~*The Passion of a Dragon*~

By: xKatx

Author's Notes: Welcome to my story! I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoy writing it. Yes, it is a WIP, but I'm moving along with the plot so it'll all be out soon! please read and review and let me know if this is worth continuing. I love you guys tons!
Disclaimer: I don't own HP stuff—I'd be in the mountains right now if I did—I own everything you don't recognize.

Characters You Will Meet In This Chapter:
Draco Trysten Malfoy, pureblooded Head Boy, only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy

Hermione Elisabeth Granger, muggle-born Head Girl, only daughter of Edmund and Marge Granger

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There were hundreds of screams tearing through the woods as colorful sparks filled the sky. She knew the Death Eater was close behind her, following her, sending his fair share of pigmented streaks in her direction. She wasn't going to let him win; she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of being the one to watch her die. After all, she was one of the three targeted. The main three targets. Harry, Ron, and she were the ones Voldemort had strictly instructed were killed first. But she was still alive.

Where were the other two? She had no way of knowing. It was hard to see faces as she ran past other cloaked figures dueling with their own adversaries. They paid her little heed, considering the plum purple cloak she wore hid her face. To them, they just saw one of their own chasing the enemy. Despite the fact that they were Death Eaters, they knew what honor and chivalry was; they would never intervene on another's fight. It just wasn't done.

She continued to run, weaving through the trees, dodging curses and hurling a few of her own. Her magic wasn't strong enough yet to send a Killing Curse, but she could still do plenty of damage to her opponent.

She looked back and saw the Death Eater was no longer following her. He was suspended in mid-air, his eyes closed and his tongue hanging out. He was clearly unconscious. She looked carefully and saw Harry wink at her from his spot behind a nearby tree. She smiled and continued running, hoping to find Ron and know he was okay.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she turned around. There he stood; that same damnable creature she'd somewhat been looking for. After all, she had her fair share of words to say to him anyway.

        "You," she spat, as if even speaking to him were a nasty taste on her tongue.

He gave her a condescending smirk, "Me."

        "I should have let you die," she told him, her wand at the ready.

His eyes flashed fire at her. He hated the fact that she'd saved his life only a month earlier, but she couldn't ruffle his feathers, "Regretting our decision, dear Mudblood?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed at him, "Malfoy, you're a self-righteous prick."

        "Watch your language, young lady," he told her wickedly, "We wouldn't want anyone of importance to hear you."

She glared at him, staring at his regally masculine face. It was almost an attractive face, if it didn't have evil and hate clear in its expression.

        "We can take you in, you know," he said quietly, looking at her carefully, "We can make you one of us. Power, respect..."

        "Damnation," she spat, looking daggers at him.

Before either could respond, there was an enormous explosion behind her…

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Hermione awoke with a frightful jolt. It took her a full minute to realize she was at home, in her bed and not out there in the Forbidden Forest, fighting the Ultimate War. Malfoy wasn't here; no one was. She was alone in her room.

She began breathing heavily, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Her arms shook from her weight being supported on them. She sat forward, holding herself up. She took a few deep breaths, calming herself down.

Not another one, she thought to herself. She was growing tired of her constant nightmares—especially nightmares with that particular scene in them.

It took her another good fifteen minutes to get her heart rate back to normal. She carefully slipped out of bed, the cool breeze from her open window hitting her bare legs and arms. She shivered a little, regretting her tank top and shorts. She walked over to her window and shut it. It was getting chilly—after all, it was September now.

She looked at the clock, learning it was only three-thirty in the morning. She had another five or six hours before she was supposed to get up. Before going back to bed and attempting to sleep, she headed to the bathroom.

As she washed her hands, she looked at her reflection in the large mirror. She was a lot different than she had been six years earlier. She was much taller; her once four-foot-eleven frame had grown to a nice five-foot-eight height. Her once shapeless figure had become a modestly curvy chassis. She wasn't a pushover though; if she needed to physically defend herself, her silhouette was more than ready to do so.

She dried her hands and ran a hand through her now-straightened brown-sugar colored hair. She admired the honey colored streaks throughout it, extremely pleased with the result of her moment of temporary insanity. Thick black lashes surrounded her warm brown eyes, and her skin was a nice golden tan. She smiled, inspecting her straight, normal-sized teeth. It was fun to smile now; considering her teeth had become of equal size (this was thanks to Malfoy, but she would never voice this appreciation.)

She took one last look at herself, her heart jumping when she realized her best friends, Ron, Harry, Ginny, Lavender, Parvati, and Seamus, had yet to see her transformation. She felt a flutter of excitement, hoping they liked it as much as she did.

With this more pleasant thought on her mind, Hermione Elisabeth Granger walked back to her room, climbed into bed, and proceeded to sleep until her alarm woke her up.

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Across the English Channel, another Hogwarts seventh year was up as well; though his reasons differing from hers. He stood on the balcony of his family's France beach house, looking out over the cool waters of the Atlantic Ocean. He rested his elbows and forearms on the stone railing, looking out over the star-speckled sky. He hadn't been able to sleep much as the days marking his return to Hogwarts slipped away. Perhaps it was because he knew every student and teacher was going to remember what had happened the previous year. The war. In Hogwarts' back yard. After all, he'd played a large role in that war; hell, he'd fought in it. Then again, so had half of the other sixth year students. They'd felt obligated to defend their school. He really couldn't blame them.

        Or could he?

Draco Malfoy was not one to pity others. Quite the contrary, he despised those who were weak; those who didn't have what it took to make it through life. Those who gave up, in his opinion, were disgraces. They didn't belong in the world if they refused to live in it.

        Only the strong survive, and he was one of the strong.

A cool breeze blew through his slicked back silvery-blonde hair. The refreshing zephyr gently caressed the pale skin of his arms, neck, and face. His steel gray eyes slid shut, basking in the moonlight. If there was one thing he loved, it was the nighttime. The placidity of it all never ceased to amaze him. Night was a lot of different things; calm, peaceful, uneventful, romantic, sensual—he had solitude at night, and that's what he liked most. Being alone with his thoughts; at least when he was alone he didn't have to live up to others' expectations or hide behind his big-and-bad image that had developed over the years. He could be plain old Draco Trysten Malfoy.

        After all, that's all he wanted to be.

Now that the Ultimate War was over and Voldemort had been defeated, he and his father, Lucius Xavier Malfoy, had done what all the other surviving Death Eaters (who hadn't been caught, killed, or seen at all by anyone during the war)—go back to living normally; without the Dark Side.

Draco was still somewhat interested in the power the Dark Side offered; the respect; the admiration; the fear. However, Lucius had warned him not to meddle in those sorts of things anymore. They were going to have to spend the rest of their lives rebuilding the Malfoy name; it had been damaged, but not quite destroyed.

Draco rested his head on his hand. He was tired, and he should go to sleep, but his thoughts kept him awake. How much had all of them changed? Blaise? Their other best friends, Mikail Winslow, Devin Steele, and Ivan Braizen? Had they changed? His thoughts wondered to Granger—he doubted that she'd changed. He couldn't picture her as anything else except short, bossy, know-it-all, bushy, brown haired, brown-eyed Granger who had no body and no attractive attributes at all.

Besides, you can't turn an ugly duckling into a swan. It was impossible, as far as he was concerned. What once was ugly would always be ugly. And Granger had been ugly the last time he'd seen her—there was not one thing he found attractive about her. Plus, the biggest thing that annoyed him about her was the fact that she bested him in everything; except Quidditch. A Mudblood should never best a Pureblood, and he couldn't figure out why she was better than he was. He knew she worked at it, but it still drove him crazy.

I wonder if she's given up on the bossy, know-it-all, good-two-shoes thing, he wondered to himself as he stood up to his full six-foot-one height. His broad shoulders and extremely muscular physique ached with fatigue, and he decided it was time to get to sleep. After all, he'd be returning to school tomorrow; he would need to take advantage of the privacy of his room while he could. In twenty-four hours time he'd be sharing a dormitory with that year's Head Girl—whoever it would be.