Title: Curiosity
Rating: R language and sexuality…
Spoilers: Books
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….
Summary: Now what does Hermoine do?
A/N: I'm liking AP Gov more and more, for an amazingly boring class it's a great creative stimulus…
**
before
**
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."
**
now
**
He paced his room some more, it seemed to no good but it calmed him.
Somewhat.
It wasn't working, and he succeeded in only wearing out the carpet by his bed. He couldn't understand what possessed him to write that letter; she had written to him specifically asking him not to.
But he had to.
After he found out about Ron and Harry, he couldn't have stopped himself from writing the letter. He knew that she had to know, that she had to be made aware of the state of her friends.
But after her father, and then her mother (she missed them, he guessed, he couldn't imagine why) this would only hurt her more.
Why was this affecting him so much? It was getting to the point where he was considering a visit to Ms. Pomfry. Hermoine Granger was mud blood, for six years they had antagonized each other endlessly, mercilessly. After a violent rendezvous in the middle of the night, suddenly all he wanted to do was not focus on her goddamn blank, brown eyes.
They were...they scared him; maybe it was from when is father had slammed against the wall, or when he hit him with a paralyzing spell; the times when Draco knew fear.
Fear, he mused, bred familiarity. Her eyes had been empty, completely vacant of any of the snarkiness that had amused him (and annoyed him) all those years.
They were just gone; there was nothing there but the color brown.
The color brown scared the pureblood shit out of him.
It did.
**
Hermoine puzzled over the letter for a while. It was missing something, the sarcasm and the criticism that she was used to was gone.
Just three words: Granger, come, and back.
Granger was familiar enough; Malfoy never could bring himself to say her name, as if doing so would acknowledge her existence.
But the last two words, the "Come back." Those were confusing. They did not make sense, there was no play on her mud-blood heritage, there was no insult on her entire genetic line, just those two words.
It did not make sense.
She had flipped the paper back and forth, looking for any other pieces of writing, or words. There was nothing else.
Just three words:
"Granger, Come back."
**
Potter and Weasley had not woken up yet. They still, infuriatingly, occupied two of Pomfry's bed. They still did not move nor make themselves an annoyance.
Malfoy had noticed even Snape eyeing their chairs, wondering where all his worst students disappeared to.
First Granger, and now Potter and Weasley.
The students had been whispering non-stop since the accident, with theories about You-Know-Who being the majority.
Pansy thought the three were being punished by Dumbledore for being such pests.
Pavorati thought that they had been cursed.
Longbottom suspected Peeves.
And Draco Malfoy didn't know what to think, he just knew how to stare just past Snape's head, and try to ignore Granger's stupid brown eyes.
**
Hermoine passed her geology test with a 100 percent; she didn't even remember taking it, but she passed.
The letter was burning a whole in her cardigan pocket, waiting for her to do something about it.
Malfoy's letter was almost as annoying as Malfoy himself.
When she got to her room, she sat on her bed and pulled out the letter, looking at it, still trying to find the other words that Malfoy meant to write, that he did write.
"Mud blood."
No.
"Whore."
Nowhere.
"Bitch."
She couldn't find that word either. Neither could she find cunt or slut or mud blood bint. Nothing, just those three words: "Granger, Come back."
Puzzling, puzzling indeed.
**
Why is she not here?!? Malfoy was angry, pissed off, put out. He had told her to come back, had practically ordered her and the mud-blood good-for- nothing-gryffindor bitch did nothing but ignore him.
He was Draco Malfoy and he was not suited to be ignored.
**
Maybe if she ignored the letter it would go away.
That's it, she'd ignore it, she would not acknowledge its existence; she would just...throw it away. Yes. That's what she would do.
So she did.
Five minutes of sitting on the bed and trying to read her history book did nothing. She found her self pulling the letter out of the trash, smoothing it out and reading it again.
She would go, she decided, if only to get this horrid experience out of the way.
She would go.
Now if only her feet would work.
**
Malfoy found himself in the halls one night, by himself, his sleep robes clutched over his body. He couldn't sleep; he couldn't sit still so he left his room.
He found himself climbing down the steps to the infirmary, and found himself standing beside Potter's and Weasley's bed.
The two looked...tired...if they had been awake, Malfoy figured, they would fall back asleep.
Potter's face was scratched, his cheek was slashed, the blood had congealed to the consistency of jello, dark red and clumped. His eyes were sunken into the gray sockets and they did not move in the flickering candlelight.
Weasley, always the weaker of the two, was in even worse condition. His neck was a mass of vicious red welts and bruises and his arms and legs were still seeping blood from beneath their bandages.
Malfoy felt his feet backing away. He could not take his eyes off of the bodies (for surely they were bodies). They couldn't be real, those cuts and slashes and bruises and welts, they did not belong on the infamous Potter and the poor boy Weasley.
He kept moving back until he ran into a low table. He tumbled over, the table crashing and breaking under his weight.
He heard Pomfry curse, and felt the floor vibrate with her angry stomps.
Malfoy couldn't take his eyes off of the bodies as he began to run away; he couldn't tear away from the scene as he left the room, stumbling backwards as he ran.
**
It was the first time she had picked up her wand since the...accident. It felt heavy in her arms (everything felt heavy nowadays). Its grip was cold and smooth and she had trouble holding on to the base as she gave it an experimental wisk.
The tip sparked and she felt the magic tingle; it spread warmly through her arm.
It felt warm now.
She packed her bag, emptying the trunk of what was important; she would come back (she told herself). It would only be a few days.
Just long enough to clock Malfoy a good one.
**
He escaped from Pomfry quickly enough, it was when he reached his room did he feel his chest heave.
Breath came out in short, labored gasps, seeping hotly down is robes. His face was flushed, cheeks red and warm.
He wondered were his feet had disappeared to. He couldn't feel them and he briefly wondered (as another wave of dizziness came over him) where they had run off to.
He flopped onto the bed, listening to his breath and the way his chest strained with each intake of air, he wondered since when the mud-blood had ever been worth it.
When had Potter and Weasley been worth it?
When had any of this been worth it?
And where, in god's name, had his legs disappeared to?
**
She slipped out of the dormitory, angry (an emotion) that she had left her broom at home. It was under her bed, collecting dust.
A broom collecting dust.
It would be funny if she could feel anything other than anger and pain.
She didn't laugh or even show a hint of amusement in her eyes as she whispered "Alohomora!" towards the various doors in the dormitory.
It was as she was tiptoeing down the hall that she heard the shuffling of feet other than her own.
"Where are you going?" Asked a tiny voice, smaller than Hermoine could ever imagine.
It was Milly, a small little girl of about four; Hermoine had been tutoring her in reading, and Milly had taken a liking to Hermoine and the book Mrs. Macintosh's Mice.
Hermoine turned slowly, her wand slipping into her sweater, "Go to sleep," she whispered, "Go."
Milly shook her head and clutched her arms tighter around her chest, her face scrunched up and her whole body twisted along with her head, "No." She told Hermoine, "No." She said again.
Hermoine smiled wanly, "Milly, please, I'll be back, I promise."
Milly's nose scrunched up even more, "You're lying."
Hermoine didn't answer since she didn't know her self.
Milly sensed that and began to turn around, "Hurry back." she whispered and slipped back into her room.
Hermoine Granger left St. Thomas's Boarding School for girls as quickly as she had come.
"Alohomora." She spoke one last time. She slipped through; the only one noting her absence was Milly, who looked down from her window to the quickly departing figure.
"You lie." She whispered, and then padded off to bed.
**
Malfoy had found his feet sometime during the night. Someone had nailed them back onto his torso as he slept and when he woke, fire seemed to be his bedclothes. His muscles were sore and strained and Malfoy winced with each step of his newly reattached limbs.
Not a good day.
Crabbe and Goyle met with him outside of the breakfast hall, they had, it seemed, a better night's rest than Malfoy had.
No wonder.
Dumbledore made an announcement that security would be beefed up due to an apparent attempt on Potter's life during the night. He warned that any enterprising nere-do-wells would meet maximum, painful force. Malfoy had no problem with that; he had no intention of entering into that room again.
He glowered at his breakfast, which seemed limp and lacking flavor. The three chairs were to his back, and they seemed to bore into him as he tried to eat.
He found himself sneaking peeks at the empty chairs and wondering if they would be filled again.
Since when had cared? That question had been bothering him since the very beginning. No answer had yet to make itself apparent, and he was left to search for it in the mess of eggs and half-eaten waffles.
Nothing.
He could not wrap his mind around that, around the emptiness, the emptiness in Granger's eyes, the emptiness of those three chairs.
He couldn't understand why this was bothering him at all.
He would never mention any of this to his father. Lucious would beat him, of course, for not focusing on his studies, for writing letters to a mud- blood, for daring to think of anything other than school and...
The eggs flopped to the side of the plate, and Malfoy was struck for the second time that year that the waffles were missing something.
Something was.... missing.
**
London did not glow for Hermoine Granger. It throbbed dully and she pulled the hood of her coat tighter over her face, and gripped her wand harder.
It was midnight and Hermoine Granger had no idea of where she was.
When she had found herself in the alleyway behind the school, she found herself in the thick of the city as well. The chain link fence was easy to climb, but her hands felt blistered and sore afterwards.
She wished for the Night-Bus, and surprising even her, it came.
She didn't realize that she was still connected to anything, much less the magical, simple spells were cake, but Night-Buses meant that...
She didn't ask any more questions of herself, just climbed the steps of the bus and found a warm seat.
Cocoa and marshmallows and pumpkin pie and all sorts of sweets, the conductor let her have them for free, but she couldn't eat them.
Her stomach hurt, and grumbled and turned and she fingered the letter in her pocket once more.
Unsurprisingly, she could not sleep and she didn't, her eyes following the water drops as they moved lazily down the glass pane.
**
AP Gov and AP Enviro seem to be perfect cures for writer's bloc….god, I love not learning….
Read and Reviw
Like it, hate it and want to stalk it and murder its loved ones one…by…one, or love it and want to be its heterosexual lifepartner, tell me! I love feedback! (it's a food group, I swear)
-dafnap
Rating: R language and sexuality…
Spoilers: Books
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….
Summary: Now what does Hermoine do?
A/N: I'm liking AP Gov more and more, for an amazingly boring class it's a great creative stimulus…
**
before
**
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."
**
now
**
He paced his room some more, it seemed to no good but it calmed him.
Somewhat.
It wasn't working, and he succeeded in only wearing out the carpet by his bed. He couldn't understand what possessed him to write that letter; she had written to him specifically asking him not to.
But he had to.
After he found out about Ron and Harry, he couldn't have stopped himself from writing the letter. He knew that she had to know, that she had to be made aware of the state of her friends.
But after her father, and then her mother (she missed them, he guessed, he couldn't imagine why) this would only hurt her more.
Why was this affecting him so much? It was getting to the point where he was considering a visit to Ms. Pomfry. Hermoine Granger was mud blood, for six years they had antagonized each other endlessly, mercilessly. After a violent rendezvous in the middle of the night, suddenly all he wanted to do was not focus on her goddamn blank, brown eyes.
They were...they scared him; maybe it was from when is father had slammed against the wall, or when he hit him with a paralyzing spell; the times when Draco knew fear.
Fear, he mused, bred familiarity. Her eyes had been empty, completely vacant of any of the snarkiness that had amused him (and annoyed him) all those years.
They were just gone; there was nothing there but the color brown.
The color brown scared the pureblood shit out of him.
It did.
**
Hermoine puzzled over the letter for a while. It was missing something, the sarcasm and the criticism that she was used to was gone.
Just three words: Granger, come, and back.
Granger was familiar enough; Malfoy never could bring himself to say her name, as if doing so would acknowledge her existence.
But the last two words, the "Come back." Those were confusing. They did not make sense, there was no play on her mud-blood heritage, there was no insult on her entire genetic line, just those two words.
It did not make sense.
She had flipped the paper back and forth, looking for any other pieces of writing, or words. There was nothing else.
Just three words:
"Granger, Come back."
**
Potter and Weasley had not woken up yet. They still, infuriatingly, occupied two of Pomfry's bed. They still did not move nor make themselves an annoyance.
Malfoy had noticed even Snape eyeing their chairs, wondering where all his worst students disappeared to.
First Granger, and now Potter and Weasley.
The students had been whispering non-stop since the accident, with theories about You-Know-Who being the majority.
Pansy thought the three were being punished by Dumbledore for being such pests.
Pavorati thought that they had been cursed.
Longbottom suspected Peeves.
And Draco Malfoy didn't know what to think, he just knew how to stare just past Snape's head, and try to ignore Granger's stupid brown eyes.
**
Hermoine passed her geology test with a 100 percent; she didn't even remember taking it, but she passed.
The letter was burning a whole in her cardigan pocket, waiting for her to do something about it.
Malfoy's letter was almost as annoying as Malfoy himself.
When she got to her room, she sat on her bed and pulled out the letter, looking at it, still trying to find the other words that Malfoy meant to write, that he did write.
"Mud blood."
No.
"Whore."
Nowhere.
"Bitch."
She couldn't find that word either. Neither could she find cunt or slut or mud blood bint. Nothing, just those three words: "Granger, Come back."
Puzzling, puzzling indeed.
**
Why is she not here?!? Malfoy was angry, pissed off, put out. He had told her to come back, had practically ordered her and the mud-blood good-for- nothing-gryffindor bitch did nothing but ignore him.
He was Draco Malfoy and he was not suited to be ignored.
**
Maybe if she ignored the letter it would go away.
That's it, she'd ignore it, she would not acknowledge its existence; she would just...throw it away. Yes. That's what she would do.
So she did.
Five minutes of sitting on the bed and trying to read her history book did nothing. She found her self pulling the letter out of the trash, smoothing it out and reading it again.
She would go, she decided, if only to get this horrid experience out of the way.
She would go.
Now if only her feet would work.
**
Malfoy found himself in the halls one night, by himself, his sleep robes clutched over his body. He couldn't sleep; he couldn't sit still so he left his room.
He found himself climbing down the steps to the infirmary, and found himself standing beside Potter's and Weasley's bed.
The two looked...tired...if they had been awake, Malfoy figured, they would fall back asleep.
Potter's face was scratched, his cheek was slashed, the blood had congealed to the consistency of jello, dark red and clumped. His eyes were sunken into the gray sockets and they did not move in the flickering candlelight.
Weasley, always the weaker of the two, was in even worse condition. His neck was a mass of vicious red welts and bruises and his arms and legs were still seeping blood from beneath their bandages.
Malfoy felt his feet backing away. He could not take his eyes off of the bodies (for surely they were bodies). They couldn't be real, those cuts and slashes and bruises and welts, they did not belong on the infamous Potter and the poor boy Weasley.
He kept moving back until he ran into a low table. He tumbled over, the table crashing and breaking under his weight.
He heard Pomfry curse, and felt the floor vibrate with her angry stomps.
Malfoy couldn't take his eyes off of the bodies as he began to run away; he couldn't tear away from the scene as he left the room, stumbling backwards as he ran.
**
It was the first time she had picked up her wand since the...accident. It felt heavy in her arms (everything felt heavy nowadays). Its grip was cold and smooth and she had trouble holding on to the base as she gave it an experimental wisk.
The tip sparked and she felt the magic tingle; it spread warmly through her arm.
It felt warm now.
She packed her bag, emptying the trunk of what was important; she would come back (she told herself). It would only be a few days.
Just long enough to clock Malfoy a good one.
**
He escaped from Pomfry quickly enough, it was when he reached his room did he feel his chest heave.
Breath came out in short, labored gasps, seeping hotly down is robes. His face was flushed, cheeks red and warm.
He wondered were his feet had disappeared to. He couldn't feel them and he briefly wondered (as another wave of dizziness came over him) where they had run off to.
He flopped onto the bed, listening to his breath and the way his chest strained with each intake of air, he wondered since when the mud-blood had ever been worth it.
When had Potter and Weasley been worth it?
When had any of this been worth it?
And where, in god's name, had his legs disappeared to?
**
She slipped out of the dormitory, angry (an emotion) that she had left her broom at home. It was under her bed, collecting dust.
A broom collecting dust.
It would be funny if she could feel anything other than anger and pain.
She didn't laugh or even show a hint of amusement in her eyes as she whispered "Alohomora!" towards the various doors in the dormitory.
It was as she was tiptoeing down the hall that she heard the shuffling of feet other than her own.
"Where are you going?" Asked a tiny voice, smaller than Hermoine could ever imagine.
It was Milly, a small little girl of about four; Hermoine had been tutoring her in reading, and Milly had taken a liking to Hermoine and the book Mrs. Macintosh's Mice.
Hermoine turned slowly, her wand slipping into her sweater, "Go to sleep," she whispered, "Go."
Milly shook her head and clutched her arms tighter around her chest, her face scrunched up and her whole body twisted along with her head, "No." She told Hermoine, "No." She said again.
Hermoine smiled wanly, "Milly, please, I'll be back, I promise."
Milly's nose scrunched up even more, "You're lying."
Hermoine didn't answer since she didn't know her self.
Milly sensed that and began to turn around, "Hurry back." she whispered and slipped back into her room.
Hermoine Granger left St. Thomas's Boarding School for girls as quickly as she had come.
"Alohomora." She spoke one last time. She slipped through; the only one noting her absence was Milly, who looked down from her window to the quickly departing figure.
"You lie." She whispered, and then padded off to bed.
**
Malfoy had found his feet sometime during the night. Someone had nailed them back onto his torso as he slept and when he woke, fire seemed to be his bedclothes. His muscles were sore and strained and Malfoy winced with each step of his newly reattached limbs.
Not a good day.
Crabbe and Goyle met with him outside of the breakfast hall, they had, it seemed, a better night's rest than Malfoy had.
No wonder.
Dumbledore made an announcement that security would be beefed up due to an apparent attempt on Potter's life during the night. He warned that any enterprising nere-do-wells would meet maximum, painful force. Malfoy had no problem with that; he had no intention of entering into that room again.
He glowered at his breakfast, which seemed limp and lacking flavor. The three chairs were to his back, and they seemed to bore into him as he tried to eat.
He found himself sneaking peeks at the empty chairs and wondering if they would be filled again.
Since when had cared? That question had been bothering him since the very beginning. No answer had yet to make itself apparent, and he was left to search for it in the mess of eggs and half-eaten waffles.
Nothing.
He could not wrap his mind around that, around the emptiness, the emptiness in Granger's eyes, the emptiness of those three chairs.
He couldn't understand why this was bothering him at all.
He would never mention any of this to his father. Lucious would beat him, of course, for not focusing on his studies, for writing letters to a mud- blood, for daring to think of anything other than school and...
The eggs flopped to the side of the plate, and Malfoy was struck for the second time that year that the waffles were missing something.
Something was.... missing.
**
London did not glow for Hermoine Granger. It throbbed dully and she pulled the hood of her coat tighter over her face, and gripped her wand harder.
It was midnight and Hermoine Granger had no idea of where she was.
When she had found herself in the alleyway behind the school, she found herself in the thick of the city as well. The chain link fence was easy to climb, but her hands felt blistered and sore afterwards.
She wished for the Night-Bus, and surprising even her, it came.
She didn't realize that she was still connected to anything, much less the magical, simple spells were cake, but Night-Buses meant that...
She didn't ask any more questions of herself, just climbed the steps of the bus and found a warm seat.
Cocoa and marshmallows and pumpkin pie and all sorts of sweets, the conductor let her have them for free, but she couldn't eat them.
Her stomach hurt, and grumbled and turned and she fingered the letter in her pocket once more.
Unsurprisingly, she could not sleep and she didn't, her eyes following the water drops as they moved lazily down the glass pane.
**
AP Gov and AP Enviro seem to be perfect cures for writer's bloc….god, I love not learning….
Read and Reviw
Like it, hate it and want to stalk it and murder its loved ones one…by…one, or love it and want to be its heterosexual lifepartner, tell me! I love feedback! (it's a food group, I swear)
-dafnap