The Chronicles of Draco Malfoy

Write everyday no matter how or what you feel.

Which, as of this precise moment, is utter confusion.

"What?" says the person currently occupying my doorway. I detect a hint of defensiveness in that tone, but due to my complete bewilderment I do not jump at the opportunity to mock it. Which is a shame, really, since I always jump at the nearest opportunity to mock anyone.

Except her, this time.

"What, in the name of all things evilly amusing, are you doing here?" I ask.

Granger shrugs lightly, pushes a stack of paper to my manly chest, and then proceeds to let herself in without my invitation. "I... came to give you your work for this week," she says, her voice low. "Yes, yes, that's it."

I look down at the papers in my hand. Runic symbols stare back at me, challenging my ingenuity and sheer translating prowess - solve me if you dare, they seem to say. However, I put them on the table beside the door, as I am more interested in solving this little riddle in front of me. "Why you?" I ask suspiciously. "Why not some nameless bespectacled freak I will forever refer to as Harry Potter?"

She shrugs again. "Harry was... occupied." I notice how she carefully avoids my penetrating gaze; instead she starts to pace in my uncomfortably small room.

I feel as though I ought to point out for the sake of some ignorant fool that this act is something only done by those who bear shameful feelings like guilt and remorse, so for Granger to do this here, in my godly presence... Interesting.

And wickedly amusing, may I add.

"So I thought... I thought I'd be the one to bring them to you. They're urgent, by the way," she continues, gesturing absently towards the paper. "I need them as soon as possible."

Her explanation sounds right and fair to my unbiased ears, but still I get the feeling that she is not being completely truthful.

Yes, I know that I am quite a perceptive person. It's just another of my many, many positive attributes.

But I digress.

There is a reason behind my reaction to her unwanted presence in my flat, you see. Ever since that fateful night when I was forced to pay for some other pathetic peoples' food - damn it all to bloody hell, by the way - Granger has rarely allowed herself to be around my gracious, radiant presence. Not that I notice it or anything. I did not notice that she was absent the day Weasley and Pansy announced that they were shackled to each other once again, poor things. I did not notice that she was not there during the undescribably boring party that followed soon after. I do not notice that, lately, Granger's going to work unreasonably earlier than her usual time, which is 7, and going home outrageously later in the evening, around 10 or so.

No, I do not notice these things, for they are trivial and beneath my concerns.

It's not like I care or anything Gryffindoric like that.

"Also," she speaks again, looking at me in the eye this time, "I came because your most recent translation has been... shall we say, incomplete."

Unholy indignation burns in me, hot and fiery.

"Incomplete!" I gasp, incensed. "How dare you! I hand in my work to whoever nonentity you send here to get them, and I assure you, they are completely... complete! I do not appreciate you accusing me of submitting completely incomplete works! I am a Malfoy; it is beneath us to hand in works that are not completely complete!"

She spots something on my desk, examines it for a moment, then lifts it up. "Page five," she says succinctly. "Exactly the page missing from last week's report." A feral smile begins to spread on her face. "Care to explain this, then?"

Oh.

Heh.

Um...

"I do not know how that's still there," I answer, proudly lifting my chin up. "Potter must have been stupid enough to leave it behind. Yes. That's it." I laugh evilly. "You know Potter... all that spells from You-Know-Who must have emptied his already half-empty brain..."

We stare at each other for long, meaningful moments.

Shamefully enough, I am the first to look away.

"Fine," I say grudgingly. "Mugshots lied on that page, and being the smart, fiendishly fat cat that he is, I did not notice him doing so until you saw that page there. You know Mugshots, he loves to lie down anywhere as long as he is within my flat..."

Granger lifts a brow.

"Fine." Alarm bells sound in my head, brought about by the severity of her glare. And then... something just clicks. "Or maybe... it was you," I say in low voice. "You sneaked in here in the dead of night, you planted that page on my desk, and now you come in here all noble and mighty, accusing me of giving incomplete--"

"Merlin!" she shrieks, waving the offending piece of paper. "Just say you forgot! How hard is that?"

"I didn't!"

She taps her feet. Annoyingly. Incessantly.

"Fine. I may have forgotten it. In the recent events of me losing my manor and living here with you lot, I came to develop severe emotional trauma that causes me to become quite forgetful. All right? I forgot to hand in that paper to you because of you. Are you happy now?" I turn away, lest I see her gloating like a... like a person who's gotten the best out of a Malfoy.

But I do catch a glimpse of her, smiling there, like some, some– "--scheming, bushy-haired, little--"

Pop!

"Oh God, Harry!"

I look back and see Harry sodding Potter crouching on my floor, blood flowing from a severe-looking gash on his shoulder. Granger's already rushed to his side, taking out her wand. I do the same. "What happened to you?" I ask, my tone sharp. Seeing him, looking like this, reminds me of the many times during the Final War when he and Weasley and I...

Well.

Nasty memories, those.

Together, Granger and I bring him carefully to the sofa. Potter grunts as he leans back, still clutching his shoulder. "Spl-splinched," he rasps out, in between deep breaths. "Some... some bloke from..."

"Harry... shh," Granger mutters, glancing at me. I stare back, grim-faced. Nodding, she gently removes his hand from the wound, wincing slightly as she finds out how deep it is.

"I know some healing spells," I say, starting to make triangular motions with my wand. "Remediu-"

"No, I'll do it," she says firmly, glaring at me again. "Harry, stay still. This might hurt a bit." And she starts chanting, her wand starts swishing, and soft blue and yellow lights start shooting from it.

I step away from them, restless and edgy all of a sudden. It has been quite a long time since one of us ended up like this, torn almost to the point of death. Ever since the fall of Voldemort, some semblance of peace and quiet has become the norm in this world. Now, though, with Potter bleeding all over my expensive furniture...

"Who did this to you?" I ask.

Potter shakes his head, grunting still from the mending of his wound. "Don't worry," he says, panting slightly. "The ba-bastard's already in Az-azkaban. Locked him up myself before I ca-came here. Bloody hell, Hermione--"

"Shh! I'm concentrating." Her hand shakes a bit, I notice, as she performs the more complicated mending skills. A part of me is surprised she still remembers some of the spells Pomfrey taught us years before; even I have difficulty recalling some, despite my vastly superior memory.

Then again, she is Hermione Granger. She probably remembers everything - alphabetically, chronologically, from least to most powerful..

"There," she says, standing. "All done."

"Th-thanks," Potter mutters, glancing at his shoulder and paling at the amount of blood he finds there. "I'm... oh."

Grimacing, I quickly perform some cleaning spells to tidy him up. Attention-seeking hero that he is, Potter has never been that good around the sight of his own blood - which is saying something about how truly pathetic he is–

Potter chuckles slightly. "Sorry, Malfoy," he says. "I know what you're thinking. You think I'm dirtying your furniture. I'll... I'll clean this mess some... some time."

"Yes, whatever," I tell him. "Since you're already bleeding all over my place, then you might as well sleep there, for all I care. You bloody idiot."

And he laughs again.

"That's not funny, Malfoy," Granger scolds.

"Wasn't meant to be," I retort, glaring at her.

Meanwhile, Potter's eyes are slowly drifting close. His snores become more and more frequent and loud.

I cross my arms. "And of course, he takes my message literally and sleeps there. The idiot." I start to pace.

"My fault," Granger says, tucking her wand away. "I made him sleep. He looks so tired and worn out..."

"His room is across from mine," I snap. "It's not at the other end of the world, in case you didn't notice."

"So, what, you want to wake him up?" she scoffs. "Shake him and tell him, 'Oy, get up and go to your room'?"

"No!" I say loudly. "What do you take me for? He's bleeding and--"

Potter stirs but doesn't open his eyes.

"No, you know what? Don't answer that." I glance at Potter, then hastily avert my eyes. "The idiot. The bespectacled freak! This must be the latest mission he was telling me about. Trailing several wayward wizards without backup... no wonder even he, Harry I-sodding-got-a-hero-complex Potter, almost got killed!"

And as I collapse on the other chair, I spot a trail of blood on the floor and proceed to clean up after that too, muttering obscenities and about how stupid Potter really is.

Granger is standing so still that I look up at her, just to make sure she hasn't turned to stone yet. I mean, if that happens, then I will be forced to perform a very complicated spell which includes much touching and stroking and–

Huh. On second thought–

She is staring at me so intently that I frown back at her.

"What?" I ask, a tad defensive. And a bit disappointed that she hasn't turned to stone.

"You," she breathes. "You surprise me, Malfoy."

"I what?"

But she seems to have waken from whatever trance she was in. "I'm... I have to go." And she bolts towards my door.

I grab her hand, though, and she looks up at me, her eyes wide and surprised.

"Tell Weasley about this," I advise. "He'll want to know."

Her brows furrow for a few seconds. Then, her hand comes up and frees the other from my grasp, before nodding and disappearing out my door.

-

"Bloody hell, mate," Weasley mutters almost in awe. "That's... that's just... I mean... who... wow..."

"Wow?" Potter parrots. "What do you mean wow, Ron?"

"Good thing Granger still knows her spells," I tell him, just to save Weasley from having to explain his inane babbling. I look at Potter. "Otherwise, you'd be known as The-Boy-Who-Lived-to-be-The-Man-Who-Has-No-Right-Shoulder."

"Heh." Potter gingerly prods the said shoulder and flexes it. He grimaces. "Still hurts a bit, damnit."

"Serves you right, you know, for not calling us," Weasley says, scowling this time. "We could've helped you."

Potter shrugs. "I figured you two were busy. I thought--"

"Which, of course, proves what thinking is for you, Potter - a total waste of time and effort." Not for the first time that day, I call him, "You idiot."

He rolls his eyes. "What do you want me to do? I thought, hey, Ron's just gotten back with Parkinson, and you, Malfoy, were... were... huh."

Then he sits there with his beady little eyes boring into mine and his beady little glasses shining and--

"What?" I bellow, unable to decipher the sudden appearance of unholy gleam in those maltreated eyes.

A sort of deformed, frightening smile comes to his mouth just then. "When I came here... Hermione was also here, wasn't she?"

I glare at him. "I intensely dislike your tone, Potter. It suggests a wealth of meaning that I will purposely ignore for now, since you are injured and therefore defenseless."

"Blimey, Harry, now that you mentioned it..." Weasley starts nodding to himself. "I thought it was odd that Hermione knows you're here in Malfoy's flat. She wouldn't have known that unless someone else told her or... or she was also here when it happened."

I become frightened, for some reason.

I've always thought that something terrible will happen the day Weasley starts showing signs of intelligence.

"So why was she here?" he asks, becoming too eager for my comfort.

"She delivered my work, since Potter was too busy trying to get himself killed. Should've just told me you've got a death wish," I tell Potter disdainfully. "Would've made it a lot easier for you if I just killed you myself."

"Oh come off it," he says. "I'm alive, the bastard who did this is locked up - all in all, a good day, if I may say so myself."

"Yes, all in a day's work, isn't it, Super Potter?"

Weasley laughs unabashedly.

"Super Potter!" the bespectacled freak scoffs. "That's... that's actually... huh." He's nodding to himself now. "There's quite a ring to it..."

And suddenly he's wearing that deformed, completely frightening half-smile on his face again.

"All right then!" I say loudly, lest Potter decides to adopt the insult for himself, "since you're not dying anymore, and since you've been informed about Potter's recent stupidity, then I shall lead you both to the door and kick you two out. Now. Pronto!"

"Err, Malfoy..."

"What?"

My eyes follow Weasley's oversized, pointed finger to the doorway...

... where Granger's currently at. Holding a plate of... something.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" she asks, glancing at me before walking in and depositing the plate before Potter. She places her palm on his forehead. "No fever or anything? It says on the book that fever might be the side effect of the spell I just used, and--"

"I'm fine, Hermione," Potter says, grabbing her hand and holding it tight. "Thanks."

I grit my teeth. "My room's over there, in case you two lovebirds would--"

Granger's cheeks redden.

Potter frowns. "What? What does that have to do with--"

"Mind if I get one?" Yet as he asked, Weasley's already got half of the bread inside his mouth and is reaching for a second roll.

Granger shoots to her feet. "A word if you may, Malfoy," she says in her strictest, bossiest tones.

Weasley and Potter share a look I intensely dislike.

I cross my arms. "Whatever word it is you wished to tell me, you may do so in the presence of these idiots."

Granger purses her lips.

Despite myself, I feel somewhat happy that I've caused her such annoyance.

Until, of course, she takes out her wand, grabs my arm, and, pop! -

- we end up in her flat.

Well, isn't she an aggressive one. If she wants me for my delicious body, then all she has to do is say it...

Being the gentleman that I am, I tell these to her face, and watch in sadistic glee as she turns redder.

"What?" I say, playing the innocent to perfection, "did I say something?"

"Shut up, Malfoy, just... shut up." Granger starts to pace in front of me again, and I begin to wonder, since the door's just right there, why I'm not letting myself out this instant.

I take action.

Until, of course, I hear her speak softly.

"I may... I may have been wrong about you."

Um, what?

"I beg your pardon?" I say stiffly, not liking the feeling that suffuses me in just that moment.

"I won't repeat it," she tells me, proudly lifting her chin, "since I very well know that you heard what I said."

Silence.

"Are we done?" I ask, impatient to get the hell out of--

"I've always wondered how you got Harry and Ron to treat you like a human being, since in all the years they've known you, you had been the vilest, most despicable, most annoying, egotistical--"

"I really do not need you spouting the least desirable adjectives you have for me," I say, gritting my teeth. The door beckons, so I--

"--and yet, after I returned, there you were. With them. In my place."

I stare at her, feeling as though I've just been bludgeoned in the head. "Do you mean to say that you've treated me like dirt ever since because you think I took your rightful place in the Golden Trio?"

"I'm not proud of it," she snaps. "You were there. I wasn't. I wasn't there because I was out ensuring my parents' safety, and you, you just--"

So. Pansy's right all along.

Granger's eyes flash heatedly. "I don't even know how you ended with us, anyway. The last I saw of you was you laughing with your fellow Death Eaters, and yet... what, did you just decide that our side was the winning one, and being the clever snake that you are you switched sides at the last moment?"

Something explodes in me. Is that how she views it? Is that what the rest of the wizarding world thinks about me?

I do not know why it suddenly becomes very important for me to enlighten her... and I decide to do just that.

"While you were out there securing your parents, Voldemort was busy torturing mine. In front of my very eyes. Do you know how that's like? Hearing your quiet mother scream? Hearing your proud father beg? Hearing them plead to have me spared?"

Her hands fly to her mouth.

"Being the sadistic bastard that he is, it took Voldemort days to have fun at my parents' expense. The day he decided to finally get rid of them... was the day I finally did what I think was right. What I should do to avenge their deaths."

"Malfoy--"

"You think I did that because I planned it? That I foresaw his defeat and switched sides to avoid the same thing from happening to me? No. Despite the obvious hints I'm not that smart. What I was, was someone bent to make the bastard who killed my parents pay. And we did. And if that makes me a bloody hero, then I just have to live with that."

Granger looks away.

Silence.

"Are we done?" I ask again.

"Harry and Ron... do they know?" she asks meekly.

I realize that I don't have any obligation to answer her.

And yet...

"They were the ones who apprehended me when I... offered my services to the Order. Of course they know."

Silence.

"Are we--"

"No! No, we're not done," Granger cuts in stubbornly. "I still have to--"

"Why the hell not?" I ask, annoyed. "I just redeemed myself in your eyes, right? I do not blame you if, after this, you shall fall irretrievably in love with me, all because I bared my soul to you."

This is a defense mechanism, you see. I allowed her to see my manly vulnerability, so in return I should annoy her to death.

It's only fair that way.

"Perhaps I shall take my leave, then, to let you gather your thoughts, and convince yourself that you do not love me when in fact you already do, and--"

"All right, fine! We're done! Get out get out get out!" And she all but shoves me out her flat, and the door slams right in front of my face.

Heh. That is just–

The door flies open. "And for the record, I still think you're a bastard of the lowest order, even you did... bare your soul, or whatever." And the door closes loudly.

My. Isn't she just the most–

The door opens again, and time stands still. I look at her, and our eyes communicate, and she leaps to my arms and kisses me passionately and–

Ha! As if.

I stare at her closed door.

Then I smile to myself.

Then I begin to chuckle.

Then I burst with fiendish glee.

I think that this is the moment that will be forever known as the time Granger and I reluctantly become friends.

Ha! As if.

-

Author's Notes: Obviously, this story is not DH-compliant. Heh. This chapter is a roller-coaster, I must admit. I do fervently hope, though, that you enjoyed the ride :D See you next chapter!