The Disillusionment of Draco Malfoy
(and His Accomplice Hermione Granger)
Chapter 1
It's some time before September, trunk all packed and robes freshly pressed, when Draco Malfoy has what can only be described as an epiphany. He's standing at the foot of his bed, hand poised to drop a newly-bought textbook in the trunk with the rest of his school supplies, when it hits him, like lightening, like a hex, like Granger's slap in third year.
This is all bullshit.
All of it: going back to school, for a false seventh year; false because of the looks on other people's faces, different from what they actually feel inside; false because the Carrow's can't teach and exams won't mean anything and he almost fucking killed a man, and everyone will be too afraid, of Snape and the Dark Lord and, even, of himself, that they won't dare say anything about it. It will be like it never happened and, surprisingly, Draco finds that he isn't okay with that.
Tossing the textbook on his bed, he rummages around on his shelves for another, before grabbing his soft school satchel and waving his wand over it in loops and figure eights and diamonds. When he's done, he shoves all his clothes and what gold he has on hand inside the bottomless bag, pulling it over his shoulder and grabbing his broom. The wind is cold, colder than it should be for this time of year, pouring through the open window, and he can feel his nose start to run. The wood of the broomstick feels unnaturally hard beneath his hand. His throat feels tight.
He jumps.
In the woods, the leaves are changing, trees bleeding from green to red and yellow and warm brown. The air is crisp. The sky is blue.
Hermione Granger is hungry.
They've been on the run since July, with little food and not much shelter, because even a magical tent is still a tent, in the end, and no matter how many spells she casts she can still feel the night wind creeping through the seams. But that's her job, along with figuring out what forest foods are safe to eat, and keeping track of money, and looking at the map, and reading that damn book, over and over until her eyes feel like they'll pop out and run off in protest.
She hates it.
Not to say that Harry and Ron are having a great time. They're just as tired, just as hungry, but their focus seems to overcome it; the Greater Good, important enough for capitols. She feels weaker, feels smaller, for not letting duty and honour and everything else fill her up when food can't, but, then, they don't have her task. Her Dumbledore-appointed duty. They don't have to scan a children's book for hours and hours, wondering if it's going to mean anything and coming to the conclusion that, no, it won't. The book is shit. Dumbledore was crazy.
And she's getting out of here.
Blanket Disclaimer:
I own nothing. Never have, never will.