This is the first installment of a number of short stories which revolve around Draco and Hermione's relationship, and songs which inspire/support the stories in some way. It's a small project of mine which I'm becoming quite proud of and I'm having a lot of fun finding synaesthesia between the music and the story. I hope you really enjoy it, and this first chapter features the song/lyrics Louder Than Thunder by the Devil Wears Prada. You can listen to it if you like, or you can just read the story and enjoy the extra poetic bits. Enjoy :)
Louder Than Thunder
Draco/Hermione
What would it take for things to be quiet?
Everything he had ever been told about mudbloods had developed an image in his mind which he was unable to shake. Mudbloods were ugly things, they were unnatural, they were unwanted. The word, to him, was the definition of ugly. It was associated with dirt, with shame and disgust. The lessons he had learned from his father had been drilled so very deep into his mind that it was a part of his structure, a part of who he was.
He was a Malfoy, he was Pureblood and he was better than the rest. His mother told him so, his father told him so, anybody who thought otherwise wasn't allowed to say so.
Quiet like the snow
That day, in September, when he boarded the magnificent train at Platform 9 ¾, he held his head up high and introduced himself to the other students as Draco Malfoy: Pureblood. His perfect, silvery-blonde hair was slicked back and his steely eyes sparkled with excitement as he strode through the carriage to find himself a compartment.
I know, this isn't much
But I know I could, I could be better
And he had passed by her as he walked down the train, and as her mess of unruly brown hair brushed against his robe, he turned to ask her who exactly she thought she was, getting her hair all over his new robes, when she turned to look at him as well.
It threw him. He was eleven. The only girls he'd ever interacted with were either family members or girls who sat at the dining room table as their families ate dinner. And the children were expected to listen obediently to the adults, even if they didn't understand what was going on.
I don't think I deserve it
This girl was an oddity. Draco had never seen a girl with her hair not tied back, and he'd never seen a girl with such tawny, warm amber eyes. He'd never seen a girl wearing jeans, wearing a faded red cardigan which looked like it was something a muggle would wear. He'd never seen such ridiculous teeth, and for that matter, he'd never seen such huge teeth manage to make a smile so warm and welcoming.
Selflessness, find your way into my heart
The moment didn't last, and she turned away, her smile leaving with her as she walked away down the train. Draco spent most of the journey thinking that he had felt something strange when he'd seen her. She was different, but somehow she was – well, he didn't know what the word was. But when he looked at her, the rest of him seemed to disappear. Like she was muting everything around him. Like – like she required all of his attention at once.
Yes, that was it, thought Draco. She wasn't particularly strange, she's just a lot to take in.
It was only later on, when there was a sharp rap on the door and a clear, lovely voice broke into Draco's conversation with the Italian boy, Blaise: "Excuse me, but have you seen a toad anywhere?"
Draco's eyes shifted to the door and he realised it was the girl. She had changed from her plain jeans and cardigan to her school robes – and yet, though she looked more familiar to him, Draco found himself unable to respond to her simple question.
All stars could be brighter,
All hearts could be warmer
Her eyes were the softest shade of brown he'd ever seen. All his life all he had known was deep, dark eyes or sharp silver irises. He'd never seen such colourful eyes.
"A boy named Neville has lost his pet toad," she said, as though to reiterate her reason for being there to the two boys sitting in the compartment. "Have you seen it?"
Blaise shook his head, frowning a little at her as he looked at her. Draco swallowed and shook his head. "Sorry, no," he said.
The girl sighed. "Oh, never mind. Sorry for interrupting."
As she turned to leave, Draco stood up and hung out of the door of the compartment, and called out, "Hey, what's your name?" but she had already gone to the next compartment, and didn't hear him.
What would it take for things to be quiet?
The next time he saw her they were waiting in the Great Hall to be sorted. She was called to the seat – and he finally heard her name.
"Hermione Granger!"
Hermione, he thought to himself, tasting the name. What a pretty name. But Granger? How strange. He'd never heard of the Granger wizarding family before. He must ask his father if he'd heard of them.
Quiet like the snow
He watched her walk to the seat, struggling to control her nervousness. He watched her trying to control her breathing, whispering to herself to stay calm as she approached the Sorting Hat. And Draco waited for the announcement, that she was going to be put in Slytherin. Why, she had to be in Slytherin. Nobody could be so perfect and be in any other house. His father had said so himself – only the best students go to Slytherin. The other houses take what they can get, but the best ones go to Slytherin. It only made sense to Draco then that Hermione would be –
"Gryffindor!"
Are we meant to be empty handed?
He'd never felt his heart drop to his feet. Even when he'd seen his father fly into a rage, or seen his mother crying, or had nightmares, he'd never felt so shocked. He watched her skip happily over to the Gryffindor table, taking her place there and smiling at the others, shaking their hands, her warm eyes sparkling.
Draco knew it was wrong, but he couldn't do anything about it. He felt a little better when the Hat proclaimed his place was to be Slytherin, and he knew his father would send him a letter of approval and his mother would send him a present. Everything was working out alright for him.
But what about Hermione? Could she change houses, perhaps? Surely, Dumbledore must realise that Slytherin was the only option, thought Draco. It made sense to him.
I know I could, I could be better
The second shock of the night came when Draco was talking with his new Slytherin classmates about the new stock – a few of the older students were sitting with them, making disparaging comments about the other students who didn't make it into Slytherin. Draco was laughing with Marcus Flint, an older Slytherin boy, about the stupid looks on the Hufflepuff's faces as they shoved éclairs down their throats as though they'd never had them before.
"Such idiots," sneered Marcus. "Consider yourself lucky, Draco. You're all set for a good future in Slytherin. We might not be the smartest or the most cuddly, but trust me, when it's wit and cunning you need, no other house could compare. You're ahead of the rest already, simply because you're in this house."
Draco grinned. He liked the praise he was getting already. But then he said to Marcus, "What about the Gryffindors?"
I dont think I deserve it
Flint snorted. "What about them? There's nothing about them. Bunch of useless do-gooders, think they're better than us because they've got courage and dignity or some stupid thing. Don't waste any of your time on Gryffindors. That house has got more mudbloods than any other in this school."
"Mudbloods?" Draco repeated, swallowing nervously. "Which – which ones are mudbloods, do you think?"
One of the girls sitting near them, whose name was Pansy, said in her high-pitched voice, "Oh, I already know that Dean Thomas must be a mudblood, he says he's not but he can't prove it. And that silly girl, with the big teeth and messy hair."
Draco froze. "Which girl?"
Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically and spun around to point at Hermione. "That girl, the one who kept rambling on about that silly boy's toad."
Selflessness, find your way into my heart
Draco began to wish he hadn't heard a thing. He wished he hadn't met her on the train, hadn't been so interested in her at all. He knew then and there he would have to hate her. It was what he had been taught. Muggle-borns were ugly, were disgusting, were a waste of time and space.
All stars could be brighter,
All hearts could be warmer
And yet as he looked at her he felt the sick churning feeling in his stomach begin to disappear, her smile making him feel like it wasn't all that bad. I mean, they could still talk, couldn't they? It's not like he had to tell his father he had spoken with a mudblood.
What would it take
But no, she was a mudblood. She had dirty blood. She was a thief and a shame and a disgrace to wizards and witches who were protecting the nobility of magical blood. She was wrong. She was bad, bad, bad.
What would it take
But he couldn't help feeling so numb and calm when he looked at her, and for a moment he thought maybe their eyes had met, that silver would find gold and that she was, in fact, smiling at him.
He was wrong. She looked away.
What would it take, for things to be quiet?