A/N: I do not own Harry Potter, all rights belong to JK Rowling!
This fic is rated M for language, violence and sexual content. Griseo vera is latin for grey truths.
Rest assured, it will not be a smut-filled sex romp, but a steadily developed relationship between the two main characters. I don't fancy fics that jump headfirst into baseless love, thus I don't plan to write one.
Please review if you enjoy, or just to share your opinion :) It will encourage regular updates ;)
Also, I don't have a beta, so if anyone is interested please contact me!
1
With a mouthful of chocolate, Ronald Weasley stared in disgust at the rapidly moving quill clutched in Hermione's hand. She'd been going at it for at least an thirty minutes, and truth be told he was amazed at the sheer strength her fingers must have held.
The witch under scrutiny ignored him, knowing the only reason Ron even knew what a study timetable looked like was because she'd written both his and Harry's for the past six years. She hadn't received the Head Girl title for nothing, and if she didn't start this semester on the right foot, she'd be well in over her head.
Across from her sat Harry, head nestled in Ginny's lap as she scanned the newest issue of the Prophet. One freckled hand gently perused her boyfriend's messy dark locks, the crease between her eyebrows betraying her concentration.
"Two more death eaters escaped from Azkaban, not that you'd know from the front page news." A frustration they were all familiar with clipped her tone as the image of Cornelius Fudge smiled at them over and over again from under the headline "St. Mungo's first new hospital wing in 25 years!"
Hermione shot a nasty look at the Minister, thoughts of Harry's sleepless nights and constant headaches roiling in her mind. It was their seventh year at Hogwarts, but rather than focusing on studies as normal eighteen year-olds should, they were forced to worry about the brewing of a bloody war.
The pen shook in her hand as she thought about her parents, living in ignorance at the hand of their very own, long forgotten daughter.
She hoped to merlin it would be enough to keep them safe.
The summer had passed without any major news, if one ignored the sudden increase in Azkaban breaks. The ministry, much to their indignation, was doing a brilliant job of publishing serious information in the form of vague, well hidden reports located at the very end of each Prophet issue.
Despite being excluded from any real missions, she, Harry, Ron and Ginny were very much aware of the darkness looming on the horizon. Voldemort's pawns were no doubt flocking to their bloodthirsty, hate-driven maniac of a master. Harry's scar had become well known a warning signal of sorts, and if their past experiences meant anything, something wicked was returning to the wizarding world.
With no real leads on the Death Eaters' plans, the trio had spent the summer cultivating their dueling skills at the home of the Weasleys. Hermione was reminded of how grateful she was to have her friends— support was never lacking as they'd laughed through fear of the unknown, the bonds between them only growing stronger throughout the long summer days. Yes, she was terrified (especially given her status a muggle-born witch), but she had her boys, and she had the Order, and though they didn't know it right now she had parents who loved her more than anything in the world.
This had been her mantra whenever darkness and despair clawed at her insides, and she repeated it to herself when the need arose.
Beside her, Ron's eyes had settled on her profile knowingly the moment the quill fell still. Not wanting to worry him, she closed her book calmly, stowing it in her bag and brushing her hair behind both ears. The mass of curls had grown long and riotous over the summer, a few ringlets lightly bleached from her long hours training in the sun. To her delight, she'd discovered a rather advanced potion to tame her mane— not subdue it, by any means, but to keep it just shy of smothering her. Her curls were as big and plentiful as ever, but with a little help the knots were taken care of, and she could easily run her fingers through them if she wanted to.
Speaking of fingers running through her hair…
She turned to Ron, whose eyes were translucent in the light of the setting sun.
"There's a head's meeting just now, I'll be back soon," she stated, glancing at the bit of Ginny's forehead poking out above the newspaper.
"Great, I'm dying to know who the new head boy is." the youngest Weasley muttered absently.
Hermione nodded, rather tickled with anticipation herself. She'd avoided putting stock in anyone lest she be disappointed, but she was secretly hoping it would be Terry Boot. He was a friendly, down-to-earth Ravenclaw with whom she was often partnered in Ancient Runes, and they got along well.
Whoever it was, she hoped they'd be neautral, at the very least. What with NEWTs, head's duties and an impending war, she couldn't afford to spend the entire year fighting with someone she was expected to share quarters with. She'd undoubtedly do her best as Head Girl, but that didn't guarantee smooth sailing.
A niggling feeling of self-doubt wormed its way into her gut.
"You'll be fine, 'Mione." Ron's voice interrupted her sudden anxiety, deep and soothing. A familiar look of knowing lit his eyes as he studied her, and she blushed at being so easily read. Over the holiday, both he and Harry had become well acquainted with her recent increase in bouts of anxiety.
Hermione had always felt the need to prove herself beyond expectations, something which had grown to monstrous proportions since her tenure at Hogwarts. Raised by a pair of meticulous and hardworking dentists, it was in her nature to give nothing short of her best. Her enchanting journey into the wizarding world, however, did not not overshadow the glaringly obvious (at least, she believed it to be so) difference between her and most of her schoolmates— she was muggle-born.
She was by no means the first, and certainly not the last witch birthed from muggle parents, but from time to time that self-doubt reared its ugly head. Bearing the brunt of pureblood elitists' disdain over the years hadn't helped any, either.
"If there's anyone who can be a good Head in these times, it's you." Ginny seconded her brother's encouragement, beaming at her frazzled friend. From his position in her lap, Harry's bottle-green eyes cracked and he gave her a thumbs up.
Hermione's heart swelled a notch, once again grateful for her friends.
And they were right, weren't they? She was a damned good witch, and she hadn't been awarded Head Girl for anything short of hard work and capabilities.
"Oh, you guys." She smiled fondly, feeling slightly embarassed, "You're the best. I'll be back in a bit."
She pocketed her planner along with the quill, sliding open the door to their compartment.
"And don't eat the entire packet, Ron. You know it always makes you sick." she cought a glimpse of his scandalized face before she headed off, chuckling at his reaction.
The meeting was to be held at the second to last compartment on the Hogwarts Express, giving Hermione a little time to think as she headed through the train. Of late, her mind tended to drift back to one thing in particular— Her, Ron and the summer.
A ghost of a smile shadowed her face.
With everything that happened last semester—the entire fiasco of the Triwizard tournament, her brief involvement with Krum— Ron finally realized he had feelings for her. Feelings which, it turned out, went well beyond friendship. Feelings which Hermione returned.
Under the spell of their newfound affection for each other, they'd shared secret rendezvous in every nook and cranny of the burrow, where he'd kissed her and told her things she never dreamed Ronald Weasley, notorious for his teaspoon-sized emotional range, could have even imagined.
Of course, she knew he'd always loved and cared about her, and she him… that was why once they'd had sex and the magic vanished, their friendship didn't suffer.
It wasn't that she hadn't been attracted to Ron, and he'd definitely been turned on during their snogging sessions… but the endgame was that the two of them had absolutely no chemistry in bed.
Her lips twisted in a wry smile.
Every one of their housemates seemed to think they'd end up together; even Harry had been expecting it, she was sure.
Perhaps it had been deceptively easy to transition from best friends to more than, given the love they had for one another. Nevertheless, a passionate sexual connection couldn't be faked. It was either there, or it wasn't. Of course, relationships weren't all about shagging, but in the end the two had agreed that they weren't as perfect for each other as they'd thought, or rather, as everyone else had thought.
She still missed him sneaking into her room at night to curl up with her, though.
So distracted was she by her thoughts, Hermione didn't realize she'd almost reached the designated compartment for the head's meeting until a low moan floated through the air from a little ways ahead.
The witch paused, her brow furrowing in confusion. The previous two carriages on the train had been empty, and this one as well— or so she'd thought. Had she imagined the sound?
"Oh god, D, please—"
Okay, this was definitely real. The moans were issuing from less than ten feet away, in the furthest left hand compartment.
Eyes wide, Hermione held her breath. She seldom did things without thought, but found herself helpless to obey as curiosity nudged her silently towards the source of the noise. On one hand, the tone of the pleas seemed of a certain variety, but she had trouble believing her ears. Maybe someone was hurt, or crying…
Stepping as close as she dared, the Head Girl peeked in from an angle, barely daring to draw a breath.
The right side of the train was suddenly shadowed by a forest high with trees, eliminating the glare on the compartment window and cloaking her conveniently in temporary darkness.
On the other side of the window, a head of blonde hair became visible. The silken mass trailed down the back of some girl who had yet to change into her robes, and was positioned rather haphazardly on the seat. Blinking against the sudden change in lighting, Hermione's hand flew to her mouth as she realized just what was happening before her.
Draco Malfoy sat, his mouth wrapped around the breast of Pansy Parkinson as she rode him hard against the carriage seat. The Slytherin girl whimpered in pleasured oblivion, her hands twisting a mindless path through Malfoy's usually pristine hair.
The evening sun bled through the window, washing across his face as he reached up to kiss her neck. Oranges and golds lit his grey eyes as they fixed intensely on his lover, turning them a dazzling molten silver.
Hermione's brain ceased to function as she stood frozen in shock, watching as Malfoy gathered a fistful of Parkinson's hair in one hand and gave a particularly hard thrust upwards, knocking the material of her skirt askew to reveal a perfectly smooth cheek of ass. Pansy gripped the arm circling her waist in desperation, her fingers shoving the sleeve of his sweater up past his elbow.
Dark as night, the tattoo that stood out against his skin made Hermione's blood run cold.
"Fuck, Pans, I—" a growl escaped Draco's lips as he threw his head back against the carriage wall. Clinging to the fabric atop his chest, the girl in his arms shook like a leaf and the sunlight, now a dark red glow, glinted off the green badge right next to her fingers.
Head Boy.
Harsh breathing echoed in the compartment, and as Hermione watched Draco Malfoy orgasm, she realized just what the fuck she was doing.
Shit! She cursed mentally, withdrawing from her position and scrambling hastily out of sight.
Completely on autopilot she turned away, speed-walking from the scandalous couple and barely managing to keep her footsteps silent. She'd crossed three whole carriages before stopping to take a breath, her mouth hanging open as if to catch flies.
A student she'd never seen before— probably first year— passed her with a curious look, his eyes darting to the Head Girl badge pinned to her chest. Hermione didn't spare him so much as a glance.
Had she really just witnessed Malfoy shagging Parkinson in the train? She swallowed, cheeks heating as the image refused to dislodge itself from her mind. Stuffing both hands into the pockets of her robes she took a deep breath, schooling the hysterical look of alarm from her expression.
More importantly, Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater.
She was about to go to school with a Death Eater. A frantic noise bubbled behind her lips as her anxiety skyrocketed.
It was unlikely that he was the only one. How many other Slytherins had taken the mark? The Azkaban breakouts, the danger they'd felt simmering below the surface for the past few months, the details of Harry's nightmares, everything hit her all at once.
It all felt suddenly sickening and disarmingly real. Malfoy had always been a spoilt, prejudiced prat, ever since the day Harry rejected his friendship in the Great Hall. But being a cowardly bully was worlds apart from joining an army of supremacist, murdering lunatics.
Clutching the frame of the carriage, Hermione watched the trees whip by through the window unseeingly, willing her heart to slow its pace and reigning in her thoughts before they snowballed beyond control.
Once she amassed a semblance of calm, Hermione began to think.
She couldn't very well stand in the aisle of the train all day, uselessly shaken up. Instinctually she thought to tell Harry and Ron, but decided she couldn't possibly look them both in the eye and say she'd watched Malfoy fucking Pansy from the shadows of the train. Perhaps if she edited that bit out of her story…
Knowing her boys however, they'd be after Malfoy's head in an instant and storm the carriage right then and there.
That outcome would be a brawl and likely worse, given Malfoy's new status. She shuddered, her skin crawling just thinking of the fresh black stain on his arm.
No, it was best for her to keep her mouth shut until she arrived at Hogwarts.
There would obviously be no Heads' meeting until then; Malfoy was far to preoccupied for that. She didn't know how she was going to look him in the eye after that little display, but hopefully she saw Dumbledore before he saw her.
That, however was as likely as her stealing the title of Gryffindor Seeker from Harry, and she knew it. It wouldn't do offer herself false hopes to put her mind at ease.
Arriving at her compartment, Hermione caught a look at her reflection in the window. Night had descended quickly, providing a clear view of her flushed cheeks and clenched jaw in the weathered glass. Honey eyes stared back at her, flashing with the myriad of emotions she was trying to hide.
Through the window, Ron was gazing at her with a look of concern.
She swallowed, knowing her volatile state would not escape detection. She was piss poor at hiding her emotions, but for their own safety her friends would have to remain in the dark for a few hours.
Still, she opened the compartment door with nonchalance, smiling at Ron as she took her seat.
Just as he looked ready to speak, the train's whistle blew, signaling their close proximity to the castle.
Hermione silently thanked Merlin for the stroke of luck, leaping up and gathering her things.
"That's the whistle, I've got to go" she said briskly, relieved her voice had come out sounding normal. All but flying through the door, she narrowly avoided barreling into Parvati. With a raised eyebrow, her housemate nodded in her direction and the girls parted ways as planned, Hermione taking the foremost section of the train while Parvati took the rear.
Earlier on the train, she'd assigned patrol duties to her designated prefects and now it was time to get everyone changed into their robes. In a few minutes they would lead the new students across the lake. She passed Colin Creevey, Jacob Hickinbotham and the new fifth-year prefects, Belinda Twiggs and Gudfrid Wicke as they checked compartments and gave last minute instructions. All in all her section had cleaned up nicely, everyone seemed ready to disembark with no reported difficulties.
She refused to think of Malfoy and whether or not he'd carried out his own responsibilities.
"Alright you lot, get moving." A deep voice issuing from behind stopped her in her tracks. "Mulciber, do you think you could manage getting your robes on before I die of old age?" The person drawled, filling Hermione's stomach with dread. He was getting closer.
She contemplated fleeing the carriage before he could catch up to her, but decided she was not a sniveling coward; she'd never been afraid of Malfoy and she wouldn't start running from him now. It was hardly likely he'd start hexing her in the middle of the Hogwarts Express.
"Well well, looks like someone left a pile of garbage in the walkway." Right behind her now, Hermione felt the hairs on her nape prickle in warning.
Something solid brushed her shoulder, and suddenly she was looking into the slate grey eyes of the very person she'd been hoping to avoid.
His gaze ran down the length of her, cold and void of emotion. Not a hair lay out of place, his expensive robes looking like they'd just been delivered from the cleaners. No one would have guessed he and Parkinson had just been shagging like rabbits.
"Merlin, the filth on this train." Malice dripped from his quiet words and slowly, Hermione felt her own anger rising in response. Her hands balled into fists, but she schooled her expression into one of amusement.
"Good to know you've matured, Malfoy" she said, apprehension curling in her gut. Yes, he'd definitely grown over the summer— into a monster.
"If you're done with the compliments, perhaps we could get on to our duties. Or do you have more sweet gems flattery to bestow upon me?" She blanketed her discomfort with a thick layer of sarcasm. Sheer willpower kept her eyes from darting to his left forearm.
Something stirred in the depths of his eyes, his lip curling to deliver a response-
"Um, Hermione?"
She felt someone stand protectively behind her, and recognized Ron's cologne before she heard his voice.
"Ah, filth breeds filth, does it not?" Malfoy commented lightly, a shadow crossing his face at the sight of her friend.
"Why don't you watch your little inbred, ferret mouth—"
"Ron!" Hermione cut in, grabbing her friend's arm. "Come on, it's not worth it. We've heard this trash before." she placated, pushing him towards the exit and not daring to glance back at Malfoy, whose expression was downright murderous. Her heart was hammering in her chest, but she kept her head high and her steps brisk.
Luckily, Malfoy did not follow them.
Beside her, Ron's face was red with anger.
"Hermione, I can't just let that little shite give us a hard time anymore, he's-"
She cut him off with a squeeze of her hand, turning to face him briefly once they'd exited the train. Students milled around them under the night sky, and she had only a second before she had to find Hagrid and help lead the students across the lake.
"Ron, listen to me." she began sternly, the visible puff of her breath vanishing into the cold September air. "Malfoy's head boy, and he will make your life a living hell if you go picking fights with him." she kept her tone low, not wanting to draw any attention.
He fixed her with an incredulous look, his anger momentarily waning in the midst of disbelief.
"That arsehole? That bloody- he's head boy?!" his voice thundered into the crowd, clearly missing her blatant note of secrecy. Several heads turned to look at the two.
"Ron!" she whispered, exasperated. "Just avoid him. You're quidditch captain this year, and he could make it hard for you." she reasoned, hoping the threat of losing privileges in that obstinate game would convince him. Judging by the queasy look on his face, he was considering it.
"You can't expect me to stand by and do nothing while he calls you-"
"It's fine," she cut him off, her voice a little higher than usual. "I'm head girl Ronald, I can take care of myself. Don't worry about some silly name-calling."
Her voice didn't waver, but Ron must have noticed the look in her eye because his expression became solemn as he gazed at her. His hands found hers in a second, callous and sincere.
"'Mione, d-"
"Ay there, Ron, Hermione!" the familiar voice of Hagrid carried across the crowd suddenly, cutting into whatever he was about to say. With one last meaningful look at Ron, she turned to find the half giant.
"I'm here, Professor!"
The black lake sprawled out before her as she approached the Care of Magical Creatures professor, who was first and foremost her friend. Hagrid beamed at her from a large boat, lamp in hand and ready to lead the fleet. In the distance, the castle stood as magnificent as ever, exactly the same as the day she'd first arrived at Hogwarts, and she felt the familiar feeling of warmth wash over her- briefly.
Two particular Slytherins had approached the lake at the same time as she, but she refused to slow her stride.
Snape wore his usual mask of disgust at the sight of her, looking down his nose as he did to everyone but a chosen few. Beside him, the Head Boy's eyes were cold, unreadable and shuttered. Malfoy had grown quite tall, and under the moonlight the shadows of his face were amplified, making him look older than he was. His gaze did not waver as she approached them, boring into her in a way that sent chills down her spine.
She had to get to Dumbledore.
A/N: What do you think? I'm so nervous because whenever I write fics I get a TONNE of views but barely any reviews... So I'm not sure if my writing is actually trash.
Please do not be alarmed at the Ron/Hermione interactions you may see. They are certainly not end game and as you've read, they've decided they're not right for each other. The feelings wouldn't go away so qickly however, and I have no desire to write Ron as a belligerent, cheating asshole as I see being done in so many fics.
Please review if you have the time! Thank you for reading :)