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Mirror Mirror on the Wall,
No one owns Harry cept J.K. Rowl.

Chapter 1: That Fateful February, So Many Years Ago

Hermione Granger was a not a pureblood. This meant that her parents were unable to conger magic. But this also meant something else, she was seen as inferior to many in the wizarding community. They were mainly Slytherins that she could care less about, but there was one, that no matter how she fought, she could never just disregard. Despite her best efforts he never accepted her. No matter how good she got, she was never good enough, not to win his approval, never to win his love. This knowledge haunted all her times of study, causing her mind to wonder more into thoughts of him, and less into those about her books.

His name was Draco.

He was from one of the purest bloodlines around. The Malfoys were powerful, rich, and cruel. Draco was just like them, and yet, Hermione could not release herself from the spell he had unknowingly put on her. She could not just accept his haughty imitation of his father. She refused to believe that such beauty could be combined with such evil. She could not believe that, not after seeing his eyes. Yes, his eyes. That is what had snared her soul. They were piercing and cruel. But Hermione had caught a glimpse of something else in those eyes.

It was a cold February of their first year together. Hermione, as usual, was attempting to out do Malfoy on a project. The problem about this was not that she loved him. No, such feelings had yet to arise in her. The problem was Snape. Snape was the potions master. He also, being the head of their house, favored Slytherins above all others. Now the problem with Snape did not end there, if it had, the problem would have been much less of one. The problem continued with the fact that she was a Gryffindor, Snape's least favorite house. So she was attempting to beat Snape's favorite student, being one of Snape's least, with a project assigned by Snape.

So there she was, working her rear off to make a potion to such a precise degree that Snape would be forced to give her higher marks than his "beloved Draco." Sometimes Hermione thought that Malfoy was so "beloved" to Snape, that Snape was quite possibly gay. But then there was the rumor about McGonagall which suggested otherwise.

Hermione had worked over twenty minutes and was nearly ready for the final step, when something caught her eye. It was Malfoy, and unlike the normal snide mask he wore, he showed a very different expression. He was leaning on his elbows, which rested on his desk, and instead of working vigorously like Hermione expected, he was just staring. And not only was he staring, but he was staring straight at her!

Now Hermione was not used to people staring randomly at her, and she was not sure whether to be offended or not. She also wondered whether something terrible was about to happen that Malfoy wanted desperately to witness. But in any case, Hermione knew that something was definitely not normal, and that since Malfoy was probably just high off fumes, she should go and investigate. So Hermione rose from her desk and began her journey across the room. When she finally did reach him, he just glowered up at her and with his usual monotone asked,

"What do you bloody want, Mudblood?" The retort shocked Hermione greatly. Was this the same Malfoy that had looked so innocent just moments before? Hermione determined that indeed it was, and so it was probably best to ignore him and move on.

Hermione replaced herself on the bench she had been sitting on earlier. She picked up where she had left on the potion. But then a certain thought occurred to her. Her cauldron had been left unattended, boiling on the burner, and she hadn't kept tract of how long! All her precision was now foiled in a puff of staring Malfoys and wondering friends. Friends who at any moment might inquire as to why she would risk standing up in Snape's class to talk to their worst enemy but not to them. Hermione felt awful. She had betrayed her friends, and she had betrayed her dream. She wanted to beat Malfoy more than anything, if only because she was terrible at arguing with him. Logic wasn't something she could use when fighting him. He was far too good at twisting the truth to his own whim, so Hermione just gave up. It was impossible to win an argument against anyone quite that unreasonable, especially when reason was her only weapon.

What happened next gripped the whole room in surprise. Hermione's potion simply exploded, as if fueled by the anger Hermione was emitting from herself. It covered the walls, it flooded Hermione's desk, spilling out onto the floor, but worst of all, it covered Hermione. From untamable hair to perfectly polished leather buckled shoes, Hermione was covered in green boiled slime. The shocking thing was how cool it really was, considering it had just exploded. That is exactly when Hermione saw the expressions of the students. Lavender, a frightened wisp of a girl, Hermione could have readily pictured her atop a chair screaming "MOUSE," Harry was concerned, Ron was distressed, Neville had fainted, Crabbe, still stupid, Goyle cheered triumphantly, and Malfoy. . .was not what Hermione expected. Malfoy was not snide; he was. . . Words could not even explain the range of emotions that flashed before Hermione's eyes. There was superiority and concern, hate and compassion, restraint and yet the will to break from society and help her, the piercing cold of hatred and warm sorrow of grief. He, Draco Malfoy, displayed in those moments the intriguing confliction to do what he wanted to do or to do what society said he must do. Malfoy gave all appearances of wanting to help Hermione, but also knew that that could not be allowed to happen. Hermione then saw why Malfoy hated her. She was both his superior and inferior, and the thoughts of both serving and ruling her were tearing the mind of this eleven year old apart. Malfoy knew this, but now so did Hermione. He didn't hate her, he resented her for throwing his mind into a conflict on whether to follow head or gut, whether to go with what he believed to be right or with what he was told was right. Malfoy hated how she complicated things.

That was the day when Hermione was changed. She could no longer look upon Malfoy with hatred, no matter how furious he made her. She could never be quite her own person. Malfoy was always there, looming like a plague in the corner of her mind.

But that was five years ago, and Hemione was no longer an "Ickle firsty." She was the top ranking student of her fifth year, which was nearing it's end, and Hermione found herself once again packing her bags and headed for home. She also found herself leaving home, to a place that was once hers, but now belonged to someone else. Her room, though saved for her, had not changed in the years she had left. It no longer belonged to the woman she had become, but it belonged to her parent's child. Things were going to start changing soon, she could feel it, or maybe it was just her wistful desire for change that made it's inevitability so real to her. Hermione was no soothsayer, and she never had been. Fate was not something she believed in, and thus, not something she could predict. But nevertheless, she knew that one day, things would change, and she hoped it would be soon.

Hermione spotted her photo album lying on her bed and picked it up. It was bound with beautiful maroon leather and had her name crested in gold on the front. She ran her fingertips across it's textured surface lightly, then cracked it open. Inside were pictures of Harry and her favorite mischievous redheads, the Weasleys. She grinned. The first few were of their second year together, and being taken by Colin Creevy, were consequently all of Harry. Hermione's grin faded as she came to the first pictures of Hogsmeade. Harry had not been there because Sirius Black was "hunting" him down and it was ". . .far too dangerous." As it turns out both were a lie. Harry wasn't being hunted, least ways by Sirius, and the danger was the dementors, not Sirius! Hermione hated it when, in attempt to protect Harry, the teachers just made it easier for him to be attacked. Hermione turned the page. They were pictures from home. One in particular that caught her eye was a photo where she was holding up the toilet seat Fred and George sent her from Egypt. It was incrested with hand carved hieroglyphics and set with jewels. She didn't know where'd they'd stolen it from, but since she never could figure it out, it was now hanging on her bedroom wall. She looked at the next page of photos but quickly shut her album and rushed to the great hall.

When she arrived, it took her no time at all to locate the group of redheads in the crowded Gryffindor table. Hermione waltzed over to them and plopped into the seat in between Ron and Ginny, thus breaking up the sea of solid red. Once she settled into the empty seat left for her, she immediately immersed herself in any-and every-conversation that sounded even remotely interesting, which happened to be all of them. Harry, Ron, Neville and Lee Jordan were discussing summer plans and book assignments, while Ginny, Collin, and some first years were chattering away happily about the funny experiences with teachers.

". . .when all of the sudden. Poof! He's gone, just like that. We had to get a new teacher." All the girls shrieked in wonder at the tale, save Hermione, who had come in at the climax and didn't find the story in the least bit funny. "So Hermione, do you have a story?"

"Well," Hermione began. "This isn't so much about a teacher, but it's very unfortunate." All the girls leaned in towards Hermione as she told the tale of that fateful February in potions class. And as she came to the end of everyone's expressions, Hermione lied. ". . .and Malfoy was still staring. Just staring blankly at me with those cold orbs of his." Lavender's eyes widened as she leaned further still.

"So that's the reason you blew up the class! Wow, that must've been so weird to have some one just staring at you. Especially Malfoy. I wonder if he hexed your potion." Lavender calmed down a bit and retook her seat at the table.

"Knowing him he probably did," Ginny stated flatly. Hermione merely nodded her head in agreement, but got the overwhelming feeling he hadn't. In fact, she began to sympathize with him. 'What would it be like to become everyone's scapegoat? It wasn't even your fault, and they've already got you tried, convicted, and hanged. Not that you don't deserve it for all the trouble you're worth, but I'd feel better if you're conviction were based on crimes you're actually guilty of.'

Hermione glanced over at Malfoy. At least one thing in this world could remain a constant. Malfoy and some unfortunate Slytherin girl were having the most suggestive tickling match Hermione had ever seen. The girl was pinned to both there seats and Malfoy was practically on top of her. 'Yes, that is a very good reason to hang you. You're practically sleeping with a girl in public, and no one is lifting a finger to stop you!' Hermione groaned. For all her brilliance she could never figure out how he could do things like that, or how girls would let him. Wasn't he smarter than that? Surely keeping those girls around must've been horribly insulting to his intelligence. Or maybe always having a fan club helped him put on the mask of superiority. 'Success no matter what. Isn't that the Slytherin motto? Well, for people who are "so cunning," you sure are dumb blonds.'

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Lavender whispered into Hermione's ear. "I wish a teacher would catch 'em like that. Wouldn't that be a show?" Hermione didn't answer, she just stared at the two teens, tangled in one another's arms. "Hermione? You in there?"

"Yes."

Hermione finally gave the question some thought. "He really does know how to play the system." Lavender just looked at Hermione as if she were mad. "Oh, Lavender. The reason the teachers haven't called him on it, is because there's nothing they can do to him! We're all going home today. It's not like they'll enforce a detention from the previous year, so what's the point in giving him a punishment when he'll never be punished?" Lavender stared her down as if she had gone mad and the answer were as obvious as a falling piano.

"Human decency."

"Lavender, they probably have told him to stop already, but without a punishment, he's not going to listen." Lavender seemed to finally get it. Hermione crammed the rest of her maple syriped waffles into her mouth and waltzed back up to her room.

Draco Malfoy was one of those people that everyone knew by name and face, but no one knew by heart. In fact, most people liked to assume that he simply didn't have one, which of course, was a lie. He had a heart, but it conflicted so strongly and so often with his common sense that he never did get around to using it. There was once however, when he nearly did. There are always little exceptions to a person's normal behavioral patterns that it takes others by such surprise that often times their own shock kills them; this was one of those times. It was February of his first year, and he nearly helped his Nemesis's best friend. Her potion had exploded all over the room, and Draco nearly helped her clean it all up. But being that he nearly helped but really didn't, there was almost no importance to that day, except that he nearly did something he'd never done before. He nearly followed his heart, which in the end amounted to absolutely nothing.

Draco stepped off the Hogwarts train and onto platform nine and three quarters. Draco had been having a perfectly uneventful day, if you could count an inappropriate tickle fight uneventful, and was not looking forward to waiting around for his father. That's when it hit Draco that his father was not around. That is when he realized that there was no need to wait around at all. It was like being given the keys to your own prison cell, then watching the guards leave without it. This was his moment of glory, his one chance for true freedom. 'All I have to do is hide in a Muggle car, let them drive off to where ever they will, and take the knight bus back to school next year. It's bloody BRILLIANT!' So while Draco was hammering out the details of his "brilliant" plan, he meandered out of Kings cross station, nearly running into a few passerbys, almost tripping on the steps leading up to the station, and stepped into the parking lot to find a Muggle car. That is precisely when he realized that a Muggle car is no different from a wizarding car in appearance, and that all cars are indeed Muggle cars. "Maybe this wasn't the best idea," he thought to himself.

Then he saw his getaway car, it was a gold minivan. "Or maybe running away is a good idea after all." With lighting speed, Draco pulled out his wand and whispered "alohomora." Suddenly the car doors sprang open before him. Draco walked to the back of the car and tossed his trunk into the back, then he pushed it under the very back seat. Briefly he wondered why he didn't just ride his broom, surely it could take him any where he wanted to go faster than on land. But then he thought about the ministry of magic. His father would have them hunt him down as soon as he was found to be missing, and on a broom that would be easy. In a car however, it would not. Medaling in the Muggle world was probably the last thing anyone expected him to be doing, which was exactly why that's what he'd do.

Draco slammed the back door of the van shut. He marched around to the right side of the vehicle and climbed in through the sliding door. With a flick of his wrist, all the doors shut and locked themselves once more. Draco gingerly slid underneath the back bench seat so he would not be seen. It was times like these he wished he owned an invisibility cloak. It would've been extremely useful when taunting Potty and Weasel. If it hadn't been for Ron's financial situation and Harry's "access" to wizarding supplies he might have assumed that they themselves owned one. It certainly would have explained Harry's floating head at Hogsmeade. But finding himself unable to coup with the thought of not having something that Harry did caused him to decide that Harry indeed did not have one.

Twelve long ungracious minutes passed before the right door to the van was opened again. And during that time, being a creature of impatience, Draco was having a hard time waiting around for the owners of the van to unwillingly get him out of here. He was finding it hard to breathe in the increasingly airless car. He slid out from under the seat and looked out the window. Draco saw the car beside his leave. This whole situation was utterly unnerving. Then he spotted people coming from far off and quickly hid once more.

Hermione followed her parents (and luggage) through the parking lot of Kings Cross station. Across the lot she spotted the car that belonged to her family. She began to walk more slowly, in apprehension of leaving her friends behind. She loved her parents deeply, but it was no surprise that their relationship had slightly deteriorated in the past five years. Hermione always missed them right after break of course, but when the separation turned long and distant, Hermione stopped. She wondered if that was supposed to happen. Sometimes, in the dead of night, she would even think it unfair that she took the relationship so lightly. Harry's parents were dead, and here she was, neglecting hers. She felt that she should at least learn from all the turmoil Voldimort caused the world, but yet she hadn't. Things never seemed to work out the way Hermione thought they should, especially when it came to her own feelings. It was as if they completely disregarded how she felt in every sort of matter.

Hermione looked up and saw a face in the car window peering back at her for the briefest of moments before vanishing. It was another hallucination of Malfoy. Hermione wished they would stop, seeing as they were becoming more tediously annoying by leaps of exponential power. Finally she reached the car to see that there was no sign of Draco. Hermione groaned as she plopped down into her seat. She could hear her parents cram all her school stuff into the back. Hermione was never the neat freak people expected her to be; she always had too many books. Hermione leaned over and unlatched the cage to Crookshanks's cage. The cat pounced upon her lap, if the huge lump of fuzz could even be called a cat. But no matter what the truth was Hermione was in love with Crookshanks's eery perception and persona of innocence.

The Grangers' packing soon came to an end and they piled into the car to leave. Little did they, or anyone for that matter, know that Draco lay just beneath the bench of their car.

A/N Thank you for reading this chapter! Please review.