As Harry and Ron fall further away from Hermione, her eagerness for knowing is being brought to new levels. She goes searching for other things to occupy her time, and a near-death accident gradually brings her to terms with non-studious parts of her mind. Deciding to do a little investigation of the Malfoy family and why Draco has been acting differently, she gets more involved in the Slytherin's life than she bargained for.

A/N: Italics symbolize several things: dreams, some thoughts, diary entries, and memories. Basically, anything that is not dialogue, and not the actually telling of what is taking place will be in italics-that is, if it works out. This story is my first HP fanfic, so be merciful; and yes, I'm a fan of Draco Malfoy, so if you dislike him, you're welcome to take your leave and not leave any flaming snide comments about me, this fanfic, and especially not Draco Malfoy. Btw, my story title and the titles of the parts of this story are mostly abstract/metaphorical, not literal. Thank you very much.

Story type: Drama, romance, some action, sortof

DISCLAIMER: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, okay?! She's the witch who cast the spell, I'm just a spellbound being saying hello to the webs of her spell. So don't sue me. I am an innocent fan.

Clandestine Wishes By C.S Bolte

PART ONE: AMONGST THE DROPS OF POURING BLOOD

1 The Ring and the Envelope

With thin pale fingers, he slowly twisted the ring of metal around and
around his finger. His muscles, strained with tension, consistently
tugged the metal left and then right, never stopping the spinning
motion. Steel grey-blue eyes gazed at the sparkling emerald stud of
the ring. Those eyes, never blinking, thoughtfully focused on the
symbolic ring, eyes of seemingly emotionless luster.

Tightly gripping the ring, he twisted it off with a forceful wrench,
and a flicker of reluctance passed through his eyes as he gazed at it
one last time, holding the object precariously over it's pit of doom.
Then, with a snarl of anger, he viciously dropped the ring into the
open mouth of deep darkness, forever lost to the attachment of human
hands.

~~*~~

"Scarhead! You and your sleazy friends can go to hell! Next time you
see your friend Weasel, tell him to go get a life - he could, say -
beg for money on the streets! And as for that Mudblood Granger, she
should transfigure herself into a beaver, it'd sure suit her looks
better than the body she's in now!"

"Shut up, Malfoy! You're just envious that Ron has friends, and
Hermione's teeth are normal size now, prat! You don't know anything
about what my friends and I should or shouldn't do!"

"Like you do, Potter. Even your parents didn't know what was best for
them, and went and got themselves killed! Just because you escaped
doesn't mean you won't meet the same ugly end, all because of your
choice in friends and stupidity! I bet your father would be ashamed to
see his son now, pathetically hanging out with riffraff like Weasley
and that Granger!"

Furious, Harry was about to spit out a retort, or shove Malfoy off of
his broomstick, do something to get him back, when suddenly, the grey-
blue eyes lit up, and before Harry could so much as blink, the
blondish-silver-haired Slytherin had zoomed past in a flurry of green.

Harry swore under his breath, flying after the other Seeker before the
Snitch was caught. It was his sixth year of Hogwarts, and everything
had been going horribly, ever since the beginning of the year. First
of all, he hadn't gotten a letter from Sirius in the longest time.
And, to make matters worse, Snape was even nastier to him than usual.
And ever since last week, Malfoy had been doing and saying everything
to get him, Ron, and Hermione upset. It was working, too.

Harry had begun to catch up, he was almost there, his hand reached
towards the Snitch- BAM. He felt himself shoved to the side, and as he
closed his eyes, the call rang out, "SLYTHERIN WON." All other sounds
from then on were tuned out, as he let himself sink into depression.

Harry Potter never lost against Slytherin! The idea was preposterous!
Even more of an addition to the wrongness of this year; he had let
Malfoy's teasing distract him enough to let the Slytherin Seeker get
past him and win the game. Bugger.

He landed on the Quidditch field. Unlike his current demeanor,
everything about the Quidditch field glowed, bright and warm. The
green grass whispered peacefully, the Bludgers and Quaffles now safe
and sound in their box. Everything around Harry reflected the opposite
of what he felt. The last thing he saw before leaving the Quidditch
field was the smirk and wink given to him by Malfoy before the light-
haired boy turned back to listening to Professor McGonagall, a worried
expression on his face.

It wasn't even satisfactory to see that Malfoy had something to worry
about. Gryffindor had lost, and there was tons of Potions homework
Harry didn't feel like doing. So far, being 16 wasn't so great for
Harry Potter

~~*~~

"Did you hear? Today is Parents Visiting Day."

"Wha? No way, seriously? Oh bloody hell, can't let mum see my
unfinished homework!"

"Harry? What's happening with you?"

"Nothing. Do you really think the Dursleys would come visit me at
Hogwarts? Yeah right."

Hermione and Ron gazed worriedly at Harry as he went back to reading
his Quidditch book. He had been dismal and separate from them for the
last few days.

"The whole school will be filled with parents. Let's hope we don't
bump into Malfoy. I've had enough of him this week, and would hate to
see his parents."

"You're not in luck then, Hermione. Speaking of the lil' prat, here he
comes."

~~*~~

Draco Malfoy had been taught and had taught himself how a Pureblood
and a Malfoy should act. Of course, he held up to the expectations,
and openly spoke against any people who weren't Purebloods. However,
if for once he'd had the chance to think and do his own way, others
may have been surprised by the hidden sides of this seemingly spoiled,
firmly-opinionated, arrogant young man.

Visiting Dumbledore had reminded him of last Friday. The day he was
still wondering whether he should regret, or not. Stupid Dumbledore,
making me deliver this damn letter to the Mudblood, knowing I'd hate
the task. Why me? I refuse all ways of going near that know-it-all and
her riffraff friends, especially dumb Scarface St. Potter. Argh, why
does everyone remind me of every thing and every word I hate? Why do I
constantly torture myself by remembering? Is there any way to get rid
of it? Any cure? Bloody hell, sometimes I almost wish I could be
included in their little team. At least the riffraff are happy.

The last of his steps to the Gryffindor table were quick. A part of
him told him it was because he wanted to get it over with, but another
part said it wasn't so. Making sure to keep his ever-present neutral
expression, he walked around the corner of the table, glancing at what
Potter was reading. Quidditch book. Huh. He glared at the fierce red
hair of the Weasley momentarily, and then tapped the girl on the
shoulder.

She turned around, looking at him questioningly, and then, realizing
who it was, glared at him. He gave her stare for a stare for a moment,
willing her to admit defeat and look away. But she didn't. Standing as
if superior, he gave her a haughty look, and shoved the envelope into
her hand, saying, "Dumbledore said to give this to you, Granger."

She raised a brow, putting down her Sugar Quill and beginning to
neatly open the envelope. Draco unconsciously stared at her hands as
they moved, fluid and precise, not tearing the paper of the precious
envelope, but opening it so that only the necessary damage needed to
open it was done. He wanted her to hurry up. His eyes burned with
wanting to know what it was about this muggle-born know-it-all that
was so important. But at the same time, he wanted to continue watching
her moving hands, never wanted them to stop, to be still and lifeless.

Backing up a step, a flicker of fear flashed in Draco's eyes. What was
he, a Pureblood, a Slytherin, and even more, a Malfoy, thinking? Why
was he waiting for her to open the envelope? Why did he care? He
didn't! He didn't care! Turning on his heel, his face flushed with
embarrassment and anger, he stomped briskly out of the Great Hall,
shoes tapping on the tile surface, sharp as his anger, quick as his
rising emotions, and consistent as his fluttering, pent-up confusion.

Unbeknownst to him, he was watched with a curious, thoughtful eye by
the receiver of the letter. Her eagerness to know flared up, as
Hermione Granger took interest in the unusual demeanor and
disappearance of the Slytherin prefect, Malfoy.