularity and fitting in just comes naturally if you're from old money and you happen to have girls flock over you.
There's not really time to bother with debating over the subject. If she was popular, she was popular. If she wasn't, then why even fake it?
He's already spent too much time having an internal conflict over his "friends" dissecting Luna Lovegood so he put the volume up on his phone, letting the blissful sounds of heavy guitar fill his ears.
Even then, he can hear Pansy gibber like a bloody banshee to the entire backseat of the bus, and every single word she spouts from over-glossed lips.
He can hear the lull in the conversation too.
Just a split second pause, then snickers, loud ones. Draco lifts his head to see what it is they've found so amusing, and finds his answer in the form of a girl.
An ordinary girl, really. Nothing that made her stand out.
Except for the fact that she was new.
She had fair skin, not pale but not tanned, deep brown eyes that blinked nervously and most notably, frizzy brown curls strewn askew her face like she hardly brushed it. The too-long skirt and buttoned shirt that was so conservative it left Pansy screeching with laughter. Nothing at the moment was really helping her unfurling status, Draco thought idly.
She moved down the aisles slowly, and other people pushed past her to get to their own seats, the girl clinging to the brown vinyl like it was her lifeline.
Everyone who had their own seats without companions moved so that she wouldn't even consider sitting there. The girl bit her bottom lip, chewing it thoughtfully, and Draco's eyes flickered to her mouth to idly note that her lips looked soft and pink before he turned his head. No, he wasn't interested in seeing Pansy eat the girl alive before she even set foot at the high school.
She was closely reaching the back seat, where his group sat- Pansy, Theo, Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle, Millicent Bulstrode, and Vincent Crabbe.
The bus driver was having none of it either, it seemed. "Sit down," he barked.
The girl shot a nervous look at the driver and then back at the partially filled seats.
"Just sit down!"
Pansy's smile was malicious as the girl walked to the back of the bus, and Draco knew she was bound to sit in the one empty seat there- Daphne Greengrass' seat.
He didn't know what compelled him, but he slid towards the window.
"Sit down," he told her, rivaling the bus driver.
The girl looked at him in surprise, obviously, hands flittering to clutch at her elbows.
"Damnit, just sit down," Draco said, looking out the window and turning his music up even louder until he felt he'd go deaf. The girl did sit, but stiffly, back rigid, amidst peals of laughter from Pansy from the back and placed her bag onto her lap.
She didn't speak to him at all, didn't even thank him, but Draco could care less. Helping this new girl out was just a seating arrangement, he wasn't trying to associate with her in the slightest.
She was in his English class, too. Just his luck.
He was sitting in the row closest to the door as always. Next to Blaise, who was still one of his friends, and he wasn't a total prick all the time, which was a bonus. Draco had just started to scribble/take notes on the book (mainly scribble) when she introduced herself to the teacher with a whisper.
"Hermione. What a lovely name," Mr. Flitwick said pleasantly. "Come from Shakespeare's 'A Winter's Tale', quite a coincidence given what we're studying...Granger, Hermione Granger. Well, Hermione, there's a seat here in the front."
A row over and a few seats in front of himself. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Hermione sat and pulled the book bag in her lap like on the bus, Blaise muttering something about bloody church girls, probably a jab at what she wore, which Draco rolled his eyes at.
The small, elderly man hobbled around the class with his book in hand, chattering. "This class session, it's all Shakespeare- don't groan, he's the most influential writer of British literature, wouldn't you agree? Anyway, Romeo and Juliet. The basics. Everyone's got to read it at least once in their lifetime. Open to page 8 and start us off, Ms. Granger."
Hermione was startled, Draco could see. She'd just turned to that page and her back went rigid again, just like earlier.
"Me?" she stammered, and hearing her speak, just made something flip in Draco. As in, connecting the smart-sounding, slightly bossy tone of her voice made the clothing and face and hair just all connect. Putting a sound to an image is sometimes important, and Draco was sort of- at ease with hearing her speak.
Blaise was shaking his head with a slight grin on his face, but otherwise made no comment. Besides, the various other classmates were already doing that for him.
"Yes, yes, you, Ms. Granger. Please start us off," Flitwick said.
Hermione swallowed, Draco seeing the motion as she ducked over the pages.
That voice of her sounded, clean and clear, just slightly wobbly at the start. "Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where we lay our scene..."
Flitwick was nodding, like that made perfect sense, which it did. Any other person wouldn't made Shakespeare dull and flat, Hermione made him vibrant and alive, practically.
"From forth the fatal loins of these two foes, a pair of star-crossed lovers take their life..."
Blaise gave a small nod, just the tiniest, but Draco knew that for Blaise, it meant he was impressed. Mildly. In all subjects, Blaise was smart, and an avid literature and art critic, it becoming clear that Hermione captured the young man's interest.
For some reason Draco wanted to be the only one to hear that voice when she spoke Shakespeare. As if he were the first person to discover her, almost.
"Magnificent, Ms. Granger, just magnificent!" Flitwick was beside himself with glee, clapping after Hermione finished the prologue. "Truly marvelous! The emotion, the depth- have you considered the theatre? You'd be stupendous, my dear."
"Oh," Hermione's cheeks colored and she looked at her book, brushing a curl behind her ear. "Not really." She sounded pleased.
"You ought to, Ms. Granger. A star is born!" Flitwick tossed his short arms in the air comically and some students outright laughed, but Draco wasn't among them, because he agreed.
Hermione slunk in her seat slightly, looking down at the page of her book.
"Thank you," she said, in almost a whisper so that Draco hardly caught it.
Blaise crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, looking at Draco with a smirk. In Blaise's language, it meant that the new girl wasn't terrible, but laughable. Draco shrugged and looked straight ahead like Flitwick was the most fascinating thing on earth (he wasn't).
"You'll all take turns reading from the book-"
Draco didn't care what the teacher babbled about, but he did study Hermione.
She was brushing hair behind her ears every so often, the curls never tamed, turning pages and reading ahead, looking every bit the overachieving priss she was being painted.
Blaise elbowed Draco in the ribs and Draco tore his eyes away.
It wasn't like he was actually looking.
Hermione hated the hallways. Scrutinizing eyes of several classmates, bluntly obvious giggles girls turned to share behind palms with their friends, the occasional insult thrown. Her fingers nervously toyed with her bag handle and she rolled up her sleeves, tugging at the collar that just rested at the base of her neck as if the heat got to her. It was the end of a long, distressing day and there was still the issue of getting home.
Riding the bus was a hell among itself. Those people that rode it- she didn't like to associate the devil with anything, but if she did, Satan's children would take form in her classmates. Plus, the strange blond kid from earlier didn't even look happy that he was forced to sit with her. If she could change seats, she would. She just didn't have much choice.
Stepping up into the bus, she took a deep breath and spotted the light head of hair of the boy shining near the back of the bus. Without any other prospects, she sat down next to him again, but stiffly, pulling her bag in her lap.
He only looked at her once, and it was just to see who sat next to him, before he turned back to his phone, fixing his headphones. Hermione looked over at this phone, an expensive device that could only belong to a rich person, due to the amount it cost. At first she just admired its sheen, the sleekness, because obviously, she'd never have one like it. Looking wasn't a crime. Her eyes, then, slowly started moving to the screen of his phone out of idle curiosity.
He was scrolling through music, and Hermione never meant to, but she started reading them over his shoulder, her mouth twisting into a line at the names of the songs and bands that sang them. Then Blond guy turned and caught her in the act, Hermione whipping her head so fast, some curls caught in her mouth.
He went closer to the window and Hermione shuffled to the edge of the seat. Cheeks bright pink, she opened her bag and slid a book into her lap, fingers fumbling in an attempt to open it.
Jane Eyre. A classic. One she'd read several times, of course, but it wouldn't hurt to reread it just to avoid the awkward situations with the blond kid.
Ah, yes, the opening statement calmed her so much and dragged her into a familiar world, one she loved more than reality.
There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning, but since dinner...
Hermione never noticed that Draco looked over her shoulder at the words. Or that he started reading along. Or that he'd never read the book and he secretly resented when Hermione's fast-reading eyes turned the pages before he could finish.
The door to Hermione's house was wooden, splintery, and once white.
It was also falling off its hinges.
"Mom? Dad?" she peeked her head through the door, careful not to jar it so that it would fall (because it did fall when they first moved in and that was not something she wanted to repeat).
"In here, darling!" her mother's voice called from the kitchen.
Hermione loved her parents. Of course she did. They were supportive, loving, and cared for her every need. She tried so hard to accept that they'd wanted to move to this new town, and willingly left her old school without much problem, but it was hard.
It was just hard to fit in. She'd never- bothered to try, more like. She had no problem with what she said and what she wore, and if others did, she wasn't going to change for their sake. She considered herself independent and smart, Hermione did, and she'd even gone so far as to research high school and told herself that as long as she got her education and moved on to be successful, her social life could fail for all she cared.
Hermione followed the sound of her tone to find her mother with her hands in a bowl, mixing something.
"Hi, mum," Hermione kissed her mother's cheek.
"How was school?" Mrs. Granger beamed at her daughter. "Did you make new friends?"
Hermione swallowed. "Sort of." Already lying, it seemed- but her parents couldn't have passed up the dentistry jobs they were offered here. She had to pretend to be happy for their sakes.
"That's wonderful, darling- would you like to help with dinner? Here, just chop some onions for the meatloaf," Mrs. Granger handed Hermione a few onions and continued with mashing meat in her bowl.
Hermione obliged, taking a knife and slicing into the papery skin of the vegetables, listening to her mother's soft humming and the pitter-patter of the knife hitting the wood.
"Mom," Hermione summoned the courage to try to talk to her mother. "How- long are we staying here?" She missed her old friends and their old house, and she'd take anything over the current situation, she glumly admitted.
"I thought we'd stay here, darling," Mrs. Granger said quietly. "Your father and I- it's just a great opportunity."
"Of course," Hermione tried not to sound disappointed. "Okay, I just-"
"You know you can tell me anything, Hermione," Mrs. Granger said, affectionally moving to hug her daughter with one arm. "If there's trouble at school, or in the neighborhood- if you need or want something, dear, don't be afraid to ask."
She kissed Hermione's forehead tenderly. "You're very brave for doing this for us, sweetheart," she murmured gently, lifting Hermione's chin. "I know we aren't in the most agreeable of positions, but it'll get better. We'll get a new home and make this place ours."
"Alright, mum," Hermione smiled at her, a forced, weak smile.
"That's my girl," Mrs. Granger sighed contentedly, squeezing Hermione's shoulder fondly and returning to her meat.
"I think I'll go upstairs for a while," Hermione said. "Do you still need help?"
"No, dear, go on," Mrs. Granger shook her head, Hermione moving up the stairs as quickly as she could.
Closing the unlocked door in her small bedroom, Hermione wanted to sob as she slid onto the mattress shoved into the corner of the room. The new house was falling apart, to put it mildly, but it was all her parents could afford in their new positions. She knew they hoped to rank higher after a few years and until they could move elsewhere, the tiny home would have to accommodate them as best as it could. They had no cable, barely functioning water and electricity, and if that wasn't bad enough, no air conditioning and scratched up walls with questionable marks. It wasn't ideal compared to her last house, but she knew her parents weren't happy there in their old jobs. It was such a good opportunity...
Hermione sat cross-legged on the makeshift bed and pulled the bag of belongings she'd been able to bring. There wasn't much save for some books, clothing, and miscellaneous items. She reached in and grabbed the first thing her fingers landed on, pulling out a stuffed animal she'd had since she was young, a teddy bear worn with age. She set that aside and reached in again, pushing shirts and a pair of shoes out away from a box that she loved.
It was cardboard, but it was sturdy, and it had her stationary and writing tools left in there, as well as a short-lived diary and old photos.
She opened the pale pink cover, rubbing the soft worn edges, and finally let herself cry.
"I can't believe I have to take the bus if I have a car," Pansy whined like a child, her heels clicking the pavement, her scowling at the sidewalk whenever the clinking noise sounded. "My dad thinks that I need to learn lower class practices to 'walk a mile in their shoes' because apparently, it's good in the workspace to 'relate to others'. If this is what walking in their shoes fels like, my heels are so going to be scuffed."
"Then don't wear your ridiculous shoes," Blaise supplied, not even glancing at her, hanging back to walk by Draco.
"Oh, fuck you, Blaise- Theo! Theo, here, carry my shoes for me, won't you?" Pansy took off her high heels and shoved them into Theo's outstretched arms, something he frowned at, since he was in the middle of an animated storytelling session with Greg that involved arm movements.
"Wear sneakers, for Christ's sake," Theo made to toss them over his shoulder and Pansy snatched them back, scowling.
Millicent rolled her eyes and she carried Pansy's shoes like a friend might, but not without indelicately clutching them. Millicent was alright, for a girl, Draco supposed. She was into football and she was buff, not the girly types like Pansy or the Greengrass sisters. Speaking of the Greengrass sisters, just like the group he was walking with, he had the fortune to call them his neighbors. (Sarcasm really fueled his inner thoughts on the walks home).
"I never make the mistake of wearing heels on the walk home," Daphne stuck her foot out, pausing to admire the pedicure shown off by the sandals. "Don't you think Pansy's just a chit for doing so, Draco?"
Draco muttered something in response, he was sure, but Blaise elbowed him and he shrugged.
"You're an arse, Draco," Pansy decided, hanging next to Millicent rather than the other boys and girls. "Speaking of you being an arse, you never held that party for us at your house. Your mother was fine with it when I asked, but-"
"But there's nothing to it," Draco said stiffly. "No one cares about parties when the school year's just started."
"That's why they're fun, Draco, honestly," Pansy huffed.
"That's why you fail all your classes," Blaise supplied.
"Blaise, you utter prick-"
"No, Pansy's got a point," the younger Greengrass (Astoria, just a starting freshman and eager to follow in Daphne's popularity in all the wrong ways) stated. "Parties are the best ways to meet new people!"
"Oh, like you know anything about parties," Theo grumbled. "Freshman aren't even allowed at those. They can't handle it."
"I can," Astoria made a face. "I don't see why you treat me like a child, Theodore."
"We grew up together, Astoria, don't pull shit," Theo said. "Aren't you too busy playing with unicorns or something to go to a party?"
Astoria flipped him off sullenly, Daphne gripping her sister's arm and pulling her closer.
"Don't be such a wanker, Nott," Daphne said. "If Draco's still having the party, we're going."
"Draco?" Pansy arched her eyebrow and whirled around, almost tripping over a sidewalk crack with her bare toes.
"Fine," Draco grunted, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Whatever."
"You can be my date for your party," Pansy decided, much to Draco's dismay. "I was talking to-"
"Don't flatter yourself, Parkinson," Draco cut her off. "We haven't done anything as juvenile as dates to parties since middle school."
"Like I said," Pansy reiterated loudly, ignoring Draco, "I was talking to Vincent and he mentioned that if you were having a party, we should all have dates, because he wants to ask someone special out."
"It's so childish," Daphne tossed her hair over her shoulder prissily. "What are we, twelve? Dating's for kids."
"Says you," Theo said, "You don't date, you just screw around."
"Shut the fuck up, Theo," Daphne narrowed her eyes. "You know a lot about screwing around."
"Astoria's here, no language," Blaise said, just to be annoying, but it worked. Astoria crossed her arms and stomped her foot like a child.
"I can curse," Astoria snapped. "I'm just like all of you."
"God, you're so pathetic," Daphne groaned, steering her sister towards a large house at the end of the street.
"Bye, Daph," Pansy bid the sisters a wave, but the others merely turned to keep walking.
After Millicent, Theo and Blaise went to their own homes respectively, Draco was left with Pansy for the last few steps, her moaning and trying to get him to carry her footwear for some bizarre reason, as if it really weighed that much.
"So on the topic of the party," Pansy changed the subject, "I'd say that in another few weeks or so, don't you think? We can all chip in for booze, and I know a guy that can sell. Then we'll-"
"It's a party, Parkinson," Draco sighed, pausing in front of Pansy's house and gesturing for her to leave. "It doesn't have to be a huge affair. We come to my house, we get drunk. That's it."
"Vincent wants it to be an actual party," Pansy slipped her shoes on again. "He's got a thing for Millicent- didn't you just see it coming? Anyway, he wants a date atmosphere."
"I'm impressed, Parkinson- you actually know a higher level word like atmosphere," Draco drawled.
"Piss off," Pansy made a face and flounced away down the immaculate front lawn of the Parkinson household, leaving Draco walking next door to his own house.
He unlocked the front door and came to a quiet living room, tossing his jacket over the nearest couch and wandering into the kitchen, sitting at the table.
His parent's paid help- by paid help he meant a scantily paid, live in old man- came immediately, bowing respectfully. "Mr. Draco," he said, in his usual high-pitched voice that made Draco want to rip off his own ears. "What can I get you?"
"Just a snack, Dobby," Draco muttered. "Apple. I'll eat later."
Almost instantly, a perfectly polished green apple on a plate appeared on the counter. Draco snatched it up and left without a word, closing himself in his room, not hearing anything from his parents and he settled on his bed with loud music and his snack.
Well, to sum up his day, Draco was left with a troublesome party and a parasitic social pariah on his hands.
Yup. Pretty shitty.