I am such an idiot. I completely forgot to upload the piece I commissioned MakiBlue for this work AAAAAAAAAAAAA
I hope you forgive me! Find more of her work on /makiblueart
Thank you so very much for your kind words of encouragement. You're the best.
When Draco thought Lady Fortune couldn't make his life any worse, he had no idea she'd take it as a personal challenge.
He only had one day, one lousy day to rest at home before ungodly amounts of tasks were methodically given to him to perform during the Summer. His godfather, Severus, tutored him privately every morning. Being a powerful wizard, he could more or less teach him every subject he'd taken at Hogwarts in order to improve Draco's abilities. Moreover, he'd begun to teach him Third Year subjects apart from the ones he'd already studied. His father only mentioned he needed to surpass his classmates, but the word was laced with so much venom that he knew well enough he had meant to say "the Mudblood."
After lunch, he'd had special etiquette lessons with Mrs. Frossard, a foul old goat who inhabited the nightmares of every Pure-blood child. She was an avid fan of stinging hexes, so Draco learned swiftly to hear her every word. If he didn't follow her instructions to perfection, he'd get stung by the smiling hag. This of course, had only one purpose: to prepare him for the courting of Pansy Parkinson.
This kind of benefited him, for using her as a distraction to forget Hermione was his main strategy. However, after three chaperoned visits for tea in the Manor, he was completely sure she was not the witch for the job.
"Pray tell, Draco, what do you like to do in your spare time?"
"I think the weather is lovely today, wouldn't you agree?"
"I absolutely adore these biscuits Mrs Malfoy, would you mind if your elves shared the recipe with ours?"
Those and more questions — or rather, the dullest conversation topics ever — he had to endure once a week while the nasty witch sitting in front of him fluttered her eyelashes. He often stared at her wishing her straight locks were wild curls, or that her pale skin was richer in colour. Her eyes were also brown, but they lacked the glint of genius behind them. And her teeth, while straighter and perfect in size, lacked Granger's uniqueness.
Everything about Pansy was perfect: her clothes, her hair, her nails, her laughter. Proper and prim. Ladylike. "Just right for the future Mrs. Malfoy," his mother had said with a tight smile. But he was thirteen, and the weight of a whole lineage was no burden for a teenage boy to carry. Alas, he pretended to care as he counted the days left before going back to Hogwarts. That Summer, he wasn't able to visit Theo nor Blaise at all.
"Did you see the horrible creature she brought along this year? Reckon she chose it because it matches her hair?" Pansy said, trying her best to hold unto Draco's arm. He, like many times before, pretended not to notice the gesture as he faked a laugh. The more he spent time with Pansy, the more he noticed how she truly loathed Hermione. At least he only pretended to hate her.
Draco spent most of his time ignoring Granger, or trying to and failing spectacularly. Every day, the darkness in his heart grew. Why was he stuck having to force a bond with somebody he despised while Potty and the Weasel got to talk to her every day? They had many classes together, got to eat together and then hang out together in their common room. Meanwhile, he had to admire her from the shadows, all the while insulting her for appearances' sake.
He knew the rhetoric was getting old. He hated himself for not being nice to her. He directed his anger at the Wonder Duo. This made Hermione angry at him. Rinse and repeat.
His method of forcing thoughts into padlocked chests continued evolving. Now, he felt as if he could actually stop himself from feeling, at least for a little while. He took in her tiny dewdrops of attention, drinking them in until they met once more. He basked in the sunshine of her laughter from the dark corners of his side of the wall.
He knew it was stupid of him, but curse his heart for fooling him time and again. When the bloody chicken (deservedly) attacked him, the footsteps he thought belonged to her while lying at the infirmary were Pansy's. When Pansy doted on him for his injury, he liked to pretend it was Granger scolding him for being an idiot. At least she was happy with her friends…
Or so he thought.
It first came to his attention when, for a whole week, Hermione went to her classes on her own. Then, he began to notice the snide remarks from a furious Weasley. Something about her cat?
Days came and went… and she was still alone.
"Seriously, what's the matter with the bitch?"
"Apparently, her ugly beast ate the Weasel's rat…"
If there was one good thing about hanging around Pansy, it was that she and Daphne were no strangers to gossip. He had no idea how they did it, but they always knew what was going on with her. This is how he found out her (very predictable) library schedule, and how he decided to study or do homework whenever she was in the library. Just to make sure she was fine.
She most definitely was not.
Her hair and clothes were more disheveled than usual. Her eyes had the darkest eyebags he had ever seen. She always seemed… exhausted, even depressed. She was lonely. And damn his weak, bleeding heart for always caring.
It was the second time in that particular early morning that she dabbed her wet eyes with her handkerchief. He had been sitting on his usual lone table in the corner, which offered a great angle to watch her while also being perfectly hidden from her view.
Draco clenched his fists as he tried (and failed) to finish his Arithmancy essay. She was doing the same thing, judging by the huge, battered tome of "Theory of Numerology" laying open in front of her.
His best friends' voices cheering him on were in a fight to the death with everything his father had said about her inside his head.
"She is a disgusting thief."
"She's a sodding prodigy."
"Her kind only wants our extinction."
"She's always kind to everybody."
"She is a filthy sub-human."
"She's pretty in her own way."
But in the end, his heart won. His heart always won.
"Granger?" he asked awkwardly, meantally repeating his half-assed plan to himself. It was scary how much more exhausted she looked up close.
"Yes, Malfoy?" she answered, not even surprised that he had talked to her. She refused to look at him, choosing to let her eyes roam on the words in front of her. She was holding a strange piece of parchment and an even stranger kind of stick in between her fingers.
"I wanted to know your opinion about the author's perspective on number seven in magic."
Hermione tilted her head at him, unafraid of meeting his gaze. Her eyes were red. If she was surprised, she didn't show it. Then, she moved her things closer to her in order to free up some space in the table.
"If you really want to know, you'd rather take a seat. This might be long."
Shrugging, he decided to sod it all, just for once.
But of course, it didn't end up being just for once.
"You're barmy!" Theo and Blaise said with wicked grins, in between late-night snacks and rounds of Exploding Snap. And he couldn't agree more.
It was an unspoken agreement between Granger and him. Every Saturday morning, they'd meet in their secluded corner of the library to study. They spoke either of themselves or books, but never of their relationships with others. He wouldn't label their relationship as a friendship, given she was still a bit stiff and wary of him at times. However, it was a bloody good truce.
"Don't you think it's criminal that Lilith hasn't been given a more pivotal role in the story?"
"Absolutely! She'd win more duels than Levi even with both hands tied behind her back."
"Still, the author mentioned there'd be seven books so perhaps there's time…"
They talked about The Crimson Keep, about their favourite subjects and the reliability of Divination. He brought some of his favourite sweets to share and she presented some of her Muggle devices to him, "the notepad" and "pencil" turning into coveted objects for his spoiled brain. She laughed at his expression when she showed him how the pencil worked, and promised she'd give one to him if he behaved well.
Those were the best months of his life.
He knew it was foolish to harbour hope, but Merlin, he planned to enjoy every second of it. It got to the point where they sneaked some secret smiles during the lessons, when nobody was watching. She fell in love with Sugar Quills and always kept one handy, explaining that because of her parents' occupations "she wasn't allowed to have many sweets at home." Draco wished to always see her smile…
So when Crabbe and Goyle proposed to take a look at Buckbeak's execution, he had a hard time forcing his feelings inside the chests. The usual coldness felt even more bitter than on previous occasions, but once they went outside, it was just enough to pretend he was enjoying the experience.
"Look who's here!" Crabbe taunted with a sick grin, elbowing Draco hard on the ribs. His technique faltered when he saw her, all anger and riotous curls, followed closely behind by the ones who had ignored her for months. He had to remind himself that the ones accompanying him could be the cause of his own downfall.
"Ah, come to see the show?" he asked mockingly, putting his mask back into place and thinking it was all for the best.
"YOU! You foul, loathsome, evil, little cockroach!" the young witch exploded, aiming her wand at him. Upclose, he could see the beautiful vines that surrounded its length as he cowered in true fear. For her sake, Draco hoped she wouldn't go along with it. With one word from Crabbe or Goyle to his father, he would be demanding blood.
"Hermione, no! He's not worth it!" He wasn't. He really wasn't worthy of her friendship or her time. If she Avada'd him right then and there, he'd be forever grateful of the time she chose to spend with him.
But instead of an Avada, he felt a sharp pain and the crunch of her fist making contact with his nose. The scent of her perfume became rapidly muddled with the stench of blood, forever tainted in his memory. Next, he felt something being thrown at his feet.
"I once thought we might be friends." Her voice, soft and laced with anger, finished breaking his wretched heart before he could hear three pairs of footsteps leaving.
After episkeying his nose himself, he threatened the stupid pair of bumbling idiots to secrecy all the way back to their common room. He hoped fear would be enough to deter them from tattling.
That night, just before he went back to sleep and only behind the privacy of the curtains of his canopy bed, he secretly took a look at the previously accioed object Hermione had thrown at him. It was a dark green pencil with "Draco" engraved in silver-coloured letters on the side.
That night, after casting a hasty silencio, he wept himself to sleep.