By Serendipity
Author's Note: I like this story. Yes I do. I like this story. How about you? Go review! No I'm not a cheerleader, nor one of those teenybopper noisemakers. I'm just hungry. Anywho, this is a Draco/Hermione Romeo & Juliet fic. My friend Seabeast says that she really, really likes this one. I do too. It has the forbidden romance between Draco and Hermione, a lot of against with Draco and Lucius, and Voldemort stirring things up in later chapters. Now I just have one more thing to say. In the actual Harry Potter books, Hermione belongs with Ron!!! I'm just messing around with the characters. And I'm in a Draco mood.
Summary: Takes place in 7th year. Draco has always hated Hermione. So what happens when he finds out that she's really not that bad?
Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.
The Punishments
The early afternoon sunshine sent beams of light flooding into the otherwise dim dungeon chamber. It reflected off of the many specks of dust that were lazily ascending to the high-vaulted ceiling. The effect of the reflected dust along with clouds of billowing smoke issuing from the many cauldrons made the otherwise dreary chamber seem positively cheerful. The stone gargoyles baring their fangs seemed to be smiling this afternoon; and the many jars of disgusting ingredients didn't seem as gruesome as they usually did. All in all, the general mood seemed very uplifting-if it were not for Snape of course.
Snape was in his usual mood, prowling around the room and peering into the thickly smoldering concoctions, taking points away from Gryffindor for poorly made brews. Draco Malfoy smiled broadly as the professor made his way to the Dream Team's cauldron. Snape's long, greasy hair fell into his poignant eyes as he bent over to inspect the emerald green liquid. He examined it for a long while before deeming it "too green" and moved on with a sneering smile to Neville Longbottom's bright orange potion.
Hermione looked outraged. She turned back to a disgruntled Harry and Ron and said something that, by the looks of utter amazement on both males' faces, she didn't normally say. Draco was positively giddy at the mere though of it all. Spinning quickly around (the movement resembled something of a ballet action), he grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment and sprawled out the word, 'Mudblood', in large letters. Then, making sure that no prowling eyes were looking his way, he threw it at Hermione. It bounced off of her long, chestnut locks and landed on the stone floor. She sent him an agitated look and bent down to pick it up.
Draco watched contentedly as Hermione crumbled the parchment once more, looking highly acrimonious. Satisfied, he turned back around to his own cauldron. Just as he was about to add the beetle wings needed for his potion to be complete, he felt something smack into the back of his neck. Slowly, he brought his hand to the place of impact and, bringing it back around, he saw that it was covered in green gunk. Without the final ingredients, the potion was nothing more than green goo, but the fact that goo was even on someone as the likes of him was extremely enraging.
Without thinking, Draco grabbed his wand and spun around, uttering the first curse that came to his head. It was a pity that he did so too, for Snape had just stepped into the line of fire bellowing at Hermione for attempting to create a mess.
The curse hit Snape in the rear end and for several moments no one so much as breathed. Then it happened. Flowers of all kinds began to sprout on top of Snape's head. He yowled out in rage and spun around, his eyes nothing more than mere slits.
"Mr. Malfoy," he uttered in barely a whisper. Malfoy held his breath. "I see that you wish to spend this evening with Ms. Granger in detention."
"Professor...I," Draco tried to explain, but the words lost their way to his mouth upon seeing the venomous glare that Snape was sending him.
"I expect both of you to be in this classroom at six o' clock sharp," Snape explained, walking towards his office, the flowers bouncing up and down as he did so. Turning around suddenly he added, "And dress comfortably. It's going to be hard, messy work! Class dismissed!"
Draco, looking rather disgruntled, followed his classmates out of the classroom and began ascending the stone stairs.
"Don't worry, Draco," came a squeaky voice from his right side, as a hand found its way into his own, "you still get to spend the rest of the afternoon with me."
Draco sent Pansy a mournful glare and mumbled, "Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse," under his breath.
"What?" Pansy inquired, letting go of his hand.
Draco stopped and shook his head; a few blonde locks escaped the gel's hold and fell into his steel grey eyes.
"Nothing," he mumbled.
He suddenly cut left and headed toward the Slytherin common room, ignoring the protests coming from Pansy. He threw his books down upon his bed when he reached his dormitory. Realizing that the goo was still on him, he removed his cloak, shoved it into the laundry shoot and proceeded over to the basin to wash his neck.
The door swung open as he was scrubbing with all his might, revealing a bewildered Goyle.
"Uh, Pansy wants to know if you're coming down to dinner?" he grunted, scratching his head.
"No," Draco spat out, reaching for a towel to dry his neck.
Goyle turned to leave but stopped suddenly, remembering something.
"Pansy said that you need to eat all of your vegetables if you want dessert later."
Infuriated, Draco grabbed Crabbe's bottle of cheap after-shave and hurled it in Goyle's general direction. It smashed upon his gorilla-like forehead, the many pieces fell to the floor, along with much of the strong, musty smelling liquid.
"...Ouch."
"Just go away!" Draco yelled, plopping down upon his green and silver, four poster bed.
Goyle lumbered out of the room, slowly closing the door behind him. Draco stared at the bed's canopy for what seemed like a long time until he finally came to his senses by a loud screech at his window.
He recognized the family owl and let it in, allowing it to help itself to water and bits of food as he read the letter the owl had brought with it.
Dear Draco,
Your eighteenth birthday draws near, and as you know, that day marks a milestone in your life. That is the day that you will become a true Deatheater and join our Dark Lord's inner circle. I plan to write to that imbecile Dumbledore, demanding that you be sent home for a few days to "attend your Uncle Mordred's funeral". You will stick to that story, boy! Don't even tell those two idiots that you hang out with.
But your birthday also brings another special occasion. Your mother and I have spent countless hours trying to decide who would make the perfect bride for you.
'WHAT?' Draco thought to himself. He read the letter over and there was no doubt that it said, 'bride'. Draco read on.
After much debate, we have decided that Pansy Parkinson is your most suitable match. Her parents have agreed, and sent her an owl telling her the happy news. She will see a witch doctor during Christmas break to make sure that she will be able to produce an heir, and if all of her tests are positive, you two will be wed on April 19, your birthday.
Your father,
Lucius
Draco crumbled the letter and threw it into the fire. He was outraged that his parents had done something such as choose his own wife, but Draco decided not to worry too much about it. It wasn't even Halloween yet. He had plenty of time to talk his parents out of the marriage idea. It was the becoming a Deatheater part that worried him.
In the battle between good versus evil, Draco was indifferent. He had been raised with black magic all around him. He was taught to be malicious and conniving; and not to feel sympathy, friendship, or even love. And above all, he was taught to be loyal to Lord Voldemort. But now that he had actually seen first hand exactly what being loyal to Lord Voldemort meant, Draco was beginning to wonder if he was really on the right side.
Sighing, Draco looked at his clock and nearly fell off of his bed. It was quarter to six and he hadn't even changed out of his school uniform yet. He opened his trunk and began rummaging around for some comfortable muggle clothing. Towards the bottom of the trunk he found a pair of worn jeans and an extra large shirt. He changed quickly, leaving his discarded uniform on the floor for the house elves to pick up.
Draco was welcomed into the common room with loud applause. The whole of Slytherin House was there, and judging by the many refreshments being passed around, they were in middle of a raucous party. Draco looked on bewildered. His bewilderment increased as numerous people congratulated him for something or another. At length he reached Crabbe and Goyle.
"Why didn't you tell us that you were engaged to Pansy?" Crabbe asked.
Draco's eyes widened and he took a step back, looking from one dumbfounded bodyguard to another.
"How do you...?"
"Draco! Sweetie, did you receive your father's owl?" Pansy hurried over and wrapped her arms around Draco's waist. "We're going to be married, isn't it wonderful honey?"
Draco didn't reply, instead he gazed ahead of him, his eyes unfocused.
"Draco?"
Draco turned his gaze towards Pansy.
"Aren't you happy?"
"Ecstatic," Draco dryly replied. "I...I have to go to my detention now."
Draco unlocked Pansy's death grip from his waist and walked out of the common room, oblivious to the many wishes of happiness in his marriage that people were sending him as he left.
He opened the door to the potions chamber to find Hermione sitting on a table, turning her wand over and over in her hands. She was dressed similarly to him. Worn jeans and an extra large T-shirt that Draco recognized as one of Ron's. He was surprised to see that she had pulled her long, thick locks into a high ponytail. Hermione very rarely wore her hair in a ponytail. Draco figured that she did it since Snape had said that the work that they would be doing would be messy.
"You're late!"
Draco's attention was brought to the far corner of the room where Snape was bringing down large boxes from a very high shelf. Draco didn't want to know what was in those boxes.
"I'm sorry, Professor. I..."
"No excuses, just get over here and help me get these boxes down!"
Draco complied, though the thought of manual labor traumatized him with no end. After several minutes, there was only one box left. They both reached for it. Snape's sleeve slid down his arm, revealing the mark of the Deatheater. Draco shuddered and turned away, gazing out of the window.
"Disgusts you, does it?" came Snape's voice so close to Draco's ear that the teen could feel the old man's breath blowing by. "Pity. Soon your father will have the same mark placed upon your arm, boy."
Draco shuddered again and looked down at his feet.
"Can we get started now? I have tons of homework tonight."
Draco and Snape turned to face Hermione who was now standing and tapping her foot impatiently. Snape walked over and began opening the boxes.
"In these boxes, you will find an assortment of dead fish." Both teens winced. "Dig out their eyes and place them in those bowls." Snape nodded toward a table full of bowls. "The rest of the fish will go in those two barrels. You will need to bring them down to the lake to feed the giant squid. Clean out the barrels and bring them to me. Then you may go back to your dormitories."
"Well that's not too bad!" Draco exclaimed, sighing with relief. However, he wished he had kept his mouth shut when he saw the sly glare that Snape was giving him.
"Did I forget to mention, Mr. Malfoy," began Snape, reaching for Draco's wand, "that you will be doing this all by hand?" Snape also took a hold of Hermione's wand. "You two will get these back when you are finished." And with a final sly smile, Snape left Draco alone with Hermione in the chamber.
The two caught one another's eye for a moment, and then both quickly turned away.
"Come on, Mudblood, let's get started on this shit so we can leave!" Draco sat himself down upon a stool and began digging a fish's eye out with a scalpel. It wasn't until he had de-eyed two fish, that he noticed that Hermione was still standing, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
"What?" he asked, as he threw the fish into the barrel.
"You're doing manual labor," Hermione replied, pointing to the dead fish and scalpel that Draco held in his hands.
Draco followed her gaze and dropped the objects. Feeling disgusted, Draco pushed himself away from the table.
"I am!" he exclaimed, trying to figure out what had gotten over him.
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes, sitting down and taking up her scalpel.
"Once a Malfoy, always a Malfoy," she said, digging out the fish's eyes.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco asked knitting his brow.
Hermione shook her head.
"I work!" he exclaimed, trying to defend himself. Hermione laughed.
Just to prove Hermione wrong, Draco scooted himself closer to the table and took up his scalpel once more. They sat in silence for about a half an hour, until the silence was too much for Draco to take.
"So..." he began, unsure of what to say, "how are things with you and Weasel?"
Hermione looked up from the fish that she was working with. "Huh?"
"Aren't you two a couple, I mean, you're wearing his shirt, and you two seem very cozy with each other in class."
"Not that it's any of your business, Malfoy, but Ron and I broke up last year. He's with Lavender now. He just loaned me this shirt for the detention so that I wouldn't have to ruin any of my own."
"Oh," Draco replied, throwing another fish into the barrel. "So who are you going with now? Pothead?"
Hermione gave an exasperated sigh and looked up from the fish in her hands.
"When did you take up this sudden interest with my love life, Malfoy?"
Draco held up his hands in defense.
"I'm sorry," he said, sincerely. "I'm just trying to make small talk."
Hermione snorted. Draco gazed at her as she dug out the fish's eyes. He bit his lower lip and chose his words carefully.
"Hermione, could you not call me by my last name anymore?"
Hermione looked up, and for the first time in his life, Draco saw how she looked when she was confused. Her brow was knitted and her mouth hung open. She tapped the end of the scalpel on the table, as if she was working out some difficult question in her head. Draco avoided eye contact with her. Finally she spoke:
"You called me Hermione."
Draco looked down, a slight blush coming across his face at his own mistake.
"It's your name isn't it?"
Hermione nodded.
"Why don't you want me to call you Malfoy anymore?"
Draco looked up.
"Because I don't like my last name anymore. You can call me whatever else you want, preferably Draco."
"What brought this on?"
"My father," Draco replied quickly, taking up another fish and digging out its eyes with more force than necessary.
"What about your father?" Hermione asked, leaning forward, interested.
Draco stopped working and stared at his bare arm. Hermione followed his gaze, her eyes widening.
"Ohhh," she said in comprehension. She leaned in closer and Draco found himself staring deeply into her honey colored eyes. Hermione lowered her voice to a whisper.
"He's going to make you become a Deatheater."
Draco shook his head forcefully.
"No! No, my father's not a Deatheater, he's..."
"We know, Draco," Hermione informed, softly, almost understandingly. "Harry saw your father return to You-Know-Who back in fourth year."
Draco looked at her, abashed. They knew? They knew all these years and never brought it up with him.
"Who's...who's we?" Draco asked, suddenly worried that the whole school knew the truth.
"Me, Harry, Ron, Dumbledore, a few select others. So," she continued, leaning back and starting her work again, "you're finally going to become a Deatheater. Congratulations."
"I...don't...WANT...to be...one!" Draco said through clenched teeth.
"Oh, so that make's it okay then" replied Hermione sarcastically.
"Listen, I will never willingly become a Deatheater. I don't want anything to do with them!"
Hermione looked up and caught his gaze. She sighed and shook her head.
"What ever you say, Draco."
Hermione went back to the fish, but Draco sat staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused. After some time Hermione realized that he wasn't working and looked up.
"I hate them!" he said, his voice raspy as he fought back tears.
Hermione stared at him for a long while. She stared at his hands wringing themselves on the table, at his silver eyes and at the tears welling up inside them. Slowly she brought her hand forward towards Draco's own hands. He moved his hands slowly back away from hers.
'Never touch a Mudblood if you can help it, Draco. They're filth!' Lucius's voice filled his head. Draco shoved it out; he didn't have to listen to his father right now. Slowly, he brought his right hand forward and lifted a finger, running it down Hermione's ring finger. She didn't feel filthy like his father had said; she felt soft, much softer than Pansy. Their fingers intertwined with one another's before Draco took her whole hand into his. He smiled and looked up. Hermione was smiling slightly too. But the moment ended when they locked eyes and realized just whom each other was. They quickly brought their hands back and began working once again in silence.
Draco was a bit disappointed. He thought that the moment of kindness would be forgotten and that they would go back to the way things always were, until...
"Did you see the Quiditch Cup this year?" Hermione asked pleasantly.
Draco smiled.
"Yeah, it was wicked!"
Their work passed by quickly with them talking about things like Quiditch and school, and before long Draco found himself lugging one of the heavy barrels over the wet lawns to feed the giant squid. His breath rose before him in the late October air. He wished he had brought his cloak with him. Next to him, Hermione seemed to be thinking the same thing. Her face was pale excluding her cheeks and nose, which were red.
"Careful now, we got a pretty steep declivity coming up," Draco warned. Hermione nodded.
They had only taken a few steps when both of them slipped on the wet ground and began tumbling over one another, the barrels rolling beside them until they finally reached the bottom, with Draco landing on top of Hermione. They stayed there for a few moments, breathing deeply. Draco brought a hand up to brush a stray lock of hair out of Hermione's eyes. She smiled slightly but that smile soon turned to a wince of pain. Thinking that it was him, Draco quickly rolled off of her.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" he asked, concern in his voice.
"Yeah, it's my ankle," Hermione replied, sitting up.
Draco looked at her ankle. It was quickly swelling up and turning black and blue.
"We need to get you to the hospital wing," said Draco.
He brought an arm under Hermione's knees and his other under her back.
"What are you doing?" she asked bewildered.
"I'm going to carry you," replied Draco.
"Carry me?!" Hermione exclaimed in alarm, as if she expected Draco to dump her into the lake, which, when Draco thought about it, she probably was.
"Well would you rather walk?" Draco asked, knitting his brow in frustration.
Hermione gazed into his eyes, trying to figure out whether to believe him or not.
"Promise that you're not going to drop me?" she asked.
"Hey, I played Quiditch for six years. I think I'm strong enough to carry you the short distance to the hospital wing."
"Alright, but if you drop me, I'll..."
"I won't drop you."
Draco lifted her up and began walking to the hospital wing. At length, Hermione rested her head upon his shoulder. Draco smirked. What would the rest of the school say if they saw this? Draco was about to ask Hermione, when she voiced the same thing.
"They'll probably die from shock," she commented.
Draco laughed.
"Yeah, probably."
Madam Pomfrey, who seemed to have a sixth sense with injuries, was already hustling around gathering herbs and wraps for Hermione's ankle.
"Set her over there, Mr. Malfoy," she directed, pointing to a bed.
Draco did as he was told, setting her gently down upon the covers.
"I'll clean up the fish, you just get some rest," he said.
Hermione nodded. Draco had just reached the door when Hermione called out his name. He turned around.
"Thanks," she said, smiling.
Draco nodded and left. He fed the squid, cleaned the barrels, and retrieved both his and Hermione's wand from Snape, all the while wondering what had gotten over him. He was being kind to her. She was a Mudblood. He was being kind to a Mudblood!
Draco sighed as he reached his dormitory. His roommates were fast asleep. Yawning, he discarded his clothes and climbed into bed. He lay staring at his canopy for the longest time. Remembering the warmth in her eyes, and how soft her skin was.
"She's not so bad, really," he whispered to himself.
His trademark smirk crossed his face when he imagined how Lucius would look if he knew about his son's new infatuation. For once Draco was doing what he wanted, and not what his father wanted. He liked the newfound freedom, and he decided to enjoy it.
While it lasts.
Another Author's Note: Well there it is. I'm working out the rest of the plot right now. Can't wait to write it. I'm gonna have a bunch of coolio stuff happen. Anywho, here's something for you guys to think about. Snape and Lucius were friends growing up right? Nod your heads yes. And they both became Deatheaters. But Snape turned traitor and went back to the good side before Voldemort's fall. Well if that happened, then Lucius and Snape wouldn't get along anymore right? Well if those two are enemies now, then why does Snape favor Draco over EVERYONE ELSE!!!??? I think that it's because Snape wants to win Draco over to the good side. But that's just my opinion. What do you guys think?