Title: Curiosity
Rating: R language and sexuality…
Spoilers: Books
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….
Summary: Hermoine responds to Draco's letter.
A/N: I'm liking AP Gov more and more, for an amazingly boring class it's a great creative stimulus…
**
before
**
The foster parents came clomping up the stairs. They talked to her briefly, explaining that she would only stay a few days and then she would be carted off to a boarding school for orphans.
Boarding school.
Hogwarts.
She crossed her arms and scowled until they left.
And then she finally cried.
**
now
**
It was two days later that Malfoy finally found out what was bothering him. He had heard it through the grapevine, from Potter to Paverati to Pansy to him.
He felt sick. He remembered what he had written in that letter and he imagined what had happened when she read it.
Had her mother died before or after she got the letter?
It bothered him (and it shouldn't have), this heaviness followed him as he went through his day and he wondered when she was coming back.
Should he apologize?
Would she even open the letter if she knew who it was from? Would she burn his letter, would she curse his name and hex his house?
Would he only be so lucky?
This guilt was bothering him and he didn't know what to do. This wasn't normal, he never felt guilty for anything he had done (except when father- Lucious beat him, but that was normal, right?).
If his father or mother died, he would be happy, wouldn't Hermoine? Parents were no good, he knew as well, they beat you when you're bad and slap you when they were bored. They punish you for speaking out of turn, they kiss you when you shut up.
Parents, according to Draco Malfoy, were no good, only better dead.
Right?
**
The foster parents waved goodbye to her as the taxi pulled from the curb. They didn't let her keep Crookshanks, and the cat would have to go, maybe to a shelter, maybe to another home.
Hermoine sent Crookshanks to Ginny, and hoped that the cat wouldn't be too much trouble. She wrote to Ron and Harry to tell them to stop sending letters; she wouldn't be able to receive them without suspicion. She wrote that she missed them and loved them, and hoped that school was going well.
She sent another letter to Malfoy:
"Malfoy," She began, "Do not write. You've done enough." She had sent this one with the rest, before the taxi had come. She had written all of the letters on binder paper (the local grocery did not carry parchment...) and pen (...nor ink). She had sealed it with tape and tied the letters onto Harry's owl with shoelaces. She had locked the window and went to bed.
The taxi moved with painful slowness with London traffic. The taxi passed by the entrance to Diagon's Alley and Hermoine briefly entertained the thought of jumping out of the car and running back.
But the taxi passed by and her window of opportunity became padlocked. Her hand fell from the handle, and she settled back into her seat. She sat in the taxi, her head on the glass, watching the trails left behind by water.
She found nothing in the tracks of water, she watched the droplets catch dust and dirt and wash them away.
**
The dormitory was...boring. There were no magical halls or enchanted bathrooms. Hermoine did not need a password to get into the dormitory; just a magnetized keycard that she would slip into the slot and it would spit back out.
The beds were not as comfortable as those back at Hogwarts; hers was lumpy and disproportioned, her toes peeked over the edge. The covers consisted of a felt overlay and a starched sheet underneath. It was cold, but she didn't shiver, just dug deeper under the covers and tried to fall asleep.
Sleep did not come.
**
Draco Malfoy was determined to ignore the guilt. He had done nothing wrong, (sticks and stones...) so why should he apologize to her or anyone else? He was a Malfoy; he could do whatever he wanted. Right? That's what Malfoys did: they took and kept and apologized for nothing.
It was his birthright.
He didn't stand ten years of beatings and nights under the stairs for nothing; he had suffered, now it was his turn.
Right?
Right.
**
Morning came and it hurt Malfoy's eyes. The light was painful and he threw an arm up over his head. The weekend was supposed to be fun and enjoyable.
It had never hurt before.
His eyes felt gummy and when he stretched his back cracked in the oddest places. He yawned and stood unsteadily on his feet; fuck, even his toes cracked (they can do that?).
Crabbe and Goyle were still asleep, Goyle's mouth was open and tendrils of drool traversed his pillow. Crabbe was dead to world; he would not wake up until at least one in the afternoon. Malfoy had the morning to himself and he did not like it one bit.
He threw on some robes, brushed back his hair, scowled a few times in the mirror and made his way down to the hall to where breakfast was.
Gryffindor table was practically bursting with whispers. His traveled back to the empty seat that always seemed to be by Harry and Ron; no one had the guts to fill it.
But there were three empty chairs today; they were the focal point of all the whispers that the hall seemed to be awash with.
Where were they?
Malfoy didn't feel hungry anymore and he set down his fork. Pansy poked him with a dull knife and leaned in, "Didja hear?"
He shook his head, but his eyes never left the three empty chairs, "What are you talking about?"
Pansy scooted closer, and Malfoy wondered whether it was to make sure he heard or so her foot could 'accidentally' rub against his own.
"Potter and Weasley snuck into the forbidden forest last night, and..." Her voice became lower and she began to whisper the supposedly 'juicy' secrets; her breath tickled his ear. He prevented himself from violently swiping her away.
Harry and Ron (when did he start calling them that?) seemed to have gotten themselves into trouble again. They were holed up in the hospital wing, unconscious or in a coma (as Pansy put it). They hadn't moved since Hagrid had found them bloodied and almost dead outside of the weeping willow. The hall was vibrating with rumors, of You-Know-Whos, werewolves and manticores.
Above the former triumvirate's spot circled Hedwig, Potter's owl. Around her talons were two letters. Unable to find neither Harry nor Ron, Hedwig began to fly towards Draco.
It took everything Malfoy had to stay in his seat and not run. He did not want to know what Granger had sent him, he didn't want to know, didn't want to read, didn't want...
The letter fell from her talons and landed gracelessly on Malfoy's head.
**
The school was as boring as the dormitory. She sat in class all day, taking notes (because she remembered that she always did) on dull plain binder paper, with pencils and pens. The teachers lectured from the book, with slightly bored looks in their eyes. They didn't care enough to have favorite students, or disfavored ones (she remembered Snape, briefly).
She stared ahead, just past the teacher, taking notes and somewhat surprised when she had a full page by the end of the class. She didn't remember taking the notes, didn't remember writing down anything at all.
When the day finished and she made her way back to her dorm, and sat on her bed. She stayed there until lights out, when she moved again (a few hours later) slipped under the covers and stared at the ceiling.
**
The letter had been short and succinct and when Draco had finished reading it he threw it in the trash.
He wanted to write back something scathing, something so utterly Draco Malfoy that the mud blood would cry.
But when he picked up the pencil, he couldn't, his fingers didn't seem to work when he tried to write the words he wanted to put down. He put upon paper something so utterly foreign and alien that when he was finished he sealed it and sent it before he could throw it in the trash.
**
Something was tapping on her window and Hermoine's hand looked for a brick.
She sat up and realized she had been asleep.
Huh.
She reached for the window and forced it open (it squeaked). It was an owl and Hermoine could feel tendrils of anger curl up from her stomach. It was Malfoy's owl.
The asshole.
She promptly shut the window again, gaining little pleasure at watching Malfoy's owl beat against the window angrily, it's talons flashing in the moonlight.
She went to sleep to the sound of angered squawks and scratching talons.
**
Lunch at the St. Thomas's Boarding School for Girls was a simple affair, turkey and cheese sandwiches, little cartons of milk and an apple. She took all of this in its brown bag and would eat her lunch in the schoolyard, on this little cement bench that she had discovered on her second day.
She had tripped over it when she had been exploring the school's grounds, searching out the equivalents of secret tunnels and whipping willows. There were none, just a pitiful briar patch that was more bark than bite (and not even that).
Within it was a secluded little spot, a demented secret garden of dead plants and twisted vines. Within it were the remains of what once was a lunch area, and a crumbling little cement bench was covered in vines.
Bloodied fingers and torn clothing later she had a little spot for lunch that didn't require for her to make friends.
She took her lunches there and studied the dried vines and tried to recall lessons from Hogwarts, going over in her head questions from the NEWTs and particularly painful potions test.
She took a bite from her sandwich and heard the screech of an owl.
Malfoy.
Briefly considering between finishing her sandwich and making a run for it, she chose the latter and dropped her sandwich, grabbing her bag and running through the briar bush.
Her stockings caught on the thorns and she did not care. She saw the letter clutched in his claws and she did not want to read anymore from Draco Malfoy.
The owl fell into a bombing run, his beak inches from her trailing hair, and she ran into the middle of the lunch yard, all the orphan girls looking at her with disgust and indifference. The owl changed those looks to fear.
And as they made a run for it, away from the irate bird and it's pursuee, the bird circled and then dove in for the kill.
It whipped up her hair and its talons became entangled, the letter falling to the wayside. Its dirty deed done, the bird took to the skies, leaving Hermoine with her bag scattered at her feet, tangled hair, her hand clasped tightly around a letter from Draco Malfoy.
To say that she was pissed would be...
**
It had been two days and no response. Malfoy had been trying to forget the letter that he had sent off, surprising himself when he thought that it might hurt her again.
And he didn't want to hurt her.
Which was new for him, since the past six years of his life had been devoted to hurting the wretched three.
He couldn't even do that right.
**
Hermoine avoided the stares from her classmates. She sat gingerly down in her seat, her geography teacher doing a double take at her ruffled appearance. Whispers seemed to spontaneously erupt by her presence, girls leaned in and passed notes detailing her liaison with an irate owl.
The whispers reached such a crescendo that the teacher tapped her desk with a pencil and promptly shushed them.
Test day, the pencil told the class, shut up and sit down.
The papers made their way back down each row, the geography test striking fear into every student's heart except Hermoine's. She fingered the parchment on the letter, missing the slightly oily feel. Even the wax was a welcome change from the gummy tape and staples used in the muggle world.
She brought it out and stared at it as if it would bite her or worse.
What did Draco want from her now? Did he want to tell her what a stupid mud blood she was, or how she was a smart-alecky priss, or that she was a whore, or a worse, a horrible student.
She considered all these possibilities and opened the letter anyway.
"Granger," It began, the writing rushed and hurried:
"Come back."
**
Hate it? Like it? Love it and wish to marry it and bear its children?
Either way, lemme know cause reviews are the key ingredient for the cure of writer's bloc, ask any author…
-dafnap
Rating: R language and sexuality…
Spoilers: Books
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….
Summary: Hermoine responds to Draco's letter.
A/N: I'm liking AP Gov more and more, for an amazingly boring class it's a great creative stimulus…
**
before
**
The foster parents came clomping up the stairs. They talked to her briefly, explaining that she would only stay a few days and then she would be carted off to a boarding school for orphans.
Boarding school.
Hogwarts.
She crossed her arms and scowled until they left.
And then she finally cried.
**
now
**
It was two days later that Malfoy finally found out what was bothering him. He had heard it through the grapevine, from Potter to Paverati to Pansy to him.
He felt sick. He remembered what he had written in that letter and he imagined what had happened when she read it.
Had her mother died before or after she got the letter?
It bothered him (and it shouldn't have), this heaviness followed him as he went through his day and he wondered when she was coming back.
Should he apologize?
Would she even open the letter if she knew who it was from? Would she burn his letter, would she curse his name and hex his house?
Would he only be so lucky?
This guilt was bothering him and he didn't know what to do. This wasn't normal, he never felt guilty for anything he had done (except when father- Lucious beat him, but that was normal, right?).
If his father or mother died, he would be happy, wouldn't Hermoine? Parents were no good, he knew as well, they beat you when you're bad and slap you when they were bored. They punish you for speaking out of turn, they kiss you when you shut up.
Parents, according to Draco Malfoy, were no good, only better dead.
Right?
**
The foster parents waved goodbye to her as the taxi pulled from the curb. They didn't let her keep Crookshanks, and the cat would have to go, maybe to a shelter, maybe to another home.
Hermoine sent Crookshanks to Ginny, and hoped that the cat wouldn't be too much trouble. She wrote to Ron and Harry to tell them to stop sending letters; she wouldn't be able to receive them without suspicion. She wrote that she missed them and loved them, and hoped that school was going well.
She sent another letter to Malfoy:
"Malfoy," She began, "Do not write. You've done enough." She had sent this one with the rest, before the taxi had come. She had written all of the letters on binder paper (the local grocery did not carry parchment...) and pen (...nor ink). She had sealed it with tape and tied the letters onto Harry's owl with shoelaces. She had locked the window and went to bed.
The taxi moved with painful slowness with London traffic. The taxi passed by the entrance to Diagon's Alley and Hermoine briefly entertained the thought of jumping out of the car and running back.
But the taxi passed by and her window of opportunity became padlocked. Her hand fell from the handle, and she settled back into her seat. She sat in the taxi, her head on the glass, watching the trails left behind by water.
She found nothing in the tracks of water, she watched the droplets catch dust and dirt and wash them away.
**
The dormitory was...boring. There were no magical halls or enchanted bathrooms. Hermoine did not need a password to get into the dormitory; just a magnetized keycard that she would slip into the slot and it would spit back out.
The beds were not as comfortable as those back at Hogwarts; hers was lumpy and disproportioned, her toes peeked over the edge. The covers consisted of a felt overlay and a starched sheet underneath. It was cold, but she didn't shiver, just dug deeper under the covers and tried to fall asleep.
Sleep did not come.
**
Draco Malfoy was determined to ignore the guilt. He had done nothing wrong, (sticks and stones...) so why should he apologize to her or anyone else? He was a Malfoy; he could do whatever he wanted. Right? That's what Malfoys did: they took and kept and apologized for nothing.
It was his birthright.
He didn't stand ten years of beatings and nights under the stairs for nothing; he had suffered, now it was his turn.
Right?
Right.
**
Morning came and it hurt Malfoy's eyes. The light was painful and he threw an arm up over his head. The weekend was supposed to be fun and enjoyable.
It had never hurt before.
His eyes felt gummy and when he stretched his back cracked in the oddest places. He yawned and stood unsteadily on his feet; fuck, even his toes cracked (they can do that?).
Crabbe and Goyle were still asleep, Goyle's mouth was open and tendrils of drool traversed his pillow. Crabbe was dead to world; he would not wake up until at least one in the afternoon. Malfoy had the morning to himself and he did not like it one bit.
He threw on some robes, brushed back his hair, scowled a few times in the mirror and made his way down to the hall to where breakfast was.
Gryffindor table was practically bursting with whispers. His traveled back to the empty seat that always seemed to be by Harry and Ron; no one had the guts to fill it.
But there were three empty chairs today; they were the focal point of all the whispers that the hall seemed to be awash with.
Where were they?
Malfoy didn't feel hungry anymore and he set down his fork. Pansy poked him with a dull knife and leaned in, "Didja hear?"
He shook his head, but his eyes never left the three empty chairs, "What are you talking about?"
Pansy scooted closer, and Malfoy wondered whether it was to make sure he heard or so her foot could 'accidentally' rub against his own.
"Potter and Weasley snuck into the forbidden forest last night, and..." Her voice became lower and she began to whisper the supposedly 'juicy' secrets; her breath tickled his ear. He prevented himself from violently swiping her away.
Harry and Ron (when did he start calling them that?) seemed to have gotten themselves into trouble again. They were holed up in the hospital wing, unconscious or in a coma (as Pansy put it). They hadn't moved since Hagrid had found them bloodied and almost dead outside of the weeping willow. The hall was vibrating with rumors, of You-Know-Whos, werewolves and manticores.
Above the former triumvirate's spot circled Hedwig, Potter's owl. Around her talons were two letters. Unable to find neither Harry nor Ron, Hedwig began to fly towards Draco.
It took everything Malfoy had to stay in his seat and not run. He did not want to know what Granger had sent him, he didn't want to know, didn't want to read, didn't want...
The letter fell from her talons and landed gracelessly on Malfoy's head.
**
The school was as boring as the dormitory. She sat in class all day, taking notes (because she remembered that she always did) on dull plain binder paper, with pencils and pens. The teachers lectured from the book, with slightly bored looks in their eyes. They didn't care enough to have favorite students, or disfavored ones (she remembered Snape, briefly).
She stared ahead, just past the teacher, taking notes and somewhat surprised when she had a full page by the end of the class. She didn't remember taking the notes, didn't remember writing down anything at all.
When the day finished and she made her way back to her dorm, and sat on her bed. She stayed there until lights out, when she moved again (a few hours later) slipped under the covers and stared at the ceiling.
**
The letter had been short and succinct and when Draco had finished reading it he threw it in the trash.
He wanted to write back something scathing, something so utterly Draco Malfoy that the mud blood would cry.
But when he picked up the pencil, he couldn't, his fingers didn't seem to work when he tried to write the words he wanted to put down. He put upon paper something so utterly foreign and alien that when he was finished he sealed it and sent it before he could throw it in the trash.
**
Something was tapping on her window and Hermoine's hand looked for a brick.
She sat up and realized she had been asleep.
Huh.
She reached for the window and forced it open (it squeaked). It was an owl and Hermoine could feel tendrils of anger curl up from her stomach. It was Malfoy's owl.
The asshole.
She promptly shut the window again, gaining little pleasure at watching Malfoy's owl beat against the window angrily, it's talons flashing in the moonlight.
She went to sleep to the sound of angered squawks and scratching talons.
**
Lunch at the St. Thomas's Boarding School for Girls was a simple affair, turkey and cheese sandwiches, little cartons of milk and an apple. She took all of this in its brown bag and would eat her lunch in the schoolyard, on this little cement bench that she had discovered on her second day.
She had tripped over it when she had been exploring the school's grounds, searching out the equivalents of secret tunnels and whipping willows. There were none, just a pitiful briar patch that was more bark than bite (and not even that).
Within it was a secluded little spot, a demented secret garden of dead plants and twisted vines. Within it were the remains of what once was a lunch area, and a crumbling little cement bench was covered in vines.
Bloodied fingers and torn clothing later she had a little spot for lunch that didn't require for her to make friends.
She took her lunches there and studied the dried vines and tried to recall lessons from Hogwarts, going over in her head questions from the NEWTs and particularly painful potions test.
She took a bite from her sandwich and heard the screech of an owl.
Malfoy.
Briefly considering between finishing her sandwich and making a run for it, she chose the latter and dropped her sandwich, grabbing her bag and running through the briar bush.
Her stockings caught on the thorns and she did not care. She saw the letter clutched in his claws and she did not want to read anymore from Draco Malfoy.
The owl fell into a bombing run, his beak inches from her trailing hair, and she ran into the middle of the lunch yard, all the orphan girls looking at her with disgust and indifference. The owl changed those looks to fear.
And as they made a run for it, away from the irate bird and it's pursuee, the bird circled and then dove in for the kill.
It whipped up her hair and its talons became entangled, the letter falling to the wayside. Its dirty deed done, the bird took to the skies, leaving Hermoine with her bag scattered at her feet, tangled hair, her hand clasped tightly around a letter from Draco Malfoy.
To say that she was pissed would be...
**
It had been two days and no response. Malfoy had been trying to forget the letter that he had sent off, surprising himself when he thought that it might hurt her again.
And he didn't want to hurt her.
Which was new for him, since the past six years of his life had been devoted to hurting the wretched three.
He couldn't even do that right.
**
Hermoine avoided the stares from her classmates. She sat gingerly down in her seat, her geography teacher doing a double take at her ruffled appearance. Whispers seemed to spontaneously erupt by her presence, girls leaned in and passed notes detailing her liaison with an irate owl.
The whispers reached such a crescendo that the teacher tapped her desk with a pencil and promptly shushed them.
Test day, the pencil told the class, shut up and sit down.
The papers made their way back down each row, the geography test striking fear into every student's heart except Hermoine's. She fingered the parchment on the letter, missing the slightly oily feel. Even the wax was a welcome change from the gummy tape and staples used in the muggle world.
She brought it out and stared at it as if it would bite her or worse.
What did Draco want from her now? Did he want to tell her what a stupid mud blood she was, or how she was a smart-alecky priss, or that she was a whore, or a worse, a horrible student.
She considered all these possibilities and opened the letter anyway.
"Granger," It began, the writing rushed and hurried:
"Come back."
**
Hate it? Like it? Love it and wish to marry it and bear its children?
Either way, lemme know cause reviews are the key ingredient for the cure of writer's bloc, ask any author…
-dafnap