Chapter One – A Certain Kind of Desperation
Hermione's POV
I have been sitting in Three Broomsticks for quite some time now, and no one has recognised me. A bunch of Hogwarts students walked past just now, but they did not even glance at me. Then again, I do not really ask for attention. Not that someone who had been expelled wants to.
It still hurts.
I remember it happened six years ago, in my seventh year. Harry and Ron had…abandoned me practically, for their girlfriends. Ron had been dating me for a while, but he could not stay close to someone who was more interested in studying than Quidditch. Perhaps it was my fault, but nothing can be changed. Ever. That must have been why when I was accused of stealing, they did not stand up for me. They thought that I had changed. As if I would want to steal all the first years' wands and hide them away. Of course, I probably could if I want to, but that is not the point. I never would have. When the professors found the wands in my trunk that was it. After breaking my wand, they literally kicked me out.
I hate memories.
Anyway, I then returned to my parents' house, but not before going to the corner shop and buying a large pair of scissors and a bottle of hair dye. A couple of hours after coming home, I had changed my looks a little. I could not bear to dye my hair, but my long hair, after I had spent so much time on changing its bushiness to silky-smoothness, was cut off. I opted for a boyish haircut, which was slightly easier than some other kinds. After packing up my necessary possessions, I left. I have no need to become a burden to my parents.
In the end, I applied for a secretary job. It does not pay much, but is better than nothing. I also rented a small flat. I had distanced myself away from the wizarding world and my relatives. I have no need for sympathies now.
Or ever again.
After six long years, I have returned. I am not able to explain it, but somehow a longing for being somewhere familiar built up inside of me, and I came. Then, suddenly, as I sipped my Butterbeer, I sense someone stop by my table. "Hermione Granger?" I look up to see the person I had never expected to enter my life again.
Draco Malfoy.
Suspected Death Eater and definitely not someone I want to see.
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Draco's POV
I stride down Hogsmeade, my black robes billowing behind me. I've been a Death Eater for six years, and I'm sick of it. Killing and murdering have already blended into what remains of my life, while most of it has been sacrificed grovelling to Lord Voldemort. A new Death Eater needs to gain his trust to be able undertake any assignments, so I've been working and researching, finding people's whereabouts and participating in what my father calls 'wiping out mudbloods' and what I prefer to call 'useless bloodbaths'. Of course, I still feel a certain exhilaration each time I strike someone down, it just becomes less and less each time.
Lord Voldemort is pathetic. Only in my mind would I dare say that, on my lips are always useless strings of praises and hollow thanks. What sort of creature is he that he cannot even kill Harry Potter, a boy that he has weakened, taking away what little protection that his mother gave him? Even though I loathe Potter, I must admit that I feel reluctantly, admiration for him. It can't be easy having Lord Voldemort running after him every year in an attempt to kill him.
But I remember when I must have first started rebelling. When Lord Voldemort (henceforth to be in my mind merely Voldemort) ordered me to kill Professor Snape after finding out that he was a traitor. To the others, it was the right thing to do, to see if I was loyal and worthy, two words hardly to be used in this context. To me, it was killing the only mentor I had ever had. My father was weak and couldn't care about me. Professor Snape at least knew me, no matter how roughly.
He was the only one who had known me.
Beforehand, he suspected that he was probably going to die as a spy for Dumbledore, so told me to kill him, if necessary. A Death Eater never shows mercy, he reminded me, and doing so for him would show that I felt stronger for another than Voldemort, causing my own death. Killing him was painful. A quick 'Avada Kedavra' ended it, but those few words seemed to take an eternity to say. How would I ever be able to live again? Perhaps it was time to let go of whatever hopes I had and become a Death Eater, loyal only to Lord Voldemort. But my mind rebels against it.
I opened the door to Three Broomsticks and glanced around for a table to sit down at. No one from our recent massacres had survived, so I had no worries about people recognising me for what I was. Then I saw her. Her hair had been cut, and she looked older, perhaps even more beautiful than before, but nevertheless I could still recognise her. Some people look so much the better after exertion. One Voldemort had warned us about being the strongest witch of her age, one I would formerly call Mudblood, but now tire of doing so. One who was expelled from Hogwarts for something she did not do.
Hermione Granger.
As always, read and review please. I would like…let's see, 10 reviews before uploading the next chapter. Oh yes, Hermione and Draco and the Harry Potter idea are all not mine, but are J.K. Rowling's. So don't sue, unless you want a pile of unfinished homework. *Bursts into tears at tragedy and homework
