This is the prologue of my fanfic, Shining Boy's Heart.

Disclaimer::Twiddles peacock quill:: Must I::Sighs and says the following in one breath:: I, ChocolatMieux9, do not own Harry Potter, any of its affiliates, characters, words, items, etc. Everything belongs to the respected and honored J.K. Rowling and the respected affiliates. Neither do any of the songs written within the story. The only thing that is within my legal possession is the plot. ::Takes breath:: There. Happy?

Chapter Summary: Draco paroles the halls of Hogwarts, and finds a little witch that sparks something forbodden within him.

Prologue

The Shining Boy's Heart

Tell me, do you remember

That melody that I used to hum (Back in the days?)

To me, every memory

Is still as clear as it could ever be

So you

Got to remember

To never let go of your dreams

'Cause they are

Shining like they were back then (Come on!)

Just like some young boy's heart-ah!

-Shonen Hearto by Home Made Kazoku

Scribbling.

The reverberation of a quill etching into parchment filled the vacant corridor, annoying its only commuter, Draco Malfoy, who's lovely new Head Boy badge gleamed and twinkled with the flashing silver of the emblem and the irregular waves of orange light from the torches suspended on the walls.

He skulked to the end of the hall and peered into the library. But who would be in the library at this time? Everyone should be in their dormitories. Draco smirked and pondered the delights of which the perpetrator would receive punishment.

Draco sauntered in, chest pressed out so his Slytherin Head Boy pin would shine into the face of the guilty little…

He stopped. It was the Head Girl.

It was Granger.

Hermione was inscribing, profusely, the words of a rather thick and dusty volume of "Most Wicked and Vile: Dark Majick".

He studied her face, which was in great concentration. He chuckled silently as her cheeks flushed with deliberation.

Heart-shaped; pale, with a sprinkle of light brown freckles across the bridge of her small button nose. Her hair wasn't as bushy as it was in the previous years, her coiled locks enfolded on top of her head in a loose chignon, which was coming undone with her furious scripture. She licked her plump, rosy lips, which were pursed out, her head was low, Draco wondered if the witch was going to kiss the parchment.

Finally the bun came undone and Hermione sucked her teeth agitatedly. Normally she would have felt his presence. Her chestnut eyes, which sparkled to so many others would have narrowed into slits and she would have hissed, "What do you want, Ferret Boy?" If she did, he would have sneered disgustedly, called her a Mudblood, make fun of Potty and Weaselbee.

But tonight, he watched her.

And watched her.

And watched her.

And she finally fell asleep, the dull, boring, brown quill limp between her index and thumb and her curls fanning around her face.

He smiled, something no one within the castle had ever seen, and his mother had not seen in a long while. He smiled at how innocent the witty, silver-tongued witch looked as she snored quietly. Her cheeks were a healthy pink, her weight light as he picked her up, as if a bride, to tuck her into her bed.

He felt her soft breath blow out of her lips and onto his chin, her slim arms slipped around his neck, her head buried into his chest. He thanked Merlin that no one was out of bed at the time: he would have been caught doing something he would have never thought he'd do.

Kiss the soft, giving, cherry-red lips of Muggle-born Hermione Jane Granger.

Draco didn't know what came over him. He just saw the girl sleeping in his arms, harmless, wandless, mumbling at points of time. But she smelled of brown sugar…and peaches…and…peach cobbler.

She smelled of peach cobbler.

He smiled again. He remembered when his mother once made peach cobbler behind his father's back. 'Don't tell him,' she laughed as she stewed the peaches. It was the most succulent thing he had ever ate. Made with love, patience, not one drop of magic; it was delicious.

Draco reached the portrait of the Heads, which was the two of them, the Hermione in the portrait smiling slightly, as did the real one.

"'Scuse me, love." Draco whispered. Both the portrait Hermione and Draco smiled at him sleepily. Draco put a long, thin finger to his pale lips and pointed to the sleeping doll in his arms.

"Password?" The portrait Hermione whispered. Draco gave the code and the door swung open.

He placed her within the warm confinements of his bed in the dormitory. He lightly kissed her lips again, then licked his own. She even tasted like peaches. He turned to leave but heard her mumble, "Don't."

"You want me to stay, Granger." His back stayed turned.

"Don't." She whispered, eyes still closed.

"You want me to stay, Hermione?"

"Yes." Her voice was faint.

He lifted the emerald comforter and enveloped himself in it. Grabbing Hermione gently, he set her across his chest. She cuddled against him and snored some.

He smiled once more, and kissed her again.

This time, he could swear he felt her plump little lips press back, even if it was just for a moment.

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