Title: A Perfect Sonnet

Author: Pertique aka Meghan

Rating: PG Warnings: none

Summary: Hermione meets Draco and passion changes their minds about love, power and each other. Song-fic to Bright Eye's "A Perfect Sonnet"

Author's Note: ::hides:: No this is not the Hermione/Draco fic I've been slaving over, this is just another plot bunny to this wonderous song that I love. It's taken me longer than "Hold" to write, but I still really like this. I try to keep the song bits dispersed evenly throughout the story, but I am afraid that isn't going to happen. And yes, I am working on the prequel to ILWBIL… but it is a lot harder to write than I thought. It's so… open. But anyways, the italicized things is what Hermione is writing.. Some is what she's thinking. You'll be able to differentiate between the two. The bold italics are the song lyrics.

Disclaimer: I dun own Harry Potter or A Perfect Sonnet.

Hermione was spending a typical evening with her two best friends, studying for their classes, and doing homework, late at night in the Common Room. It used to be a still silence, until Ron or Harry asked a question to Hermione, and then she would answer it with the most detailed answer, and turn back to her book, or her journal.

Hermione sighed as she saw Harry and Ron possibly the least focused she had ever seen them. Times were changing. Hermione found herself thinking things she never wanted to. Control would soon become beyond her reach, as she continued being Hermione the bookworm, and her best friends continued being Hogwart's greatest. The school only saw Harry and Ron, but not their best friend who went with them everywhere. She was still very dear to Harry and Ron, but they became consumed in other things. Other people, too.

The warmth of the Common Room must have taken them away, with the smell of burning wood. The plush decorations seemed surreal. Light flickered against their faces and illuminated their features. They wore dreamy expressions on their faces, smiled bright smiles and chatted animatedly with each other, and-- their girlfriends.

Hermione's back was to the fire, and thus she was enveloped in a shadow.

Lately I've been wishing I had one desire,
Something that would make me never want another,
Something that would make it so that nothing matters,

All would be clear then…

Hermione tried many times to gain their attention, clearing her throat and making blatant movements, but gave up and drew out her journal. It would be the same every night. The journal was deep blue leather, with silver corner pieces and engraving. It was thick, and pages stuck out and were crumpled. The other sheets, pristine and crisp waited their day to be written upon. She didn't bother with a lock, because part of her wanted someone to find it and sift through it, she wanted someone to have curiosity for her. But she knew when someone saw the engraved, "Hermione J. Granger" on the lower right hand corner, they would pocket it and return it to her immediately. She opened her journal to the page she wrote on last and began to scribble.

Don't they know that NEWTS are just a few months away? Don't they care? I've tried so hard this year, even being Head Girl, and I've still found time to do homework, study and research things I'm interested in! Harry should be more serious, he plans on being an Auror and it is a lot of work. And his idea of work is being with his girlfriend, Ron too. Maybe I'm missing something. Maybe…

Hermione hated seeing them so lost in their significant others, and so stupid against the world. Voldemort could walk in with Albus Dumbledore and express their love for each other, and Harry and Ron would smile at them and congratulate them both.

When they were 'in love' they were happy. This bothered Hermione, so she wrote,

Why are they so happy? Why is everything so 'beautiful' to them, when it's exactly the same as it always is? How can becoming closer to someone possibly make everything okay? Maybe I am missing something!

Hermione studied them through her furrowed brow, and took mental notes to never let her become wasted like they did.

Really though, why would you let yourself fall so in love that you couldn't keep a level head throughout the whole thing? Harry is brilliant, but his grades and even his performance on the Quidditch pitch is slacking! Why would you sacrifice that?

She dated her entry.

But I guess I'll have to settle for a for a few brief moments,
And watch it all dissolve into a single second,
And try to write it down into a perfect sonnet,

Or one foolish line…

Love is corruption, I think. She wrote, pausing to take in her surroundings. The red hangings, couches, walls made her head swirl. The warmth and the scent of the room made her feel out of place. What made her seem even more out of place was that Harry and Ron seemed to be in heated, eh, discussions with their girlfriends.

She looked at the four sitting across the couch from her and again began to scribble furiously in her dilapidated diary. She took anger she didn't know she had out on the pages, and etched away with her face screwed in concentration.

Maybe all the scratching would snap them out of it.

Shouldn't I be happy for them? Harry's finally found something worth living for in his life! He's never been happier! And Ron doesn't feel like the shadowed sidekick anymore! But why I am so miserable? Am I jealous? True, I've never felt that way, but how could I be jealous?

She chewed on the end of her quill absentmindedly, and thought for minutes on end. She raced through her mind trying to find rhyme or reason. She finally figured out why she was so angry. It's silly, she thought, but true. She blushed and stopped her writing. She was ashamed.

They had never loved her like that.

Seven years, and through everything you could name, Harry nor Ron ever loved her like that.

Hermione had always seen them as brothers, but…

Wouldn't it be nice to have that romance with one of them? The secrets, the passion, everything you read about or see in films! Who am I kidding?

And if Harry and Ron can't love me, then who can?

Angry with herself, she snapped her book shut, not looking at anyone, and stalked out of the Common Room, hanging on to her hearing making sure no one was following her. She tried finding some place where she couldn't be reminded of her anger. She evaded reason, logic, and most importantly Filch.

She levitated her book in front of her, and charmed the quill to write her thoughts. She wanted to savor this emotion. It has been so long.

What about that saying, 'Give to Receive'? I've got nothing to give, so maybe I'll never receive!

Cause that's all that you'll get,
So you'll have to accept,

You are here and then you're gone…

Finally as the night wore on, she found a comfortably cold bench, several floors below her Common Room, and sat there with a lumos of her wand, quill and journal. She touched the light quill to her page many times, and watched the ink make blotches in a random pattern. It was so much more personal when you wrote it by hand. When you could control…

Her mind drifted off and…

Soon she was on a beach, because in her mind she knew she was in love with an unidentified man, who was holding her as the sun rose and the sea breeze took her away. She breathed deeply in the scent of sea salt and felt warm. She smiled up at him, and up at the sun, which was now overhead. The sun blinded her, and she cowered.

Then she snapped out of it and realized it was chilly, and the 'sun' was her wand tip, and the bench was the embrace the man she loved. She sighed, and mused.

Maybe it's not Harry's or Ron's fault that they don't love me like that. Maybe it's my fault that no one has ever loved me like that. It's most possibly my own, I've never opened up to anyone before. It is my fault, isn't it?

Her peacefulness vanished, and now filled with anger and self-loathing. There was no question as to why no one had ever been interested in her. She was just Hermione, top marks, no looks, sharp tongue. Why would anyone want to date someone who would correct him constantly? Hermione suddenly had a burning sensation in her chest as she thought of Harry and Ron sitting there with eyes for someone else, in love and happy. It made her ill.

But I believe that lovers should be tied together,
Thrown into the ocean in the worst of weather,
Left there to drown,

Left there to drown in their innocence…

She scowled at the idea at being totally entrapped in one person. She hated the 'L' word. It was misery, and she knew it. But she knew it was because she couldn't see how beautiful it was. Because she didn't know what it was like to be bound to someone.

She pushed those thoughts away.

Minutes passed, and the quill wrote, the ink spent and the pages turned. She wrote and wrote and ignored the pains in her wrist.

I wonder if I'm meant to find love. I've been happy without it, but how would I know? How does one know? If I do find love, who? What's he going to be like? Tall, dark and handsome. He'd have to be funny, and loud and bright and cheery. No complications. I must like his family, he must have a family that likes me. Wizard, or Muggle? Wizard, I suppose. I couldn't suppress my power for love. I don't want to breach into a Muggle lifestyle ever again. Will he be foreign? I know all of the wizards my age who are not, they go here to Hogwarts! Will it be someone from Hogwarts? Who? How? When?

She found herself analyzing her thoughts, jotting them down, and when she thought she was done rambling in the pages of her mind, she never found a conclusion. After pages of rambling and musing she never came to a conclusion, she just opened up more questions and more uncertainty.

But as for me I'm coming to the final chapter,
I read all of the pages and there's still no answer,
Only all that was before I know must soon come after,

That's the only way it can be…

Not finding anymore words to say, she levitated her book and quill once again. Hermione took a deep breath and turned around to head back to the common room, when she saw a very lonely looking Malfoy only yards away.

Hermione stopped, and before she could silence the quill, it started to write away on the book once again. She decided to walk without distracting him, but he had caught her in surprise.

Draco peered out the window, onto the dark grounds as he tried to escape. He hated being under exanimate eyes, especially after tonight. They had all watched him carefully, with those eyes filled with a dull cold.

Draco had spurned his father. Draco had finally spurned his inevitable future in front of his whole Slytherin house at the fire. Draco wanted to feel ashamed, he wanted to be the snotty boy he once was. But he couldn't. Despite how wrong it was, it was a relief.

So I stand in the sun,
And I breathe with my lungs,

Trying to spare me the weight of the truth…

Draco was brought up to believe that he was the elite and no one was above him, or equal to him. He was even taught his fellow Slytherins were below him, in some way or another. He was taught that is you were a follower of Voldemort you would have a lifetime of promised riches, pride and power; everything that was valued in a pureblooded home. It was the only future he would have, and it was the only future he would want.

But the tables began to turn.

Slowly, Death Eaters betrayed him, were killed, or sent to Azkaban like his father. It was crazy, that's not pride or power that's sacrifice. It was a sacrifice Draco was never willing to make.

And each day, Draco found himself breaking away from the mold. Each day he had to escape his companions questions, their taunts, their glares. Outcast from his circle, Draco was abandoning the only world he knew.

So why did he feel so wrong?

Saying everything you've ever seen was just a mirror,
You've spent your whole life sweating in an endless fever,
And laying in a bathtub full of freezing water,

Wishing you were a ghost…

He assumed it was because it was so hard to go back on everything he built his life around. To take everything back, to literally change the past. He felt like a new person, awake at last and feeling human again.

But how long would it last?

He had dreams of his future. Each night held more imaginative and ludicrous as the last. He dreamed of being a banker, a book shop owner, a Quidditch player, and most recently; an Auror. He wanted a family, a little witch and a little wizard. A quaint house fit for him and his wife. His wife would be the love of his life, not Pansy. He almost wanted to marry a Muggle to spite his family. But even he wasn't so bold.

But sometimes he forgot what he was fighting against. He lost the warmth, and found it hard to comply with his feelings. Instead of saying 'excuse me' or 'sorry' he spat at the younger ones and glared. Draco spent the evening pondering his actions, and reprimanding himself like a House Elf.

But once you knew a girl and you named her "Lover",
Danced with her in kitchens through the greenest summer,
But autumn came, she disappeared, you can't remember,

Where she said she was going to…

And he grew, soon that part of him was gone. He no longer smiled deviously whenever his enemies passed, or taunted a few little Hufflepuffs. He congratulated when he was beat at Quidditch, he spent his time in the library, he went outside by the lake frequently.

Sometimes he didn't want to believe what was going on. Who was he becoming? What was going on? He never admit it to anyone else, but couldn't help but smile when he saw people together. He wished for that, happiness. His mother stopped all contact with him at Pansy's wishes, and so he was alone.

But you know that she's gone,
Cause she left you a song,

That you don't want to sing…

And then he saw her, walking down the hall, looking pensive and lost. A book was open in front of her, levitating, and her quill scratching away without her hand. It was controlled by her thoughts, he knew. It was a beautiful sight to him, seeing someone be so free with her emotions, and never having anyone to notice. Beautiful in a sad, desperate way.

Hermione Granger. A test. A challenge all together. He tried to beat her, for years, to show her that there was a reason purebloods were better than mud-muggle borns such as she. He wanted to give verification of his words, he wanted her to know that he wasn't lying. But now more than ever, he didn't know if there was an answer. There was no answer. She had to be better than he. She was pure, she was smart, she was a package deal that no one dared touch for fear of it being too good to be true.

Singing, I believe that lovers should be chained together,
Thrown into a fire with their songs and letters,
Left there to burn ,

Left there to burn in their arrogance…

I'm afraid I've become so bitter. Harry and Ron deserve this, and I'm being completely horrid about the ordeal. I should force myself to be happy. For them.

Her quill was snatched out of the air and she caught the book snapping it shut. Draco Malfoy stared at her as she grabbed her quill out of his hand, and walked passed him, and without a wand, sending the book and quill up once more.

It was something he didn't want to see go. In one second it was company, and Draco didn't want to be alone either. He was curious, what was she writing? He was curious, how? He turned after her.

"How do you do that?" He said, and she stopped, bringing her utensils back to her.

She turned around blankly and walked to him, "Why do you deserve to know?" She raised a calm eyebrow as his worst fears came over him.

How was he to react? With more malice, with more hatred? Was he supposed to be indifferent? Ignore her?

"I'd like to learn, " he said, ignoring her tone.

Panic overtook her also. She couldn't remain shooting harsh words at him, he had been civil to her and something in her mind told her to be civil back.

He thought he had failed. She looked like she was going to walk away, and he'd be alone again. He knew this was the ultimate test, and everything he had done had been in vain.

But as for me I'm coming to my final failure,
I've killed myself with changes trying to make things better,
And ended up becoming something other,

than what I had planned to be…

"Sure, I'd be glad to teach you, Malfoy." She didn't know what to say, she was flattered that he, Malfoy, could possibly have something to learn from her, Mudblood Granger. She was surprised that he had undoubtedly admitted it also.

A smile rippled through his features as he motioned to the bench he was sitting on.

It was not in vain, be felt alive, he felt warmth, he felt whole. He was not alone!

She sat down and he sat across from her at the opposite end. She took the book and eyed him and began,

"Well you know Wingardium Leviosa, so you just levitate the book to the height you want it. The charm for the writing quill is scribe. The only trick is that writes down exactly what you are thinking, so it is not wise to use it when a lot of emotions are flowing through you at once."

She handed him the quill, and tore out a piece of parchment from her journal. Draco took his wand and flicked wingardium leviosa. Hermione shook her head.

"No.. like this," she said, taking his wand and going to his side so he could see directly. She swished then flicked quickly, and the parchment floated into the air. He eyed her, and tried himself, and it worked.

Hermione had difficulty stomaching that Draco Malfoy had a problem with a simple levitating spell. It was the first they learned!

"How did you control it without a wand?" She had a hunch he'd ask for this. She crossed her legs.

"It takes a lot of practice, and a lot of concentration. One day, it just happened and I learned to initiate it when I wanted it to happen." He thought for a second and,

"It's a clever spell." Draco got up and began to walk away, but Hermione didn't want to lose the company. It was nice.

"Dead useful, also. Say, Malfoy, why the civility?" Determined to keep him here she took a chance at his emotions.

"I've changed," he said, turning to her so he was looking down on her. She looked up with her curly brown tresses falling down her shoulders.

"Says who," Hermione retorted, skeptically.

"Says you." He answered back with a smile and pointed at where her quill was writing like mad on the piece of parchment.

Maybe Malfoy's changed. Peculiar. I wasn't sure he had the heart to be someone he fought so hard against.

"Have you?" She mused, smirking at him.

And then he kissed her with such subtly she didn't think it happened. It was light and soft and sent a shock of warmth to her fingertips.

"What was that for?" She wanted to slap him, she wanted to curse at him, she wanted to pull his hair. She lost control.

"I do what I want now, Granger. No more listening to father." He said against her lips and she stole them once again.

I believe that lovers should be draped in flowers,
And laid entwined together on a bed of clovers,
Left there to sleep,

Left there to dream of their happiness…

The quill began to jump around the page and Hermione's eyes flew open.

Draco Malfoy is kissing me! Kissing ME! Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Muggle-born. He's changed! What if we're caught, what's going to happen?

Before Draco could open his eyes, she caught the quill in her crushing hand and brought her arms around his neck as the quill began to fight, as her world went upside down.

Okay, so it didn't turn out exactly like I wanted, but it'll be okay. I'll end up changing it eventually. Review!